Race

The day starts off normal enough, with the ring of the morning bell signaling the newsies that it is time to wake and gather at the distribution gates to pick up the morning papes. Race slides his legs around so that his feet hang off the edge of his bunk and starts tugging on his worn boots before tying off the laces tight enough that the slightly too-large boots won't slip off his feet.

With that finished, he taps his feet together and slides off his top bunk to the floor with a solid thunk, enjoying the sensation of flying in the couple of seconds he hangs mid-air and feeling a smile spread across his face at the simple pleasure.

"Hey!" Race hears Jack exclaim from behind him. Race turns to find the older newsie, his first and best friend in the boarding house, still seated, yawning and rubbing at his tired eyes, on the bunk beneath his. "You's gonna scare me to death one of these days Racetrack. A little warning next time maybe?"

Race playfully sticks his tongue out at Jack as he tugs on his suspenders. "Make me," he jests. He and Jack have nearly the exact same conversation every morning so it's no surprise when Jack responds by smacking Race across his side with his grey newsie cap. Race doesn't bother dodging the blow.

It is a routine that Race is slowly acclimating to and learning to enjoy. Life as a newsie left little time for fun or room for smiles, but he was finding time and room for both. He especially enjoys when he manages to make any of the other newsies smile, especially Jack. Jack is tough and generally resistant to anything fun, but Race is slowly worming his way through his friend's cracks. Yesterday, he got him to smile; well, not frown, three whole times. He is immensely proud of the fact.

"You keep doing it and one day I might just try," Jack moans out as he tugs on his boots. Race notes the small smirk on his friend's face and is pretty sure that means he's joking. It is always hard to tell with Jack. At least he hopes his friend in joking because Jack is certainly the more competent fighter of the two of them.

Race sticks his tongue out again and is about to continue with more banter when Pickles comes up to the pair, frowning, and commands, "Come on you two, there's no time for this. We need to be going or we'll be late."

"Aw, come on Pickles, we's old enough to get ourselves there on time," Jack whines as he finishes lacing up his boots.

Race could almost laugh at the look of disdain on Pickles' face when he holds up one finger and replies, "You's nine", another finger shoots up, "he's seven," a third finger joins the array, "and the last time I left you alone you got yourself disappeared for three months. So that's a no."

Race watches Jack freeze for a moment before giving Pickles one of his signature glares as he finally rises from his bunk, pulling on his suspenders as he does so, and grabs his cap and waistcoat before stalking past Race and towards the door. Pickles gives Race a bored glare that he squirms under as he sneaks past the Manhattan leader and out the door of the boarding house that Jack had just exited through moments earlier. He hopes Jack hasn't run off too far yet. He's the only newsie that will go with him to sell at the racetrack and if he can't catch up with him, he'll be stuck trying to find a vacant selling spot in Manhattan for the day.

He may have been a newsie for nearly a year now, but the thought of selling alone still terrifies him. One of his mama's two rules had been 'never go somewhere you don't know all alone', the only other one being 'if you don't understand something, make sure you ask so you can understand in the future'. He definitely knew the way to the racetrack well enough by now and even had some regular buyers once he was there, but something about being all alone still scares him. He sometimes finds himself worrying that if he goes out alone, Jack and the other newsies won't be around when he gets back to the boarding house.

That's how it'd been with his mama and papa. He'd been sent over to a friend's house to play and then they'd been gone when he'd gotten back for supper. All the furniture and their belongings were still there, but the house itself was ghostly. He'd sat outside on the porch for, well, he doesn't even know how long, before someone had eventually noticed his failure to move across that period of time and had taken him. Lucky for him, that person had been Jack and he'd brought him back to the newsie boarding house and he'd been there ever since. The next time he'd walked by his old house, a new family had been sitting on the front porch enjoying their evening meal.

Race physically shakes the memories from his head as he runs to catch up to Jack, who is silently stalking along next to Specs. Upon looking at his friend's face, Race frowns to see a mixture of anger and almost pain evident from the red flush in Jack's cheeks and the furrowed set of his brow. His eyes are glazed though, as if at risk of shedding tears. It contrasts the fists clenched at his sides.

Race yearns to hug his friend, the desire strong enough that he can feel himself drifting in Jack's direction and he has to correct himself, but he knows better. He doesn't know why Jack gets like this when Pickles (and on one occasion, Specs) mentions that three-month disappearance, but it's what happens. He hadn't known better the first time Jack had gotten like this, but he'd run right up to him, hugged him, and asked him what was wrong, just like his mama had taught him how to do when he could see someone was hurting. Jack had harshly pushed him away and disappeared for the rest of the evening only to show up the next morning at the distribution gate with a soft apology, dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night, and his sleeves pulled down to his wrists even in the too-hot weather.

He settles with silently walking at his friend's side the rest of the way to the distribution gate, then trailing behind him as they line up to get their stacks of papes. When Jack aimlessly and silently starts making his way out of the distribution gates, Race very consciously walks at his side so that Jack has the chance to recognize he's there. That's how most of the morning goes: walking through the streets of Manhattan side by side in near silence, selling papes to the people who come up to them.

Race thinks they are heading towards the racetrack, maybe. If they are heading that direction, Jack is taking the most backwards side street filled route possible and has gotten Race thoroughly lost. He takes extra care to stay at Jack's side.

When they get to an empty street, Race hears Jack speak for the first time since this morning at the boarding house. "Sorry Race. You's didn't do nothing and I shouldn't be ignoring ya." Jack has his hands firmly stuffed in his pockets as he stares down at his feet that he's scuffing along the ground. "I don't know why Pickles…It shouldn't bother…It really wasn't…" He starts several sentences and finishes none of them. "Just it ain't you Race. You's good."

Race is stunned in to silence by Jack's confession, as unnecessary as it is. He takes it as permission that touch is finally okay and steps in front of Jack, who doesn't see him because he's still staring at his feet as if they're the most interesting things in the world, and envelops him in a hug. He feels Jack initially tense at the contact, but smiles when Jack relaxes and returns the hug for a few moments. He eventually pulls away and ruffles Race's hair through the newsie cap he'd won from Blue in a card game just last week.

"You's good too Jack," Race smiles as they continue walking down the empty street. Jack turns and gives him a confused look, but otherwise remains silent. "And…and…" It's Race's turn to look down at his feet and feign interest in them, "and if yous ever wants to talk…. I'll be here. Maybe it'll help." Worried he's just inadvertently asked Jack to talk before he want to, he tacks on, "When you wants. If you ever wants to. You don't have to." He feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder and has to double check that it is indeed Jack's. Jack very rarely initiated contacted with him, or anyone really, so far as he's noticed.

"Thanks Race. Not now, but I'll keep it in mind." Jack somberly says before returning his hand to his pocket.

Race gets the impression that Jack has no plans of ever talking with him about those three months, but now Jack knows he can talk to him, so he leaves it be. He's content just being happy that Jack didn't push him away this time.

They eventually make it to the racetracks and they both quickly empty their bags of papes before spending some time watching the horses warm-up and guessing which one will win the event this weekend. Race loves this, thrives on it even, even if Jack's guesses are awful. The one horse he picks to win is clearly limping.

When it appears that the last horse had finished with its runs for the day, the pair sit in silence on the stone wall outside the tracks for a bit. Of course, the track itself is not silent, with the jockeys and owners and businessmen still going about their days, but it is near silence enough. Race thinks the stables must not be too far away from the track, as he can hear some of its occupants neighing from way out where he is sitting.

"Yous ever dream about what it'd be like to ride one of them race horses? It would be like flying with how fast theys go," Race asks.

Jack huffs. "In a ways I guess." Race waits for his friend to explain. "It don't matter how fast the horse would go, I'd point it out of this city and ride it West as far as it could take me."

"Why West? What's out there?" Race inquisitively asks.

"Mainly cause it's not here. No big buildings and tiny streets or…" Jack trails off, looking a bit lost before finishing with, "There's big wide open spaces and friendly peoples. That's all that matters."

Race shrugs, "I guess. Still think it would be cooler to go fast though."

"Running on my own two feet's plenty fast for me," Jack counters.

Race laughs, "You can't even run that fast!"

"Says who?" Jack sounds as if he is mocking offense.

"Says me," Race challenges with a baring grin.

Jack pointedly looks up at the sky before grabbing Race's hat with, "We'll see about that!" He leaps down from the wall and starts running off down one of the side streets. "Catch me if you can!" He calls back to the still sitting Race.

Race smiles and leaps down from where he's been sitting on the brick wall to chase after Jack. It only takes him a couple seconds to catch up to him, but Jack remains just a couple yards ahead for several minutes, laughing as he keeps the lead. Race grins even wider when he sees the genuine smile on Jack's face when he looks back every couple blocks to make sure Race is keeping up. A real smile.

Suddenly, Race follows Jack around a corner and slams right in to his back. "What…?" He questions as he blinks the spots out of his vision and rubs at his nose. Jack jumps to the side and pulls him behind a dumpster. Race looks to his friend for an explanation and is sad to see the smile and laughter is gone from Jack's face. "Why…?" He begins to ask again before Jack shushes him.

He watches as Jack carefully leans around the edge of the dumpster to observe something down the alleyway. Race copies the movement, ducking in to the space just under Jack's head. He's not quite sure what he's seeing. Well, no, he knows what he's seeing but not why Jack's making them hide. Down at the end of the alleyway are two police officers fighting with what must be one of the Brooklyn newsies, considering they were well in to their territory now. The newsie can't be much older than them but is a bit taller than Jack and him. His youth shows in the thinness of his limbs, probably obtained by a recent growth spurt. It was obvious that despite his efforts, he was losing this fight.

When the newsie is downed and each of the police officers grab hold of one of his arms, Race hears Jack whisper out some profanities under his breath before pulling back from the edge of the dumpster.

"Jack, why…?" He begins to ask again, but to his annoyance, Jack cuts him off again.

Jack forces him to look at him and Race can see his eyes wide with fear? Maybe adrenaline? He's not sure. Jack puts his hands on Race's shoulders. "Race. I'm gonna do something stupid." Race opens his mouth to object but Jack just continues speaking, "You stay here and when both the guards are gone you go and check on the kid okay?" Jack quickly peeks back around the dumpster before returning his gaze to Race.

When he apparently doesn't respond quick enough, Jack shakes him a little. "Okay, but-"

"If he's good to move, get him to take you back towards the Brooklyn boarding house-he should know the way. If not-" Jack is interrupted by a yelp from down the alley. Jack curses again and pushes Race in to the corner created by the wall and the dumpster. "Stay here until it's clear."

Race numbly watches as Jack jumps up and runs off back down the alleyway, leaving Race confused, conflicted, and alone. He strains his ears to try and hear anything from the direction Jack disappeared down. He hears what sounds like a punch, a yelp of pain, and an older man, presumably one of the police officers yelling 'Jack Kelly!' before three sets of feet run pounding out of the alleyway.

Race sits there in the new silence, feeling his blood race through him with each resounding heartbeat. When he is sure that everything's clear, just like Jack said, he dares to peek around the corner of the dumpster to see what remains of the situation. Down at the end of the alleyway lies the Brooklyn newsie, now alone.