Title: Dead Center
Author: RedK_addict
Rating: K
Genre: Drama/Friendship
Summary: Spot and Blink have a conversation about aim, friendship, betrayal, and Race.
Author's Note: I know I should be writing chapter twelve of Carryin' the Banner, but I'm stuck for some reason. Technically this story actually falls between chapters six and seven (The Deal and First Night) of that story, but I think it stands pretty well on its own too. I just wanted to do something with my little universe here, so this was the result. I hope you like it. If not, it makes no difference to me. This was just out of boredom and my need to write.
The knife was small and slender, only about the length of his palm. Spot stood completely still, his thumb gliding gently along the flat of the blade, his icy gaze locked on his target. Several moments passed in which he appeared not even to breathe, he was so still. Then, with a movement barely perceptible, he flicked his wrist forward, releasing the blade toward its destination. It landed with a satisfying THUNK near the center of the wooden target.
He turned with a smirk to his audience of one and reached down to the tray of weapons for another knife. Kid Blink just shook his head. "You didn't hit center."
Spot scowled. "How would you know? You can't even see it!"
With a sigh of irritation, Blink rubbed at the bandages covering his eyes. "The wood at the center makes a different sound. I oughta know, the number of times I sat here and listened to Jack hit it."
"Why do you sit down here, anyway?"
"There's always somebody down here to keep me company. Besides, it's more entertaining than listening to Race complain."
Spot nodded his agreement and focused once more on the target, carefully feeling the weight of the knife in his hand. Again, he flicked his wrist, and again the knife buried itself into the rough wood just a hair off its mark. He cursed silently and turned to find Blink chuckling quietly. "Shut up," he hissed.
"I didn't say a word."
"You didn't have to." He picked up a third knife, thoughtfully turning it over in his hands. "So what's he been complainin' about lately?"
"You mostly. Loudly, too. Says you're a right arrogant prick about this whole partnering business." Blink cleared his throat uncomfortably as Spot continued to turn the knife between his fingers in thoughtful silence. "There's somethin' else, Spot."
"I know," Spot replied with a nod. "Idiot never did know when he'd made a bad decision."
"I swear it sounded like he couldn't breathe when he got home last night. I mean, I know his breathing ain't right since last winter and all, but I think it was more than that."
With a sigh, the Brooklyn boy tossed the knife back down on the table and shook his head. "He's still copin' with the change, Blink. We can't be pushin' him too hard just yet."
Blink just frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "He didn't have this much of a problem when Jack scabbed," he commented drily. "Why's it any different now? What's his issue?"
"He did have this much of a problem. He just… didn't show it as much. He had other places to go, other ways of dealin' with it. He knew the town. He knew the people. That's why this is different."
There was a pause as the boys were each occupied with their own thoughts. Finally, Blink's voice broke the silence. "He gonna be okay, Spot?"
"If he's got any sense in him, he will."
With a sigh, Blink shook his head. "He's doomed then." Spot gave a small chuckle as he picked up the knife once more and lobbed it absently at the target.
This time, it hit dead center.