I've been saying since I got back from New York that I was going to write a Newsies story, and here's the first chapter! Ta-da!
Standard disclaimers apply. I own only my computer, and even that is conditional.
"Jack?"
Katherine P-Plumber struggles to keep the shock out of her voice. She certainly didn't expect to see the newsboy sprawled on the end of her bed when she returned to her small flat at the end of the day. Truth be told, she isn't sure she expected to see him ever again. She didn't know if the temptation of Santa Fe, glittering on the horizon of his boyish dreams, would prove too much for him to resist.
More than that, she wasn't sure he'd be willing to return after all that had happened between them. The lies that had been told. The truths that had been withheld or avoided.
She stares at his face as he blinks up at her, and it washes over her suddenly how very much she missed him. The silence after the strike was unbearable, the little signs that things were better – the larger stacks of papers the boys could now sell back, the bigger meals they could now be seen devouring hungrily after work – not quite enough to ease the emptiness in her heart. Of course, there is plenty to miss – her job now that she is blacklisted, the easy relationship she had with the boys, her father and his trust in her she fears she will never gain back (if she even wants to).
But staring at Jack, bruised and tired as he appears to be, she knows it was him she missed most of all.
"Hullo, Ace," he says casually, pushing himself into a sitting position and offering no explanation for his presence. Never mind that; she doesn't need one – she knows how he got in. She hasn't locked her window, which looks out on a rickety fire escape, since the strike ended. Since he disappeared.
"It's been three days."
He says nothing, just stares at her with that maddening, almost impertinent stare.
"Three days, Jack. Not even the boys have heard from you." Her voice is softer now that she is no longer afraid to let emotion enter it.
Finally, he speaks. "Yeah. I know." His tone is not apologetic, but it's lacking his usual confidence, too. Stepping further into the room and switching on another lamp, Katherine can see that he looks pale and drawn, like he's had even less food and sleep than usual.
"We didn't now where you were. We thought–"
"Thought what? Huh?"
He looks injured, glaring at her defensively. She's not sure how that could have possibly upset him, but then, he always did run on a peculiar moral code. Perhaps the thought of his boys doubting him is too much to bear, after everything they've been through.
"I thought that – that you left. For Santa Fe. Or just – somewhere I wasn't."
He smirks at the raw anxiety in her voice. Cocky idiot – of course he'd take her continued attachment to him as evidence of his own irresistible charm. "You think you're enough to get me to leave my boys, Ace?"
"No– no," she stammers, in a much softer voice. "Of course I didn't mean–"
He rolls off the bed and grabs her shoulders, effectively silencing her. "You think I would leave you?" he asks, his voice soft and husky. She shivers.
"I don't–" Her hands begin to move almost on their own accord, skimming over his sides.
"Nah," he says, spinning away from her and coming to rest against her dresser, leaning on the edge with a confidence she isn't sure is real. "I just had some business to take care of."
She raises an eyebrow, more confident now that the shock has worn off. "Oh? And what kind of business is that?"
Jack shakes his head, his expression darkening. "It's nothing, Ace. Nothing I couldn't handle." She studies him, and he looks vaguely uncomfortable. He tugs aside the collar of his shirt to rub his neck, revealing skin underneath, and Katherine gasps.
More bruises mottle the pale skin beneath the fabric, peppered across his throat and collarbone. Jack tugs the cloth back into place sharply, eyes already darting for an escape route. Her heart breaks for him, the way he guards his feelings and refuses to let anyone help him. Then her sympathy disappears rather abruptly as she places her body between him and the window and is then thrust aside rather rudely and violently.
"Don't you dare." Her voice rings out through the small room. Jack pauses, one leg already out onto the fire escape. She scowls at him. "Get your ass back here, Jack Kelly."
His eyes are wide with reluctance and more than a little fear. She wonders if it's her or the thought of discovering the extent of his injuries that terrifies him so.
She places a hand on his arm, coaxing him back in and shutting the window firmly behind him. He moves across the room from her, glowering.
"Stop being such a girl, Ace," he mutters. "Oversensitive, overbearing–"
"Over-intelligent and overpowering?" she asks sweetly, but with an edge. Then her expression softens. She crosses to him. "Who was it?"
"Who do you think?" His voice is heavy with sarcasm. "The charming Delancey brothers. Probably paid by your daddy." He sighs. "It's easy to take them one at a time in the middle of Newsie Square, in broad daylight surrounded by a bunch of guys. Both of them in an alley alone after dark?" Chuckling weakly, he leans against the wall, for support, she thinks. "Barely got away."
Halfway through carefully unbuttoning the buttons on his blue shirt, she looks up at him. "You think my father had something to do with this?" she gasps. She's not sure which wounds her more; the fact that Jack suggested it, or the fact that it very well may be true.
He just shrugs, though. "Maybe. I'm sure there's plenty of rich, powerful guys who ain't too happy with me right now. The Delancey brothers'll beat up anyone so long as the pay's good." He laughs darkly. "Though they'd probably agree to go after me for nothing."
"They've been following you this whole time?" she asks, returning to the buttons. Her fingers are trembling now; she's not quite sure why. "For three entire days?"
"I've seen 'em around.' Jack is carefully looking anywhere but her. Right now he's studying a family portrait that had ben taken several years back, when she still lived at home and her mother was still alive. "Didn't want to lead them to the boys. Or you."
"They know where the boys live," she points out. "And me, probably."
He shakes his head violently. "Couldn't give 'em a reason to pick a fight with you, too."
She's reached the last button, but lets the fabric hang closed. "They've gone now? They're satisfied?"
He frowns, shaking his head slower. "I don't know. I just got hungry." Sure enough, his stomach makes a rather angry sound.
Unable to put it off any longer, she pulls the shirt from his shoulders. It drops to the floor, forgotten, as she takes in his injuries. The skin of his chest and stomach is covered with livid bruises, more of it dark blue and purple than his normal flesh tone. There are definitely vague outlines of fingers imprinted around his neck, and she thinks she can make out a boot print or two further down. Some of the bruises are faded, though, and she can tell most are at least a day old.
"You should have come here right away," she admonishes gently.
"And if you wanted me to take my shirt off, you should have just asked," he retorts suggestively, his breath hitching as her fingers pass over his ribs.
"Shut up," she says distractedly, her frown deepening. "I'm no expert–" he snorts "–but I think you may have broken a few."
"Well, the Delanceys might have done that," Jack mutters. "You know. I didn't exactly break my own ribs."
"Are you delusional?" Katherine asks, mildly concerned.
"Just hungry, I think. I may have mentioned that."
She sighs. Some things never change. Her arms are around him gently now, and her fingers brush raised cuts on his back, but they've already begun to heal and there isn't much she can do.
"Come on," she says, dropping her arms from his sides and taking his hand instead. He follows slowly.
"Hold up," he says suddenly. "Can I put my shirt back on?"
She smiles a little. God, she loves him. "It's got blood on it. I'll find you a new one."
"But, Ace. I've got blood on me," he counters. "The new shirt'll get bloody, too."
Now she's beginning to laugh outright, and after a minute, he cracks a smile too.
"Tell you what," she says. "How about if you wash the blood off, and I'll find you clean clothes and food?"
Jack nods seriously, though his eyes are still bright. "I think that sounds acceptable," he agrees. As she pushes him into the bathroom and pulls the door shut, still giggling like a little girl, she can't help but breathe a sigh of relief that he's safe and with her once more.
Wow, Jack gets a little beat up in this, doesn't he? Sorry about that. I love him, I promise! Newsies was the first (and only) show I've ever seen on Broadway, and I'm super attached to the characters and the story and basically everything! And Corey Cott. Wow.
Anyway, since they're closing the show they're basically killing him anyway, so what does it matter?
Sorry. I've been emotionally unstable since I heard the news. I thought I might get to go at least one more time, but ... nope. :(
Anyway, reviews are confidence boosters! Hint hint! ;) Even if I made mistakes, I want to know. And I did write this at three in the morning, so it's not gonna be perfect ... Sorry! :)
Much love,
KnightNight7203