A/N: I recently was forced into watching Newsies by my best friend and fell madly in love with the movie-- not to mention Spot. After days of agonizing and watching and re-watching and hemming and hawing I finally turned out this little one-shot. Erin "Tootsie" McSweeney does have more of a story and I have her past all plotted out but I'm reluctant to make this into a full-length story for the simple fact that I'm utterly incapable of finishing a fanfic. Anyway, read on and let me know what you think. ; )
Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish it, I don't own Newsies or anything to do with them.
The One Emotion You Can't Hide
On the Brooklyn bridge, the wind was always a little stronger, blowing in off the bay. It tousled his dirty blonde hair as he leaned on the wall, his hat in his hand as his rough, ink-stained fingers rubbed the itchy, faded, black material. His pale blue-gray eyes stared sightlessly out over the river and his mouth was drawn into a frown. With his eyebrows pinched together and pulled down, most passersby would have assumed he was plotting someone's death. Only those who really knew him would know this was the face Spot Conlon pulled when he was hurt and trying to hide it. Even then, they would only know this face if they had known him when his brother had died three years ago.
Silently, he pulled a scratched and chipped silver pocket watch out and studied its face for a moment. 10:46. The train would be pulling out of the yards now. His eyebrows pinched closer together and his jaw tightened as he returned his gaze back to the skyline.
His fingers rubbed his hat harder as regret sank in. He should have gone.
Should have seen her off.
Said goodbye.
Talked to her.
Convinced her not to go.
Should have...
"Shoulda, coulda, woulda. That's the name of the game," is what Racetrack always said. Too bad that applied to Spot's current situation.
Unwillingly, he recalled the previous night. It was the last he had spoken to her.
"Oh." Her voice made him turn and look over his shoulder at her. She had climbed up the fire escape and onto the roof where he was smoking a cigarette. This, he knew, was what she did when she had something on her mind. "Sorry, Spot. I didn't realize you were up here."
He ignored her apology and returned to looking at the street below him. "Why ain't you at the party?"
For minute she didn't respond and he glanced over his shoulder again to make sure she was still there. She was. Her cap was missing and her dark red-brown hair hung down to her shoulders. The clothes she wore-- hand-me-downs from her brothers-- were baggy on her short, stocky frame and hid what little curves she had. Spot had to force himself to look away.
Slowly, she crossed the rooftop, the gravel crunching under her too-small boots. She leaned against the wall beside him and shrugged at his question.
Her green eyes glanced at him. "You?"
Imitating her, he lifted one shoulder lazily. They lapsed into companionable silence, listening to the Brooklyn newsies celebrate a victory over Queens in a territory war. The flimsy front door of the lodging house was open and light poured from it onto the street below them. There was raucous laughter and loud talking and dancing and flirting and drinking on the first floor but on the roof they were completely silent.
When he exhaled the gray smoke curled up and disappeared into the night. Spot watched it, then asked, "Glad you found yoah brothah?"
From the corner of his eye he saw her mouth twitch up into a small smile. "Yeah," she said quietly. "The McSweeney clan is back together again." Turning to him she grinned and said, "Now Tommy, Danny, and Riley can get me out trouble instead of you."
He got the joke and smirked, turning his pale eyes to hers. "At least it was always amusin'." Spot had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her just how much he didn't mind helping her get out of trouble all the time.
Silence again. Curiosity was burning him up inside. He wanted to ask so badly. He needed to know.
"Youse goin' back to Boston wid 'em now dat you found Tommy?" He kept his eyes focused on the building across the street but watched her carefully with his peripheral vision. He wanted to catch even the slightest flicker of emotion in her eyes, a twitch of her jaw muscles, anything.
He saw her eyes fall to the ledge they were leaning on. Her shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. Her right index finger rubbed at the rough cement wall.
"I guess," she said after a long moment of hesitation. Spot ignored the sinking feeling in his chest. He moodily flicked his cigarette over the edge "I found Tommy, which was my whole reason for coming to New York to begin with." There was a slight pause. "There's really nothing keeping me here, is there?"
Her eyes lifted to his face and rested there and Spot could sense the hope before he saw it in her eyes or picked it out of her voice. He turned his body to face her and she unknowingly did the same. There was so much emotion in his eyes and for once he didn't try to mask them. His heart was in his throat, hammering madly. There were so many things he wanted to say, he didn't know where to begin. He wanted to tell her he wanted to keep her in Brooklyn with him forever. He wanted to tell her not to leave. He wanted to tell her he always wanted to be the one to get her out of trouble-- the one to protect her.
He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him and how his heart leapt at the mere thought of her and how much he would miss her if she went back home with her brothers. He wanted to tell her how he needed her and actually beg her not to go. Most of all he wanted to tell her just how he felt about her.
When he spoke his voice was a husky whisper. "Erin."
Surprise and something Spot couldn't quite identify flashed through her eyes at the sound of her given name. He knew only her brothers called her that but it felt right when he said it. He took a step closer. They were toe-to-toe. She was looking at him expectantly, hopefully, searching his eyes and waiting for his next words with baited breath.
He faltered. Not being one to express himself, Spot was nearly at a loss for words. "Erin, I--" he tried again. The words were there. They were at the tip of his tongue but Tommy McSweeney's words floated across his mind like a warning bell.
The eldest McSweeney brother had told him not to say anything to Erin. 'This is something she has to decide on her own,' he had said. 'Don't say anything to convince her one way or another.'
Normally Spot would have told him just where he could go and how to get there but he couldn't with Tommy. The McSweeney brothers had played a large roll in Brooklyn's victory over the Queens newsies. As much as he hated to admit it, without the vital information they had provided he probably would have been soaked. Their skills in street fighting hadn't hurt either.
Besides, Tommy was right. She might not do anything she didn't want to-- a lesson Spot had learned the hard way-- but this truly was a life changing decision and one she would have to make on her own.
Closing his mouth, Spot swallowed the words and the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes against the pain he knew would flicker though her eyes. "Take care of yaself." Opening his eyes, he half-heartedly gave her his trademark smirk. Try an' stay outta trouble."
After a split second the initial shock wore off and she faked a smile and even managed to choke out a 'hah!'-- or was she choking back a sob? The disappointment and hurt was clear in her green eyes as she said, "You too, Conlon." Her voice was hoarse and thick with emotion. Turning away she cleared her throat. "I think I hear Tommy callin' me."
Then she was gone. Across the rooftop and down the fire escape before he could even think to stop her. The next day he had watched from the top of the stairs as she said her farewells to his newsies. Her green eyes had turned to his blue ones and Spot had to force himself to turn away before he spilled his guts out to her right there in front of everyone.
Clenching his hat in his fist, Spot remembered vividly the pained look in her eyes as he turned away and walked up the stairs. He hated himself for hurting her. He should have told her. Said something-- anything!
With a great amount of self-hatred he realized he should have told her brother to stuff it and told her everything. God, was he sorry he hadn't.
Pulling the watch from his pocket he checked the time again. 10:58. The train would be well on its way by now. She'd be on it. He'd be sorry for the rest of his life.
Not really wanting to go, Spot pushed himself away from the railing. He placed the worn, black cap back on his head. He adjusted it. He glanced towards the end of the bridge where Manhattan was-- where the train yards were. Then, he turned back and began to head home.
Maybe he'd go a couple of rounds with on of the boys. Or maybe he'd dink himself silly. He didn't really want to do anything. He just wanted to crawl into his bed and never move again. Briefly he wondered if the pain in his chest would ever lessen.
A gust of wind whipped across the bridge and nearly knocked his hat off. He quickly grabbed it and pulled it down, whirling around quickly as he did. He could have sworn he had heard his name. He couldn't have imagined it. He couldn't have! Desperately, his eyes searched the people coming and going across the bridge. She had to be there.
"Spot!" As his name was shouted again, his eyes snapped onto her. She was a hundred yards away, running full-tilt towards him. Her hat was gone-- blown off from the wind or merely forgotten, he didn't know-- and her dark red hair was flying behind her, shining in the sunlight. She elbowed people out of her way and squeezed through them, hurrying to him. Spot remained where he was, rooted to the ground by his shock.
There was a space of five feet between them when she finally stopped. She doubled over, panting, and chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
"Tootsie," he said, after a long moment. "What are ya doin' heah? The train--"
She shook her head, cutting him off. She stood up straighter, he noticed her cheeks were flushed and splotchy and realized she must have run all the way from the train yards. "I couldn't," she said, still trying to catch her breath. "I couldn't leave."
Tentatively, she took a step towards him. "Turns out," her voice sounded uncertain but she pushed on anyway, "there is something keeping me here."
Spot felt his heart soar. The regret he had felt just moments ago flashed through his mind and determined to never feel that way again, he closed the distance between them and kissed her. His hands held her shoulders as his lips swooped down and captured hers. He felt her relax into him and her arms wrapped around his neck as she returned the kiss. Spot slipped a hand down to her lower back and he gently caressed her cheek with his other.
After a long while his lungs burned for air and he reluctantly pulled away. Hugging her tightly, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes. The words he had almost spoken last night came back to him and he pulled back, looking down at her.
"Erin," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I--"
"I know," she interrupted, smiling slightly when his eyebrows raised in surprise. By way of explanation she grinned and said, "That's one emotion you can't hide, Spot Conlon."
He blinked once. Then he returned the grin. "Neither can you." Laughing, she shook her head and pulled him into another kiss. When they broke apart again, he draped his arm over her shoulders and, with a new bounce in his step, the king led her to his castle in Brooklyn.
With the twinkle in his eye and the genuine smile on his lips, most passersby would assume he was completely happy. Only those who really knew him, would know this was the face Spot Conlon pulled when he was completely in love and not afraid to show it.