The brown freckles across her cheeks did well hiding that massive scar he had trouble looking away from. He felt somehow responsible for it even though he hadn't determined where it came from yet.
He had told her to stay away from him for a reason. Many reasons in fact. The closer she was to him the less he'd be able to ensure her safety. That's just the way it had to be. And if he was being completely honest there were other more selfish reasons too. She had gotten under his skin years ago and he'd never quite forgotten it. Didn't exactly make him feel warm and fuzzy having her around reminding him of that.
It didn't help either that she grew up to have the face of an angel. She was never ugly before, but now…well, let's just say the scar made no difference at all.
Every once in a while when he was sure she couldn't see him he'd let his eyes linger. She was hard to miss being that she was the only one with long hair and not in an eight panel. Wavy dirty blonde hair to be exact…and hazel eyes the likes of which he'd never seen on any other girl before.
Ah well, it was for the best that she stay away, he didn't want to go gettin' soft now.
After all he wasn't supposed to have any feelings…
"Heya Spot."
"Hey Race." He surveyed his friend who was staring out at Governor's Island like there was something there that no one else could see but him.
"What are you lookin' at?"
"Not a damn thing." Racetrack took his hat off and finger combed his disheveled hair.
Spot furrowed his brow for a moment, then leaned back against the docks and waited. Whenever Race got like this he was like a sieve just dyin' to tell somebody whatever crazy thought was runnin' through his mind.
"Ya know I was thinkin',' he looked at Spot then back out at the island as he put his hat back on, '…do you think God'll forgive us for what we've done?"
Spot raised one eyebrow and looked at Race, keeping his face expressionless as he said matter of factly, "…No."
Not that far away Marie was standing.
Spot turned away from the pained expression on Race's face and looked ahead of him, catching sight of her immediately. There was color in her cheeks now he noticed and she'd filled out well since being here. Maybe a little too well in his opinion based on that dress she was wearin'. It had only been about two weeks but eating and drinking regularly had made quite a difference.
Then he noticed something that made him decidedly less pleased. There was a kid on her hip, one of the younger ones, only about three years old. They had found him abandoned in the street by the Queens border about a month ago. Now there he was leaning against her shoulder as happy as can be.
Spot kept his gaze on her waiting for her to feel his eyes watching so she'd turn and look at him. Sure enough out of the corner of her eye she could sense him and when she shifted she saw him staring imploringly with a frightening look on his face.
She tensed up as he motioned for her to come over to him. It would be the first time she was face to face with him since that day under the bridge and she braced herself as she approached him.
Reluctantly and without putting the child down she met him where he stood with his back against the docks, Racetrack at his side, looking at her with hardly masked curiosity.
Spot locked eyes with her and only her and spoke in that signature commanding voice, "What do you think you're doin' Marie?"
Her jaw clenched but she stood firm, "…What do you mean Spot?"
The child looked up at Spot now, his eyes wide as he clutched onto Marie even tighter.
Spot narrowed his eyes at the kid and then looked back at Marie, "Eamon,' the child sat up upon hearing his name and Spot turned his attention toward him now, "Eamon who is this?" He pointed to Marie.
Brow furrowed Marie watched as the child said nothing. She knew why he wasn't answering him of course and smirked.
With one eyebrow cocked Spot spoke to the child again, his voice raised now, "Eamon atá sí? Cé hé an cailín seo?"
The kid had only just come over on a boat from Dublin. He understood a little English but refused to speak it, he only spoke Irish.
Finally Eamon answered him, "Máthair."
Anger flashed beneath Spot's eyes and Race took a step away from the two of them.
"What's he callin' you mother for?" He asked calmly but it was too calm and she knew better.
Starting to pace back a bit she stumbled slightly, "I don't know whyprobably because I'm the only girl around here and he's confused, I don't have the heart to tell him different."
He tightened his suspenders, took a step forward and then with more force than he intended pulled the child from her arms and set him on his feet.
"Race take him."
"Come on kid." Racetrack patted Eamon on the back and he scurried after him like a lost puppy.
As he walked with the kid out of sight he looked behind him at the tension laying thick in the air between Spot and this girl he knew nothing about.
Once Racetrack was out of earshot Spot turned his clear blue eyes back towards her. His jaw flexed as he tensed up, not wanting to frighten her but needing to make sure she understood what he was about to say, "This ain't the orphanage Marie…you can't pull that shit here. Do you know why?"
She tried not to show she was intimidated but it was proving difficult, "…No."
He moved closer to her as he spoke, the tone in his voice increasing in severity with every step he took, "He won't survive very long here if you coddle him like that. I'm the one who took him in, do you know what that means?"
Angry now that he was being so condescending she met his eyes with her own, rooted to the ground where she stood, "Stop it."
"It means I'm responsible for him. If something happens to him that's on ME."
Her voice was louder than she intended it to be when she answered him, shaking with hurt and anger, "STOP IT! STOP TALKING TO ME LIKE I'M ONE OF THEM."
Frantically she looked around to make sure no one heard her yell at him. It didn't look like anyone did and for that she was very grateful.
His eyes were wide and his nostrils were starting to flare. He very much regretted in this moment the vow he made a long time ago to never hit a woman. He knew too that he'd never forgive himself if he ever lay a hand on her.
"I'm not one of them…' she wanted to reach out and touch him, bring him back to some sense of the reality they once shared, but thought better of it and only walked closer, hoping no one else would hear, 'They only know Spot…' she searched his eyes, inches from her own, looking for a trace of the person she once knew, "…I know Gabriel."
It was the first time he'd heard his real name uttered in ten years. Which would make sense given that was the last time he saw her and she was the only one who ever called him by his real name.
The sun beat down on them both as he tried very hard to quell his temper long enough to say something back to her. The fear had subsided in her face as she watched his every move, the hitch in his breathing, the way his forearm muscles tensed as he tried to control himself. Such effort for her sake could only mean he still cared for her too…right?
Acutely aware that if they stayed where they were any longer others would start to notice, he started to look around, breaking eye contact with her. Still looking around them he spoke directly to her, "Ya know I took you in too…that means you're my responsibility as much as anyone else here is,' his eyes met hers again, 'more than anyone else here is...'
She felt paralyzed as she felt the weight of his words settle like a rock against her chest.
He looked away from her again, "If that ain't enough for you to understand what I'm tryin' to say…" he looked back at her and narrowed his eyes.
She knew exactly what he was trying to say. That he cared for her. And in their world that wasn't as simple as it was for other people.
"It means I either listen to you, or—
Or you get the fuck out of my borough."
Her jaw clenched at the harshness in his words and he not so subtly scanned her face looking for signs of weakness. The years apart had made him harder, he needed to make sure she was harder too.
Her expression became unreadable and she nodded slightly, the thick scar on her cheek suddenly more noticeable as the light from the sun shone down on them both.
It was not in her nature to obey. But the crack in his armor was beginning to show. And she was much too eager to discover if that crack existed for her and her alone. If it did, perhaps she would make an exception to that pesky nature of hers.
Ж
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I changed the title of this story from "Where Others Fear to Tread" to "Gabriel". Looking forward to continuing to write this story, I swear it's haunted me since junior high that there was never a Newsies Sequel made. Le sigh.