Jack tipped his head back and stare at the ceiling. It looked the same as it had a month ago, the same as it had 5 years ago. Back then he'd spent his time here dreaming about Santa Fe. At the moment he was preoccupied with getting himself and his friends out. And den I'll find Porter an'-

"Pssst! Jack!" He looked down and across the room. The flap through which his 'meals' entered was open, and a face was looking in at him.

"Porter!"

"Hey, Cowboy. How ya doin'?" The face disappeared, and he heard the scratching of a key in a lock.

He crossed the cell in a few seconds. "Porter," he whispered through the door. "I don't know whedda ta kill ya or kiss ya! What happened? Where ya been?"

"Why, Jack! I din't know ya cared-"

"Porter!"

"Aw right!" She paused, still fiddling with the keys. "What'd Crutchy tell ya?"

"Nuthin'." he said in exasperation. "Youse guys fight or somethin'? I t'ought ya was best friends."

"We are." Dat's da problem. She found the right key at last and opened the door. "Dere ya are, sir. I hope you enjoyed ya stay at da Waldorf."

Jack grimaced, waving an unfond farewell to the cell before shutting the door. "Thoid time's da charm. Wit luck I won't hafta look at dis place again." He turned back to Porter expectantly as she relocked the door. "So what happened?"

For a moment, Porter actually considered telling him. But that would make him laugh at her or worse, pity her. "Nuthin' woith tawkin' about."

"Nuthin' woith-! Ya run off witout a woid. Two hours latah we's all up on charges. An' ya say it ain't woith tawkin' about??!!"

"Quiet! Ya wan't Snyda' ta heah ya?" She listened carefully for any sound from the adjoining corridors, took his hand, and edged along the wall. When they reached the next corner, she paused, listened again, and continued moving.

"Ya gonna tell me or not?"

"Not! Now, c'mon. We gotta get da others out."

They froze as Snyder himself walked past.

"Ya good at dis, ya know?" Jack whispered when Snyder was out of earshot. "Ya had practice?"

Porter didn't particularly care who knew at this point. Spot hated her. Crutchy hated her. She didn't see the revelation changing their feelings any. "I was a boigler, if ya must know. Pop was too big ta climb in windows so he sent me." She said over her shoulder, listening for where the warden had gone. "Dat's how I wound up heah in da foist place. Guy woke up." She laughed very softly. "Da funny t'ing is. Snyda's da guy Pop used ta sell ta."

Jack went very still. "He is?"

"Ya din't t'ink he wants me back so bad, just cuz a his pride?" She scoffed. "Not dat his pride ain't hoit or dat he wouldn't be happy ta have both a us in heah, for dat matta, but da main reason he wants me is cuz I could tell da bulls about him." She led him down another corridor.

"Why don't ya?" Jack asked.

"Wit me name an' exact description in ev'y copper's files? Ya t'ink I'se stupid or somet'in?"

"Well, tawk ta Denton about it sometime, anyways. We could print a new issue a Da Newsies' Banna', like we did for da strike."

"You fergit somet'in. Snyda' or no Snyda', I'se still wanted. It's called Grand Theft. I don't really want me name gettin' aroun'."

"Dere's gotta be somet'in-"

"If we'se gonna tawk, can we tawk 'bout how we'se gettin' da odders out, an' save Snyda' for sometime when we'se all warm an' comfortable in da lodgin' house?" she said sarcastically. It didn't occur to her that she spoken as if she was actually going back to the lodging house.

When they got to the boys' room, Porter stopped. "You go in foist."

Jack shook his head. "You gots da keys."

"Take 'em, den!" He shook his head again, and crossed his arms. "We ain't got time for dis! Dey don't trust me."

"So make 'em trust ya by gettin' 'em out. I gotta be ready on the roof, rememba?" He disappeared before Porter could argue anymore. She sighed, flipped through the keys on the ring, and tried one in the door. She could hear the reaction from the boys at the sound of the door. Stand in front a da beds, hats off, eyes down - Snyda's usual orders. Except they weren't going to see Snyder. Not dat I'se any more welcome den him. Oh, well, heah goes.

She opened the door and stepped through, to be greeted by ten gaping mouths. "Heya, boys." she greeted nervously. "I betta warn ya, it's fly season." All ten mouths snapped shut. Blink started forward, but Mush and Race grabbed his arms.

"What're ya doin' heah, Spitfire?" Spot asked dangerously.

"Come ta gloat?" Pie Eater added, echoed by several others.

She glared at him, silently cursing Jack for setting her up for this. "Actually, I came - why I'se beginnin' ta wonda - ta get youse outta heah." She scanned the room, comparing faces with the names in Snyder's book. In the process she met Crutchy's eyes. He was wearing that sad, 'serious' expression as if he'd lost something precious. Her heart contracted. He t'inks I did it. She wanted to hug him, then she wanted to kiss him - neither of which would be welcome. She shook herself angrily and took her eyes away, resolving not to look at him again. Which brought her back to Spot.

Spot was - if possible - even more angry than the last time she'd faced him. "Yeah," he said disbelievingly. "Ya tried dat one wit Pickles an' da odders-"

Porter snapped. She'd been chased, beat up, dumped in the river, and yelled at by the people she loved best. "Evan Michael 'Spot' Conlon," She stepped forward dangerously, the 'Spitfire' temper taking over. Spot actually stepped back. "I know ya don't trust me. I know ya don't like me. I know ya hate me. I don't care! Snyda's downstairs. We got maybe an hour before he notices dat Jack's gone, more likely less. Odder den Jack an' me, none a youse evah got outta heah on ya own. I'se da on'y chance ya got right now, so shut up an' lissen ta me!"

There was a single moment of stunned silence, then. "So dat's why she's called Spitfire." Race's comment broke the tension. Even Porter laughed, although she was half crying at the same time. She turned to lean her head on the nearest shoulder until the hysterics wore themselves out. "Dat's twice ya been told off taday, Spot." Race added. "Dis gettin' ta be a habit?"

"I was tawkin' ta all a youse." Porter said, raising her head finally and jerking back quickly when she realized the shoulder she'd been leaning on belonged to Crutchy. Since she was avoiding his eyes, she didn't see the stricken expression on his face.

"Porter-" Spot finally found his tongue to reply. She looked at him in surprise. He always called her Spitfire. "-Margaret-"

She caught on and shook her head. "Don't-" He smirked.

"-Louise-" She hung her head in shame. "-'Spitfire' Conlon. Get ovah heah." She faced him with her hands on her hips. He pulled her closer, whispered, "I'll soak ya if ya tell anyone I said dis, but I'se sorry." then pulled her cap down over her eyes.

She adjusted it and tweaked his nose. "Apol'gy accepted."

Spot started to retort, but when she readjusted her hat he - along with everyone else - got a good look at her face.

"What happened ta ya?" exclaimed Mush. "Dat ain't all da Delancey's woik!"

"Aw, jist a misunderstandin' 'tween friends." She adjusted her hat again, so the black eye wasn't quite so obvious. As she did, a thought struck her, and she smiled wryly. "Spot," The Brooklyn leader looked up in question. "nevah, evah, doubt da loyalty a Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn did dis?" he started angrily. "I told 'em-"

"When dey hoid dat youse all was in heah, yeah. An' don't pretend ya wouldn't a been happy ta do it yerself a few minutes ago." She ducked any more questions and tapped on the window, then opened it. "Hey, Cowboy. We'se ready down heah." she hissed. There was no verbal reply, but the knotted end of a thick rope dropped down in front of the window.

"Bars?" Mush asked.

Porter looked at him scornfully. "Ain't none a ya evah hoid of a file?" She produced one and set to work, not on the actual bars of the window, but on the eight smaller iron pieces that attached them to the wall. Author's note: I noticed this! Can you tell I've watched this movie a lot? Or at least that I pay close attention to all scenes involving Crutchy. :)

"Um, jist outta curiousity," began Pie Eater hesitantly, glancing from Spot to Porter. He had no wish to get either Conlon mad at him. "Youse two related?"

Still filing, Porter bit her lip and glanced back at Spot. "Yeah, we'se cousins." said Spot. "Ya wanna make somet'in outta it?" he asked with mock anger. Pie Eater shook his head quickly and backed up to the amusement of most of the newsies. Spot smirked, and slapped him the shoulder reassuringly.

"Now, if all a youse is done?" said Porter, finishing the bars. "We can get outta heah. We gots t'ree ways set up, aw right? Jack's on da roof, ya can get dere by da rope or by da stairs. Or ya can take yer chances waitin' near da gate till Snyda' finds out ya gone an' da bulls show up. I don't reccommend it 'less ya really fast or ya jest can't climb." She started to go, then turned back. "Oh, an one a youse come wit me ta da goil's room? Doubt dey'll trust me any more den youse did, an' I don't got time ta tell dem off, too. Speakin' a which, remind me ta put somet'in cold an' slimy in Cowboy's bed when we get back."

Spot stayed to organize the newsies into three groups, getting Snipeshooter as the youngest newsie out first by way of the rope. Racetrack, Mush and Dutchy also chose that way. Kid Blink, Skittery, Pie Eater and Snoddy chose the stairs. Crutchy followed Porter.

Porter tried to ignore him, while still keeping them both out of the sight and hearing of any guards. She soon realized, however, that ignoring your best friend, two days after a huge fight, two days after telling him you're in love with him, is not easy. Trying to keep both of you out of jail in the process, makes it harder. "Ya din't hafta come, ya know." she said over her shoulder in a harsh whisper.

"Dat's why I'se comin'." he replied. "Anyways, I ain't 'xactly suited ta climbin', so we'se stuck tagedda."

Don't sound so happy 'bout it! she thought sarcastically. They reached the stairs, one of the most dangerous places for a sneak. Cuz dere ain't no doors ta duck t'rough or corners ta hide in. Ya can't go anywheres but up or down. "Careful." she said over her shoulder.

"I'se doin' fine." He started to protest, then stumbled on the stairs, nearly knocking them both all the way down, loudly, not to mention painfully, since both were still nursing bruises.

She swore. "Yeah, jist wonderful! Watch it, will ya?" She offered her shoulder to help him, but he refused. Jist don't let Snyda' come t'rough heah, right now. she prayed.

Jack lowered the rope at Porter's signal, and waited for the first of his friends to climb up. "I see you didn't need my help." came a voice from behind him. He turned around to see Dave standing next to a stove pipe.

"Hey, Dave." Jack looked back down at the window, but no one was coming out yet. "Porter din't tell me ya was comin'."

"Need help there?" Dave started when he realized what Jack had said. "You mean she's actually here? I thought she was just - looks, like I owe her one."

"I coulda told ya dat." Boots stepped out from a shadow. "Da way she took off from Brooklyn-"

"Is dat where ya was?" Truth stepped out of yet another corner, accompanied by the remaining Manhattan newsies. "We was worried sick. An' Porter's heah? She wanted da rope, but I din't actually t'ink - Ya know she nearly decked me when I got smart wit 'er? I din't t'ink she had it in 'er."

"Hence da name 'Spitfire'." Racetrack was first up the rope, with Snipeshooter close behind him. "We havin' a party?" he asked looking around at the gathering on the roof. At about the same time, Dutchy led several of the newsies up the stairs to join them. "Ya know we don't give dat goil enough credit. Ya shoulda hoid 'er yellin' at Spot a few minutes ago."

Completely oblivious to the conversation going on a few stories above their heads, Crutchy and Porter stopped at the door to the girls' room. This time, Porter had less trouble with the keys. She opened the door on yet another angry group of newsies. Dis is gettin' jist a liddle old, God. she thought, when she saw Pounce glaring at her.

"Don't say it, aw right?" she said before anyone could start. "I'se hoid it enough times in da past twenty-four hours, dat I don't need ta lissen again."

"Spitfire?" A girl, unknown to most of the Manahattan girls, stepped from the back of the room to look at her.

"Owl?" Porter was actually surprised. "How long ya been heah? You was in Manhattan jist a few days ago."

"I'se reportin' on da raid an' Snyda' saw me. Jist fer tellin' Spot where ya was? I din't t'ink ya'd go dat far, Spitfire." The brown-haired girl said.

"Spare me from Mid town logic!" Porter said. Owl glared at her. "Look I don't got time ta argue wit ya. Crutchy, explain for me, huh?" she tossed over her shoulder, and pushed through the room to the window where she started work on the bars.

"Hey, any a youse know what's wrong wit Crutchy an' Porter?" Blink asked. Only he, Dave, Jack, Dutchy, and Truth were left on the roof, after getting all the boys out.

"Other than the fact that they're both head over heels for each other?" asked Dave. "Not really."

Jack looked at him in surprise. "How do you know?" Then he realized what he'd just given away. "I mean-"

"I've got eyes, ears and a brain." Dave said. "It wasn't too difficult to see. I take it you already knew?" "Well, not about Porter. Las' I hoid on dat subject - never mind."

"But Crutchy?"

"Like ya said, eyes, ears an' a brain."

"You gots all t'ree, Jack?" exclaimed Truth in mock surprise.

"Shaddup. Are dey comin' up dis way?" He asked Kid Blink who shook his head.

"Spot's goin' down ta meet 'em an' bring some a da goils up, but dey's goin' out t'rough da gate from what I gathered." He returned to the first subject. "Cuz yestidy he made a pretty good speech 'bout why we shouldn't blame 'er, den Race makes some comment - jist bein' Race, ya know - an' he starts cryin'."

Jack frowned. "I tried ta get somet'in outta Porter earlier, but she wouldn't answer me. I t'ink dey had a fight. Dave, ya sure she likes 'im?"

"Sarah's sure."

"I ain't astin' how she knows, but she's prob'ly right. In which case-"

"Dey's both jist really mixed up." Dutchy put in his two cents worth, when Truth started laughing.

"What's the matter with you?" David asked.

"Do youse guys realize we'se sittin' on da roof a da Refuge, discussin' our friends' love-lives, like we was at Tibby's!"

Porter finished the bars on the window and whistled. "Jack!" The rope dropped down again and she pulled it in and handed the end to Clouds who was right behind her. "Aw right, whose goin' up, an' whose comin' wit us?"

Firefly, Clouds, Pen and several of the other girls chose to climb the rope. Most preferred to take the stairs, although Owl opted to stay with Porter. "Wanna keep a eye on me?" Porter said wryly.

Owl shrugged. "Naw, I figure ya got enough - or ain't dose bruises from Cards? Anyways, it woiked once, why not twice?"

"Yeah, I been ta Brooklyn. Youse'll rememba, though, dat da las' time we had t'ings a liddle easier?"

"Uh, huh. Like me not knowin' how ta climb an' you t'rowin' me ovah walls-"

They all froze at a sound from the hall. "I t'ink I wanna heah dis story-" Spot entered. "But right now ain't da time."

Porter looked around the room. "Aw right, ev'ybody goin' upstairs, go now. If yer comin' wit me, I'se leavin' now, too."

Two others besides Owl decided to join Porter and Crutchy. The five of them were the last to leave and Porter locked the door behind them. "Da more time it takes 'im ta realize somet'in's wrong, da betta our chances."

This was also her rational for sneaking into Snyder's office and replacing the keys, despite the others' protests. "I got 'em once, din't I?"

"Ya wasn't draggin' four people aroun' wit ya dat time." Owl pointed out. "Youse da on'y one dat knows yer way aroun' heah."

"As ya pointed out earlier." added Crutchy.

"Fine. See dat?" Porter gestured at a hallway, just off the one they were in. "Dat takes ya ta da door. If I'se caught, youse all go out dat way, an' wait dere till da gates open. Den youse run. Simple as dat."

"Like we'd leave ya heah." Crutchy was upset. He knew how scared she was of Snyder.

Da problem wit lettin' people know ya too well. Dey won't beleive ya when ya's lyin'! "Like youse could get me out. Ya don't owe me, aw right! Dis is my pay back."

'Send me back ta da Refuge, even-' Ya holdin' me to it, huh, God? Porter thought, looking through the window of the office door, and easing it open. I betta warn ya, till I'se actually caught, I'se gonna fight. I ain't jist walkin' up ta Snyda' an' toinin' meself in, howevah amusin' dat might be ta youse. Fortunately, Warden Snyder was not in his office just then. Unfortunately, this meant he could enter at anytime. The keys belonged in the second drawer of the huge desk that filled the center of the room. She'd just replaced them when he walked in and lit a lamp.

I shoulda known ya had it covered, God.

Snyder smiled. "I was wondering when you'd come back for your friends." God . . . Porter couldn't even find words to think, let alone speak. She'd been expecting this, really, but- "You've been missed."

I bet. Dis really ain't fair, God. Snyder still hadn't moved toward her. He was standing across the room, chatting companionably with a very upsetting gleam in his eyes. As someone once pointed out, the game of cat and mouse is only a game to the cat, and Porter was not feeling at all feline.

"I had a wonderful talk with your father the other day. He thought I might know where you were. He misses you even more than I do, you know." Porter just stared at him. "Now, were you taking that key out or putting it back?" She shook her head. Off-handedly he raised his whistle to his lips and blew. "Not to take any chances, you know."

Then he fell over face-forward, leaving both (Sndyer, literally, Porter, only figuratively) stunned. Her legs folded under her and she sat down on the floor. Crutchy was leaning against the door, crutch in hand, looking almost as taken aback as Porter. "I din't t'ink it'd really woik." he said. They both dissolved into hysterics again.

"Hey, Dave?" They were several miles from the Refuge, and more or less safe, and yet another question was on Jack's mind.

"Hmm?"

"What do dey call dat - when ya says somet'in in da paper, an' dey don't tell yer name, jist what ya said?"

"Anonymous?" What this had to do with anything at all was a mystery to Dave, but Jack usually had a reason for questions like that.

"Dat's it!"

Finally, Porter looked up at her friend. "Ya was s'posed ta run." she said.

"So, I ain't a runner." Crutchy retorted, coming over to give her a hand up.

"Naw, ya's jist da most stubborn, proud-"

"Takes one ta know one. 'Sides, ain't dat what friends're for?"

"We still friends?" she asked.

"A coise! Ya can't pay attention ta what comes outta dis mouth a mine - not when I'se jist been knocked ovah da head a few times." He smiled tentatively.

Porter grinned back. "Same heah. We'll blame da Delancey's den."