Chapter Six: An Answer to Every Question
Spot woke up the next morning with the sun from his window basking on his bruised and cut face. The day smelled fresh, just the way he like it and despite the crack on his bottom lip, he smiled. The next thing he noticed was a strong arm linked around his waist and a hard body crushed up against his. Not to mention the warm breath tingling down his back and sent delicious shivers up and down his entire body. His smile only grew at this new information.
Carefully, so as not to disturb anything, he turned around so that he was facing Jack, who was still sleeping peacefully. The expression adorning his face made him look younger then his actual twenty-five years. If Spot looked at Jack close enough, he could almost see the seventeen year old strike leader lurking just below his older, more grown up facial features. Lifting a hand, Spot pushed a strand of runaway hair from Jack's face and trailed his fingers down his lovers jawline. Sweeping them quickly over soft lips before falling uselessly back onto the bed.
Moments later, Jack's coffee colored eyes were wide open and staring directly into Spot's sky blue ones. He blinked rapidly then let a bright genuine smile settle across his mouth.
"Hey," He said softly to the smaller boy laying in front of him.
"Hey. . .you're still 'ere," Spot commented, sounding slightly surprised.
"Well, yeah. There a reason I shouldn't be?"
"Don' know. I'se jist figured dat when I woke up you'd be long gone."
Jack frowned and pulled Spot closer to himself. "I love you, you idiot. Why in the name of the devil would I want to leave you here all alone? Especially after last night."
"Love youse too," Spot said as an answer.
Jack brightened considerably and rolled slowly, reluctantly, out of bed. Spot whimpered only slightly at the loss of warmth. Jack quickly dressed and mused with his hair, taming it, in front of Spot's mirror. Spot furrowed his eyebrows at Jack's action, but said nothing of it. Grabbing his own pants from the floor beside him, he slipped them on and sat up in the bed to wait for Jack.
When he did, he sat in the chair he sat in last night, which was still positioned by the edge of the bed. His expression had changed to a somber one as he looked Spot over his bare chest and face. Sighing, he leaned forward in the chair so he could whisper, despite the fact that they were alone.
"Who did this to you Spot?"
Spot visibly swallowed and let his hands drop to his lap. He didn't answer.
"Last I knew, the whole of Brooklyn loved you, so when you get beaten this badly in your own home, that raises a few questions. Did you even know the guy? Or was he a total stranger to you?"
Spot bit his lip momentarily. "I knew him," He mumbled softly. He twisted his hands some more. Head still bent downward. Carefully, (since their was a bruise on his chin) Jack lifted Spot's face to meet his. The other hand stilled Spot's hands, linking fingers with one of them.
"Who was it?"
Spot let out a breath and squeezed Jack's hand. "It was Rage. . .ya remember 'im don' 'cha?"
Jack nodded. "Course I do. He's the one who really hated me." But the statement made Jack more confused then he already was. Holding Spot's hand a little firmer in his own, he coaxed the Brooklyn man to continue talking.
"Do you have any idea why Rage, of all people, would do this to you?"
Again, Spot nodded to Jack's utter astonishment.
"'E knew I'se was going ta see youse. 'E knows yer back in town, Jack."
Jack shrugged carelessly. "That doesn't tell me why he would beat up on you. He used to idolize you."
"'E was one of dem boys dat saw me cryin da day after youse left. 'E was one of dem dat knew I loved youse. He left da lodging house about a month after 'e found out."
Jack sat there in wonder and open surprise. Rage wanted to harm Spot? The same Rage that had worshipped the very ground Spot had walked on over eight years ago? He mentally shook himself out of his small reflections. What exactly had happened to this place after he had left? Licking his lips, he watched Spot's face as he began to speak once again.
"I won't let him hurt you. . .you know that right? I'll do everything in my power to make damn sure of that."
Spot smiled, almost wistfully, at this comment. "I'se know Jack. But don' go lookin fer trouble. I'd like ta keep youse in one piece."
"Sure thing."
They sat there staring at each other, until all at once, Jack realized where exactly he was. And how long he had been there. His face went slightly pale and his eyes grew in size as he glanced over at the over hanging clock on Spot's desk. Cursing under his breath at the time, he stood up and picked up his cast off jacket. Spot watched him in confusion.
"Jack, what in da hell are ya doing?"
"Leaving."
"Leaving. . .where?"
"You know that little place across the bridge, Manhattan? Well, technically I should've been there last night and god only knows what Race must be thinking. . ."
Spot waved his hand dismissively. "Race knows all about us, youse know dat. 'E won't give a damn."
While Spot had been speaking, Jack had walked over to the door and placed an ear to it. Trying to listen for sounds. Again he cursed softly.
"Okay, nevermind Race. What about your newsies? And Splinter, who still seems to be here. Probably waiting for me. What are you going to tell them?"
Spot stopped and froze. Jack was right, what was he going to tell them. Swallowing hard, he glanced at the door and back at Jack who had an eyebrow raised in question.
"I. . .I'se don' know."
"Exactly. . .look, I've got to go to work anyway. So I have to leave, and I'm sure Splinter will ask me questions. What should I tell him? That I was making sure you were okay? All night long?"
Spot shrugged, he didn't really care what Jack told the Manhattan newsies leader. He was too worried about Burn and the rumors and how this very situation all but solved that the rumors were indeed true. This was going to cause problems – and lots of them. Jack furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the lost look on Spot's face. Sighing lightly to himself, he gently walked over to him and kneeled by the bed.
"Spot, I have to go now. I don't care what you tell them. Honestly. Whatever you feel is best, but. . .if Rage gives you any problems. . .well, don't not tell me okay?"
Spot snapped back into reality and watched Jack's concerned face. He smiled a genuine smile and nodded. "Alright Jack, sure."
"Good boy," Jack answered, ruffling Spot's thick hair affectionately and kissing him lightly on the forehead. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, and then opened the door to leave.
Spot hastily threw on his nearest shirt and limped slowly out to the hall where Jack was now talking quietly with Splinter, while the others all gazed at Jack. Cautiously. Everyone but Burn whose eyes, excuse the pun, were burning into him at an alarming rate.
Jack turned slightly and saw Spot. He saw the limp and shook his head briefly. "Spot, do yourself a favor and stay off that leg huh? Don't go walking anywhere."
"Sure thing, doc," He replied softly, and grinned slowly. Jack returned the smile and then he ushered Splinter outside. Following the teenage newsie closely.
Spot watched them leave and was then acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes looking at him as if he had grown another head. He closed his eyes briefly, before glancing around at the staring, openly astonished newsies.
"What are youse all lookin at?" He demanded in a strong, angry tone of voice. The newsies quickly averted their eyes and scooted away to different parts of the lodging house, getting ready for the day's rounds around the block.
* * *
Jack walked down the familiar beaten path to the equally familiar Brooklyn bridge. Splinter was trudging out in front of him, weary, tired and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He watched the young newsie out of the corner of his eye, wondered if he looked that cocky and ridiculous as a teenager. Reflecting back, he was quite sure he looked exactly that ridiculous. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. He may have looked like that, but he KNEW that Spot had once looked like that. Had that factor that frightened even the toughest of thugs in the Brooklyn. Quite a feat for a, then, fifteen year old boy.
His thoughts drifted over to the bruised man he had left only a few short moments ago. The emotions he felt when he had seen him lying there, the panic. . . he shivered just thinking about it. He never wanted to have to deal with that again. He'd rather die then see Spot get himself killed because he wouldn't listen to advice or went looking for trouble as he was so good at doing. He shook his head, throwing away any of his doubts. Hopefully, Spot had listened to him. Even if it was just this time.
"'Ey, boss, what's da real reason youse stayed in Brooklyn all night?" Splinter's voice fell over his ears, cutting him roughly back to the present and reality. He glanced up and saw that the newsie was watching closely, looking for a genuine answer.
"Honestly? You don't need to know," He answered, keeping up the pace as the early morning chill cut through him without any sign of mercy.
Splinter continued to stare at him. Studying him, looking for something. Searching his eyes for the truth. What Jack wasn't telling him. All at once he smiled faintly. Barely there really, only a slight nudge of the lips moving upward at the corners. But it was there, and it puzzled Jack. The newsie took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in one long stream from his nose. Continued to watch Jack.
The older man raised an eyebrow in silent question of the boy's actions. Letting his confusion show. "What is it? What do you want to say?"
The smirk only grew on the teen's face. "'Ol Burny was right, after all."
This statement only made Jack's confusion swell further, until he felt his eyebrows furrow and his lips turn into a slight frown. "What was Burn right about, exactly?"
Splinter chuckled quietly, took another drag, and looked straight into Jack's eyes as he spoke his next words. "Youse really do love Spotty – boy."
Jack froze. Physically felt his breathing stop, eyes widen, and the color drain from his face. He just stared at Splinter, completely speechless by this new revelation. When he felt his blood began to flow again, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. Took a couple steps closer to the other person.
"And where, may I ask, would you find that out? Or rather, where would Burn get this?"
Splinter kept the smirk and shrugged his shoulders, only annoying the ex- newsie more. "'E told me dat 'e heard ya last night. Somethin about love an' all dat Jazz. Look, if yer worried about Burn tellin someone, 'e ain't. An' I won't neither. We don' care nothin, neither. So, chill, old man."
Jack snorted. "Old man?"
But deep down he was secretly pleased that at least someone besides Race knew about their situation. Someone who wouldn't interfere, would just allow things to happen. And yet, their was still Rage out there somewhere. Angry. And apparently, in the mood to do some serious damage to his former leader. The frown on his face only deepened at that thought.
"Now what's got you in a jumble?" Splinter frowned and resumed their walking through the dangerous territory.
"Just thinking, don't worry about it."
"Thinkin don' do ya no good if yer jist gonna mull over it. Why don'cha tell Splint all 'bout dis little thinkin thing."
Jack raised an eyebrow at his companions eagerness for information and being able to help in any way. "Ain't no thing. Just thinking about. . ." He trailed off and glanced down at the younger boy's dark eyes watching him intently. He licked his lips in thought then reproached the subject from a different angle.
"I don't suppose you've ever heard of a guy that used to go by the name of Rage Donnelley?"
Splinter got a contemplative look on his face. "Rage Donnelley? Don' know. Doesn't sound too familiar. . .why?"
Jack sighed. "That's who got a hold of Spot. Used to be one of his newsies back in the day, one of the most loyal."
Splinter frowned and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Hmm. . . well, can't say dat I'se know 'im, but I'll my eyes peeled, huh? Could tell da others da same. If ya want, I mean." A sheepish grin crossed his face. Displacing the street wise wisdom that accompanied all newsies eyes. Made him look more innocent and younger.
"That would be excellent, thank you."
Splinter actually blushed at this and brought a hand up and scratched the back of his neck in an unassuming gesture. "Ain't nothing, Jack."
"Well, none the less. . .I just want to catch this bastard. He always did hate me. Don't know why, though."
Splinter turned and threw his cigarette off the side of the bridge, just the small action woke Jack out of the semi-trance state he'd been in. For the first time, he realized that they had indeed entered the bridge. He shook his head briefly, trying to clear his head for the time being.
"Maybe I can talk to Burny 'bout it. 'E'll want ta help if it concerns Conlon," The youth managed to say, looking at Jack out of the corner of his eye.
"Thought you and the Brooklyn boy hated each other?"
"Yeah, well, we 'ave a common concern. Besides, after a little talk we 'ad last night, I think maybe we understand each other a bit better." Splinter shrugged and glanced down at the road under his shuffling feet.
Jack raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut as the pair walked on. Once they had reached the other end of the bridge, he turned and looked backward towards the city he had just departed and squinted his dark eyes against the sun's glare and the wicked wind's steady flow of force against him. He searched the shores and docks as if they could give him a clue. An answer. He received neither, and turned only when he heard Splinter cough, not so subtly.
"Youse comin' anytime soon, Old Man?"
Jack smirked at the expression. "Jist watch yer mouth ya punk," His voice slipped back into it's old New York accent for an added affect, and Splinter actually laughed out loud at that.
The two made their way back to the Manhattan lodging house, trying to get last night's horrible thoughts out of the minds. Each person reflecting on their individual encounters and conversations of the night before. Neither spoke for the entire time as they walked slowly.
* * *
A twisted smile came on Rage's face as he watched Jack and the young kid he was with walk away without the least bit of acknowledgement or thought of him in their minds. He kept his almost black eyes on the pair until he could no longer see their backs from where he was standing on the dock. He was brought back to the land of the living when a bitter chill fell through his open jacket and he was forced to move further from the water so as to not get it's cold effects.
His mind drifted slightly to the young, beaten man he had left in Brooklyn the night before and his smile only gained in strength. 'Should've known 'ol Jack would've let his boy die out dere.' He thought to himself, but surprisingly, without a bitterness too it that most would think he held for the handsome former gang leader. But then again, nobody ever really understood exactly where he stood in the situation of Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon. And nobody asked.
Breathing into his freezing hands, he walked along the boardwalk silently, smiling slightly to the women who passed him by. Looking at him, there was nothing special about Mickey "Rage" Donnelley, but if one person had been smart enough to dig a little deeper then the rough and rumble exterior he had built for himself then they would have seen that his nickname was closer to the inside truth about him then any of his former newsie friends could ever have guessed. Nor could they have guessed his inner jealous bouts, and strange hungers and desires, and even if they had known, well, they knew better then to deal with him in a one on one basis.
And now look where all that pent up, excuse the pun, rage had led him? Straight back across the bridge he swore to himself after leaving the newsies that he would never cross again. After all, what reason did have to come to Manhattan anyway? Jack was in New Mexico and he was the only one he cared to see. Well, maybe not cared. . .
And damn Jack and his fool hardy ideas of love and loyalty and everything good. If he only hadn't come back. Then he would've had to confront, almost kill, his former friend and leader. But no, that stupid newsie never really did get any common sense, even after long years in the West. No, he still came back with his same annoying grin, and long fluttery hair and a face so pretty that Rage swore on his mama's grave that he could've fooled anyone given a dress and make-up.
Rage shook his head and quickened his pace, not was not the time to let his thoughts stray to certain. . . matters. Now was a time to focus. To think about the situation he had hatched himself into. To get the rest of this elaborate plan in motion, and get this over with faster. The wheels began turning in his mind once again, and the evil glint in his eyes returned just as the smirk fell back into place on his face.
"Welcome home, Jacky-boy. Welcome home."
* * *
AN: Oh. My. God. I feel like I'm being resurrected or something, I mean, damn! I am alive! For a few moments I was really beginning to wonder about that. Anyways, I totally, completely and all those other similar words, apologize for not getting this chapter out earlier, I mean, my god! * growls at myself * PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!! (If you haven't given up on my already.)
Spot woke up the next morning with the sun from his window basking on his bruised and cut face. The day smelled fresh, just the way he like it and despite the crack on his bottom lip, he smiled. The next thing he noticed was a strong arm linked around his waist and a hard body crushed up against his. Not to mention the warm breath tingling down his back and sent delicious shivers up and down his entire body. His smile only grew at this new information.
Carefully, so as not to disturb anything, he turned around so that he was facing Jack, who was still sleeping peacefully. The expression adorning his face made him look younger then his actual twenty-five years. If Spot looked at Jack close enough, he could almost see the seventeen year old strike leader lurking just below his older, more grown up facial features. Lifting a hand, Spot pushed a strand of runaway hair from Jack's face and trailed his fingers down his lovers jawline. Sweeping them quickly over soft lips before falling uselessly back onto the bed.
Moments later, Jack's coffee colored eyes were wide open and staring directly into Spot's sky blue ones. He blinked rapidly then let a bright genuine smile settle across his mouth.
"Hey," He said softly to the smaller boy laying in front of him.
"Hey. . .you're still 'ere," Spot commented, sounding slightly surprised.
"Well, yeah. There a reason I shouldn't be?"
"Don' know. I'se jist figured dat when I woke up you'd be long gone."
Jack frowned and pulled Spot closer to himself. "I love you, you idiot. Why in the name of the devil would I want to leave you here all alone? Especially after last night."
"Love youse too," Spot said as an answer.
Jack brightened considerably and rolled slowly, reluctantly, out of bed. Spot whimpered only slightly at the loss of warmth. Jack quickly dressed and mused with his hair, taming it, in front of Spot's mirror. Spot furrowed his eyebrows at Jack's action, but said nothing of it. Grabbing his own pants from the floor beside him, he slipped them on and sat up in the bed to wait for Jack.
When he did, he sat in the chair he sat in last night, which was still positioned by the edge of the bed. His expression had changed to a somber one as he looked Spot over his bare chest and face. Sighing, he leaned forward in the chair so he could whisper, despite the fact that they were alone.
"Who did this to you Spot?"
Spot visibly swallowed and let his hands drop to his lap. He didn't answer.
"Last I knew, the whole of Brooklyn loved you, so when you get beaten this badly in your own home, that raises a few questions. Did you even know the guy? Or was he a total stranger to you?"
Spot bit his lip momentarily. "I knew him," He mumbled softly. He twisted his hands some more. Head still bent downward. Carefully, (since their was a bruise on his chin) Jack lifted Spot's face to meet his. The other hand stilled Spot's hands, linking fingers with one of them.
"Who was it?"
Spot let out a breath and squeezed Jack's hand. "It was Rage. . .ya remember 'im don' 'cha?"
Jack nodded. "Course I do. He's the one who really hated me." But the statement made Jack more confused then he already was. Holding Spot's hand a little firmer in his own, he coaxed the Brooklyn man to continue talking.
"Do you have any idea why Rage, of all people, would do this to you?"
Again, Spot nodded to Jack's utter astonishment.
"'E knew I'se was going ta see youse. 'E knows yer back in town, Jack."
Jack shrugged carelessly. "That doesn't tell me why he would beat up on you. He used to idolize you."
"'E was one of dem boys dat saw me cryin da day after youse left. 'E was one of dem dat knew I loved youse. He left da lodging house about a month after 'e found out."
Jack sat there in wonder and open surprise. Rage wanted to harm Spot? The same Rage that had worshipped the very ground Spot had walked on over eight years ago? He mentally shook himself out of his small reflections. What exactly had happened to this place after he had left? Licking his lips, he watched Spot's face as he began to speak once again.
"I won't let him hurt you. . .you know that right? I'll do everything in my power to make damn sure of that."
Spot smiled, almost wistfully, at this comment. "I'se know Jack. But don' go lookin fer trouble. I'd like ta keep youse in one piece."
"Sure thing."
They sat there staring at each other, until all at once, Jack realized where exactly he was. And how long he had been there. His face went slightly pale and his eyes grew in size as he glanced over at the over hanging clock on Spot's desk. Cursing under his breath at the time, he stood up and picked up his cast off jacket. Spot watched him in confusion.
"Jack, what in da hell are ya doing?"
"Leaving."
"Leaving. . .where?"
"You know that little place across the bridge, Manhattan? Well, technically I should've been there last night and god only knows what Race must be thinking. . ."
Spot waved his hand dismissively. "Race knows all about us, youse know dat. 'E won't give a damn."
While Spot had been speaking, Jack had walked over to the door and placed an ear to it. Trying to listen for sounds. Again he cursed softly.
"Okay, nevermind Race. What about your newsies? And Splinter, who still seems to be here. Probably waiting for me. What are you going to tell them?"
Spot stopped and froze. Jack was right, what was he going to tell them. Swallowing hard, he glanced at the door and back at Jack who had an eyebrow raised in question.
"I. . .I'se don' know."
"Exactly. . .look, I've got to go to work anyway. So I have to leave, and I'm sure Splinter will ask me questions. What should I tell him? That I was making sure you were okay? All night long?"
Spot shrugged, he didn't really care what Jack told the Manhattan newsies leader. He was too worried about Burn and the rumors and how this very situation all but solved that the rumors were indeed true. This was going to cause problems – and lots of them. Jack furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the lost look on Spot's face. Sighing lightly to himself, he gently walked over to him and kneeled by the bed.
"Spot, I have to go now. I don't care what you tell them. Honestly. Whatever you feel is best, but. . .if Rage gives you any problems. . .well, don't not tell me okay?"
Spot snapped back into reality and watched Jack's concerned face. He smiled a genuine smile and nodded. "Alright Jack, sure."
"Good boy," Jack answered, ruffling Spot's thick hair affectionately and kissing him lightly on the forehead. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, and then opened the door to leave.
Spot hastily threw on his nearest shirt and limped slowly out to the hall where Jack was now talking quietly with Splinter, while the others all gazed at Jack. Cautiously. Everyone but Burn whose eyes, excuse the pun, were burning into him at an alarming rate.
Jack turned slightly and saw Spot. He saw the limp and shook his head briefly. "Spot, do yourself a favor and stay off that leg huh? Don't go walking anywhere."
"Sure thing, doc," He replied softly, and grinned slowly. Jack returned the smile and then he ushered Splinter outside. Following the teenage newsie closely.
Spot watched them leave and was then acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes looking at him as if he had grown another head. He closed his eyes briefly, before glancing around at the staring, openly astonished newsies.
"What are youse all lookin at?" He demanded in a strong, angry tone of voice. The newsies quickly averted their eyes and scooted away to different parts of the lodging house, getting ready for the day's rounds around the block.
* * *
Jack walked down the familiar beaten path to the equally familiar Brooklyn bridge. Splinter was trudging out in front of him, weary, tired and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He watched the young newsie out of the corner of his eye, wondered if he looked that cocky and ridiculous as a teenager. Reflecting back, he was quite sure he looked exactly that ridiculous. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. He may have looked like that, but he KNEW that Spot had once looked like that. Had that factor that frightened even the toughest of thugs in the Brooklyn. Quite a feat for a, then, fifteen year old boy.
His thoughts drifted over to the bruised man he had left only a few short moments ago. The emotions he felt when he had seen him lying there, the panic. . . he shivered just thinking about it. He never wanted to have to deal with that again. He'd rather die then see Spot get himself killed because he wouldn't listen to advice or went looking for trouble as he was so good at doing. He shook his head, throwing away any of his doubts. Hopefully, Spot had listened to him. Even if it was just this time.
"'Ey, boss, what's da real reason youse stayed in Brooklyn all night?" Splinter's voice fell over his ears, cutting him roughly back to the present and reality. He glanced up and saw that the newsie was watching closely, looking for a genuine answer.
"Honestly? You don't need to know," He answered, keeping up the pace as the early morning chill cut through him without any sign of mercy.
Splinter continued to stare at him. Studying him, looking for something. Searching his eyes for the truth. What Jack wasn't telling him. All at once he smiled faintly. Barely there really, only a slight nudge of the lips moving upward at the corners. But it was there, and it puzzled Jack. The newsie took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out in one long stream from his nose. Continued to watch Jack.
The older man raised an eyebrow in silent question of the boy's actions. Letting his confusion show. "What is it? What do you want to say?"
The smirk only grew on the teen's face. "'Ol Burny was right, after all."
This statement only made Jack's confusion swell further, until he felt his eyebrows furrow and his lips turn into a slight frown. "What was Burn right about, exactly?"
Splinter chuckled quietly, took another drag, and looked straight into Jack's eyes as he spoke his next words. "Youse really do love Spotty – boy."
Jack froze. Physically felt his breathing stop, eyes widen, and the color drain from his face. He just stared at Splinter, completely speechless by this new revelation. When he felt his blood began to flow again, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. Took a couple steps closer to the other person.
"And where, may I ask, would you find that out? Or rather, where would Burn get this?"
Splinter kept the smirk and shrugged his shoulders, only annoying the ex- newsie more. "'E told me dat 'e heard ya last night. Somethin about love an' all dat Jazz. Look, if yer worried about Burn tellin someone, 'e ain't. An' I won't neither. We don' care nothin, neither. So, chill, old man."
Jack snorted. "Old man?"
But deep down he was secretly pleased that at least someone besides Race knew about their situation. Someone who wouldn't interfere, would just allow things to happen. And yet, their was still Rage out there somewhere. Angry. And apparently, in the mood to do some serious damage to his former leader. The frown on his face only deepened at that thought.
"Now what's got you in a jumble?" Splinter frowned and resumed their walking through the dangerous territory.
"Just thinking, don't worry about it."
"Thinkin don' do ya no good if yer jist gonna mull over it. Why don'cha tell Splint all 'bout dis little thinkin thing."
Jack raised an eyebrow at his companions eagerness for information and being able to help in any way. "Ain't no thing. Just thinking about. . ." He trailed off and glanced down at the younger boy's dark eyes watching him intently. He licked his lips in thought then reproached the subject from a different angle.
"I don't suppose you've ever heard of a guy that used to go by the name of Rage Donnelley?"
Splinter got a contemplative look on his face. "Rage Donnelley? Don' know. Doesn't sound too familiar. . .why?"
Jack sighed. "That's who got a hold of Spot. Used to be one of his newsies back in the day, one of the most loyal."
Splinter frowned and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Hmm. . . well, can't say dat I'se know 'im, but I'll my eyes peeled, huh? Could tell da others da same. If ya want, I mean." A sheepish grin crossed his face. Displacing the street wise wisdom that accompanied all newsies eyes. Made him look more innocent and younger.
"That would be excellent, thank you."
Splinter actually blushed at this and brought a hand up and scratched the back of his neck in an unassuming gesture. "Ain't nothing, Jack."
"Well, none the less. . .I just want to catch this bastard. He always did hate me. Don't know why, though."
Splinter turned and threw his cigarette off the side of the bridge, just the small action woke Jack out of the semi-trance state he'd been in. For the first time, he realized that they had indeed entered the bridge. He shook his head briefly, trying to clear his head for the time being.
"Maybe I can talk to Burny 'bout it. 'E'll want ta help if it concerns Conlon," The youth managed to say, looking at Jack out of the corner of his eye.
"Thought you and the Brooklyn boy hated each other?"
"Yeah, well, we 'ave a common concern. Besides, after a little talk we 'ad last night, I think maybe we understand each other a bit better." Splinter shrugged and glanced down at the road under his shuffling feet.
Jack raised an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut as the pair walked on. Once they had reached the other end of the bridge, he turned and looked backward towards the city he had just departed and squinted his dark eyes against the sun's glare and the wicked wind's steady flow of force against him. He searched the shores and docks as if they could give him a clue. An answer. He received neither, and turned only when he heard Splinter cough, not so subtly.
"Youse comin' anytime soon, Old Man?"
Jack smirked at the expression. "Jist watch yer mouth ya punk," His voice slipped back into it's old New York accent for an added affect, and Splinter actually laughed out loud at that.
The two made their way back to the Manhattan lodging house, trying to get last night's horrible thoughts out of the minds. Each person reflecting on their individual encounters and conversations of the night before. Neither spoke for the entire time as they walked slowly.
* * *
A twisted smile came on Rage's face as he watched Jack and the young kid he was with walk away without the least bit of acknowledgement or thought of him in their minds. He kept his almost black eyes on the pair until he could no longer see their backs from where he was standing on the dock. He was brought back to the land of the living when a bitter chill fell through his open jacket and he was forced to move further from the water so as to not get it's cold effects.
His mind drifted slightly to the young, beaten man he had left in Brooklyn the night before and his smile only gained in strength. 'Should've known 'ol Jack would've let his boy die out dere.' He thought to himself, but surprisingly, without a bitterness too it that most would think he held for the handsome former gang leader. But then again, nobody ever really understood exactly where he stood in the situation of Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon. And nobody asked.
Breathing into his freezing hands, he walked along the boardwalk silently, smiling slightly to the women who passed him by. Looking at him, there was nothing special about Mickey "Rage" Donnelley, but if one person had been smart enough to dig a little deeper then the rough and rumble exterior he had built for himself then they would have seen that his nickname was closer to the inside truth about him then any of his former newsie friends could ever have guessed. Nor could they have guessed his inner jealous bouts, and strange hungers and desires, and even if they had known, well, they knew better then to deal with him in a one on one basis.
And now look where all that pent up, excuse the pun, rage had led him? Straight back across the bridge he swore to himself after leaving the newsies that he would never cross again. After all, what reason did have to come to Manhattan anyway? Jack was in New Mexico and he was the only one he cared to see. Well, maybe not cared. . .
And damn Jack and his fool hardy ideas of love and loyalty and everything good. If he only hadn't come back. Then he would've had to confront, almost kill, his former friend and leader. But no, that stupid newsie never really did get any common sense, even after long years in the West. No, he still came back with his same annoying grin, and long fluttery hair and a face so pretty that Rage swore on his mama's grave that he could've fooled anyone given a dress and make-up.
Rage shook his head and quickened his pace, not was not the time to let his thoughts stray to certain. . . matters. Now was a time to focus. To think about the situation he had hatched himself into. To get the rest of this elaborate plan in motion, and get this over with faster. The wheels began turning in his mind once again, and the evil glint in his eyes returned just as the smirk fell back into place on his face.
"Welcome home, Jacky-boy. Welcome home."
* * *
AN: Oh. My. God. I feel like I'm being resurrected or something, I mean, damn! I am alive! For a few moments I was really beginning to wonder about that. Anyways, I totally, completely and all those other similar words, apologize for not getting this chapter out earlier, I mean, my god! * growls at myself * PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!! (If you haven't given up on my already.)