It's been a while.

How is everyone? Sorry for not updating very quickly. I wuv you all.

Enjoy this chappie.

And I don't own Newsies. I do own every character in this story, though. Mwahaha.

--

Everyone got better in a week or two. Except, of course, Blink. 'Cause this story wouldn't really be exciting without any super sucky thing like that happening. Yeah, my life is stranger than fiction...

...but you knew that already, didn't you?

Anyway, I'll stop following rabbits and get back to the story. I was playing nurse, y'know, doing all those stupid things those prairie chicks in calico dresses do in those made-for-TV Hallmark movies? Wiping his brow with a damp cloth, feeding him broth, leaning over him worriedly. The only difference was that I swore a lot more than they did.

"Shit, Blink. Why the hell did you have to go and get sick?"I was slouched over in the chair next to his bed, spoon feeding him very weak tea. He glared at me as another spoonful neared his mouth. It took all my self-control not to just dump the contents of rest of the enamel mug on his face. "Whatever. Drink your goddamn tea, you freakin' invalid."

"You're just angry because everyone thinks it's you're fault I'm still sick," he muttered before drinking his tea. "Dammit, Wolfie, just give me the freakin' mug. I can drink goddamn tea by myself."

I couldn't help but grin. "You've been hanging around with me too long," I said as I handed him the cup. He gave my a questioning look over the brim of the cup. "You just said 'freakin'. You never say that. And it's not my fault you're still sick. The only damn medicine around here is the quack stuff. It's filled with formaldehyde. I refuse to let anybody take it - you wouldn't want take fucking formaldehyde, would you?"

He gave me that ha-ha-Wolfie-I-am-about-to-tease-and-or-insult-you smirk before he replied. "You have the worst sailor mouth ever."

I snorted. "What are you going to do, wash it out with soap?"

He shook his head and took another sip of tea. In a normal tone he said, "When did you last eat?"

What the hell? "I dunno. When did you start caring?"

"About the time your skirt started falling down unless you tied your apron tight enough to hold it up. Are you hungry now? Or are you sick?"

I rolled my eyes. "No and no. Drink your tea, creeper. You're the sicky, not me."

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

Resting the tips of my toes on the edge of his mattress, I leaned back in my chair, tottering it on two legs. "Sure I'm sure. It's not like losing a couple pounds will kill me."

He had been facing foward, but now he looked directly at me. "You haven't lived through a winter yet, have you?"

"I'm fifteen! I've been through plenty of-"

"No, Wolfie," he interrupted me. "A winter on the streets. You have an accent, sure, but are you really from the streets? You don't need to answer; I know already." I shut my mouth. "You'll miss that weight by winter. Though maybe you're right," he said, taking another look at me. "You're cheekbones look more... pronounced."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "Uh-huh," I nodded. I felt color rise to my cheeks. "That's... nice?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes it was," he said. He turned so he faced forward again and took a drink of tea. "At least, that's how I intended it." It was rather coldly stated.

I moved my feet from his mattress and rested them on the floor. "Blink, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Go home and eat some dinner. Sell a few papes, make some sarcastic remarks. Get some sleep, too. Obviously 'hanging out' with an invalid like me is wearing down your nerves." He didn't even look at me.

I awkwardly stood up from my chair and brushed out my skirt. "Well, then, goodbye. Do you need anything before I go? Should I send in Mary or someone else?"

"No," he said, not looking at me again. I took off my apron and noticed the waistband of my skirt was a little loose. I turned and walked to the door, stopping at the coat rack to hang the rather limp cotton apron on a peg.

"Have fun, my favorite little pessimist," he called after me. I turned sharply and looked at him, but he was already back to his tea. I left, slowly, and bought dinner, sold some papers and slept. Or tried to, at least. It was weird how he had suddenly just gotten so... so PMS-y. Bipolar, much? I was finding it sort of creepy, almost how he noticed I'd gotten thinner. It was just odd. Mary, of course, went all giggly on me.

I told her as we stood in front of the bathroom mirrors in our nightgowns, brushing our hair.

"He likes yoooou!" she sniggered.

I rolled my eyes. "And the sky is purple and filled with flying pigs."

"Really?" a young voice called. This one little girl - can't remember her name - was standing in the doorway. She ran to the window before I could tell her it was just an expression. She saw the truth and turned to glare at me. "Liar!" She huffily went to the mirror furthest from me and angrily began brushing her teeth.

Mary and I looked at each other and began laughing under our breath.

--

I rushed over to the sick bay. I was standing in the doorway, pulling on my apron. I turned, using my faithful hair elastic to pull my hair into a ponytail. It broke, leaving my crazy, limp hair in my face. "Dammit!" I muttered.

I head a chortle from Blink's direction. "Language, Wolfie," he teased, sitting up.

"But my hair is in my face!" I protested. "Know anywhere I can get string or something to tie it back?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you where. You look less severe with your hair down. Prettier." I glared at him. "Fine, then. I'll tell you later."

"Whatever," I muttered. "How are you doing?" I asked, approaching the bed.

He was still sitting up, resting on the headboard cushioned with a pillow. "Tired, but better. You?"

"Fine," I said as I felt his forehead with the back of my right hand. "I think your fever broke... just like my hair tie," I sighed mournfully.

He quirked that left eyebrow of his. "Are you sad that my fever or your hair tie broke?"

"Both," I said jokingly. Then I realized I hadn't yet removed my hand from his forehead. I drew it away quickly. "Sorry."

He smiled at me. "I didn't mind at all. Sit down." I looked around for a chair and saw one two yards away. I went to fetch it, but he patted the edge of his bed.

I raised my eyebrows, hesitant.

He rolled his eyes and gave me a look that said No worries, Wolfie, I won't try anything.

And, oddly enough, I think I replied with another look that said I know. I trust you. So I sat.

"How are you?" I asked somewhat stiffly after an awkward pause.

He smiled. "You asked me that already."

I blushed. "Oh."

His smile turned into a grin. "Are you blushing or feverish?"

I blushed a little more and shrugged. "I dunno."

He reached across the space between us and gently, cautiously rested my the back of his hand on my forehead. His eyes were... curious, almost. Carefully he moved his hand to my right cheek (I didn't mean it that way! The face one, you dolt!) and turned his hand so that it was his palm resting on my cheek. He left it there for a moment and I relaxed a little. I felt my face heat even more. When he dropped his hand it wasn't awkward or strange. Just... natural.

After that the conversation came much more easily. "Do you still want to know where you could get some string for your hair?" he asked. He lifted his hand and for a second I thought he was going to do something strange like stroke my hair. Luckily he just ran his fingers through his own hair. Good thing. I had forgotten to wash my hair this morning.

I hesitated. "My hair looks okay- I mean, alright like this?"

"More than just alright. Not that it looked bad pulled back," he said quickly. "You still look pretty with your hair back, it's just..." he paused, searching for words. "It suits you like this."

I took a deep breath. "Then no."

He looked at me, surprised. Then he smiled a smile (and please excuse this total puppy-love induced cliche) that lit up the entire room. I blushed, but only a little. He smiled a little wider. "Blushing suits you too." I slugged him in the arm. The next day he showed me the bruise it left and laughed, admitting that it did actually hurt.

We continued our chat, and somehow we ended up with less than a foot between us... and I wasn't nervous at all... except when it happened. The sun was going down and we were bathed in a golden glow. Right in the middle of talking about our favorite kind of pie, he gently let his palm rest on the top of my hand.

"Is that alright with you?" he asked suddenly. "Our hands - or, my hand, really - I mean."

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, it's fine." I turned my hand over and curled my fingers around his.

He smiled at me.

And I smiled back.

--

Enjoy the fluff while it lasts, you sops.