Title: Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

Chapter: 1 (Good Things Never Come To Those Who Wait Too Long)

Rating: PG

Synopsis: As David watches Teddy Roosevelt's carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can't help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt, even when he had the perfect opportunity to the night before, when they were alone after the printing of the "Newsies Banner".

Category: Jack/David slash

POV: David

Feedback: Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.

Disclaimer: About the only thing I own in this fic is the piece of twine.

Notes: This is only my second Newsies fic, and it's still a bit rough. I'm more proud of it than my last fic, though, so hopefully people will like it. I only have this chapter written so far, but I promise to continue it soon. The ending is a little abrupt, but this was originally supposed to be a ficlet, not a chaptered story, and the way I cut if off is a little odd. Any feedback on how to fix that would be greatly appreciated. Also, most of my stories tend to be longwinded and full of exposition, and therefore this fic, with its short paragraphs/sentences and heavy use of dialogue, is a bit of an experiment, style-wise, for me, and I'm still not sure if it works or not. So, any feedback on that aspect of the story would be appreciated as well. Otherwise, just enjoy the fic.

Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen

He left. He really left. Oh, God. He's gone. I can't believe it. How could he do that? Leave. Leave us. Leave me.

Not that I gave him any reason to stay. Why should he have stayed, after last night? After what I said, how I acted?

Why did I act like that? How could I have missed my opportunity? Seize the day, right? Ha. I'm too much of a coward even to follow my own advice. And because of that, I'm standing here now, watching the billowing dust trail of the carriage that's carrying the man I love to the other side of the country.

Sarah is crying. So is Les. They're holding on to me, clutching onto my clothes, sobbing into my shoulder. I want to shake them off and run, run away, run after that carriage, run all the way to Santa Fe, if I need to.

But it's too late to fix my mistakes. I have to be the strong one, the stoic one, the one who's there to comfort my family.

Because I'm not the only one whose heart is breaking. For Les, Jack was a hero, an idol to worship- a real live cowboy. For his hero to just desert him… well, it has to be tearing him up inside. And as for Sarah… As much as I hate to admit it, I know she loved him, too, possibly just as much as I did. And, unlike me, she never even got the chance to tell him that.

I got my chance. I could have told him everything, last night. And what did I say? Absolutely nothing.

We were in the basement of the distribution center. All the papes were finally printed, and Denton had just left, mumbling something about going back to his apartment to arrange a few things and promising to meet us by the World building later in the morning. Les was already out delivering copies of our proud little flier to the sweatshop kids, and Sarah had gone with him. Jack and I were the only ones left in the room, and we sat, exhausted, on the dusty floor, leaning against the welcome coolness of the stone walls and surveying our handiwork.

Picking up a stray copy of the Newsies Banner and holding it up to the dim morning light, Jack grinned.

"Well, Dave, if nuttin' else, we put out a damn good pape."

I smiled in return, running a hand through my tangled hair and closing my eyes briefly as fatigue from the sleepless night began to set in.

"Yeah, we did."

Jack didn't say anything after that, and I assumed that, like me, he was simply too tired to continue the conversation. However, when I glanced his way, I found him, not lying peacefully against the wall, but awkwardly biting his lip and fiddling with the frayed ends of a random piece of twine.

"What's wrong?" I asked, automatically placing a hand on his arm in concern.

Tossing away the twine, Jack looked up into my face, apprehension in his eyes. In return, I raised one eyebrow slightly, widening my eyes in an expression that clearly said, "You know you can tell me anything."

Jack shook his head and looked at the floor. I waited patiently, knowing he would speak when he was ready. Finally, biting his lip, he began, hesitantly, "It's just… I nevah really apologized, ya know? For becomin' a scab an' all. Betrayin' youse."

Against my will, I felt my fingers curl into a fist. Not this. Anything but this.

Since the time Jack had come barreling in to save me from the Delanceys, I'd tried to forget his betrayal, his momentary crossover into enemy territory. He'd come back, and that's all that had mattered. I hadn't wanted to remember how viciously shocking it was to see him in that fine grey suit, spitting harsh insults into my barely composed face. I hadn't wanted to remember the crushed expressions of the other boys when they realized that their leader, their hero, had really abandoned them.

And, most of all, I hadn't wanted to remember the way I had felt: betrayed, yes, and angry, but also hurt, so deeply that it chilled me to even think about it. My heart had felt broken, like I'd just lost the love of my life.

But Jack was just a friend- it wasn't- I didn't- I couldn't- have any other emotion for him.

So I'd locked it away, everything. Jack was back; there was no point in dwelling on the past. But now the subject had returned, and all the anger, hurt, and heartbrokenness I'd felt was slowly seeping back.

"No, Jack; it's ok, really. You don't have to apologize," I stammered, a little desperate. Maybe if he stopped talking about it right now, I could lock all the emotions away again, pretend they weren't there, had never been there to begin with.

"No, Dave, I have to. I gotta explain… I mean, ya gotta know…" he trailed off, his eyes begging me to listen.

I sighed and, despite the rushing torrent of emotion already building up inside of me, nodded. How could I argue? He deserved the chance to explain, whether I could handle it or not.

But as the anger rose, I couldn't fight the urge to make a bitter comment before letting him speak. "Fine," I spat, "Go ahead, tell me your reasons. But really, why do you need them? I'd say you made them all pretty clear the other day. You can't afford to be a kid anymore, right? Being a newsie never gave you anything but a few black eyes. You needed the money. I heard you."

Jack shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples for a few seconds before responding. "That's not why I did it. You gotta know that, Dave. I wouldn't be heah tonight if I really meant everythin' I said that day."

Spotting Jack's discarded scrap of twine, I stared intently at it, trying to make out the subtle twist in its strands. Anything to avoid looking into those eyes.

"Then why'd you say it?" My voice cracked slightly as I spoke, my anger deflated.

"Well, ta tell ya the honest truth, I did it for you."