Following You

Watch your hands move along my face

They trace all the lines I've lived.

It isn't hard to love your scars 'cause

That's everywhere you've been.

-Be My Only by FM Radio

Naomi curled up against Spot's side while taking care not to spill her mug of tea or his. Silently she reveled in his warmth as he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and murmured his thanks. She felt incredibly content as they cuddled there on the couch, Bea and her mother having retired to bed not too long ago. November had passed by in a blur of happiness after their reconciliation and she laid her head on his shoulder as she watched the snow that was common of December to fall softly outside the window.

Mortimer was snoozing peacefully in a birdcage Spot had found in an alley behind an upper class house in Brooklyn Heights. The only change she had insisted on was to remove the door so that Morty could come and go, although he seemed to like the cage very much.

Spot ran his hand through her hair lightly, "Sometimes, I can't believe I'm here." He told her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean?" She asked, taking a sip of her tea. It was still a little hot so she rested it on her knee and glanced up at his face.

He shrugged slightly and turned to meet her gaze with those blue eyes that had at one time looked at her with bitterness, anger, and betrayal. Except now they were glowing with warmth and love, "I don't know how ta explain it." He said softly and she was struck by just how much he'd changed. Or perhaps he hadn't changed but had hidden this side of himself as a sort of defense mechanism to weed out the people who didn't care. Either way, she was grateful he'd chosen her to share this side with.

"Hmm, try?" Without thinking, she fingered the key around her neck. He hadn't told her it was his when he'd left her that second time but she had unwittingly kept it in a small drawer in the kitchen. It had stayed there for many months, a reminder much like the scar on her cheek that she had been attacked by an enemy of his. But it wasn't until one evening after they had reunited that he had been rummaging through the drawers looking for a wooden spoon to stir the soup that he had found it.

He'd looked at her, his eyes an unfathomable blue, "You kept this?"He had held it up, the twine still threaded through the top but broken into two strands.

She glanced at it and shrugged, "I didn't know what it went to."

"My house." Was his reply before he stepped closer to her and tied it around her neck. There were now three knots in the twine from the three different owners but he had seemed pleased that she hadn't taken it off since then.

Spot took his arm from around her to run through his light brown hair and subsequently returning her to the present as he told her frustratedly, "Naomi, you know I'm no good at this." He paused and met her eyes once more, the sudden desire lighting as fast as kerosene, "Can I kiss ya?"

"Do you even need to ask anymore?" She returned and before she could take another breath he pressed his lips against hers. Circling her arms around his neck, she melted against him as he gently coaxed her mouth open so he could slip his tongue in. He may not have been good at talking about his feelings, but he was a damn good kisser. She eagerly kissed him back, her head going light as she let these wonderful feelings fill her to the tips of her fingers and toes.

This went on for quite a few minutes before he pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against hers, "I can't believe Ise here, with you. That I have a family, that I trust ya all and that I'm happy." It was said in a rush, as if he only had the feelings in word form for a few seconds before he could no longer say it aloud.

He opened his eyes after uttering those words, the sincerity plain on his face. Spot was no longer the bitter man he'd been when she'd found him and she found he was capable of an amazing amount of love that still baffled her occasionally given his past that she had only ever guessed at. "Tell me about your family?" She asked now, a slight hesitation audible in her voice, "About your mother and why she left you?"

Stiffening slightly at the unexpected question, he glanced away but not before she could see the internal scars that still haunted him. As happy as he was now, he couldn't get over the abandonment of his mother. "Why?" He asked, his voice low, "You, Bea and ya mothah are my family now. What else is there ta say?"

She closed her eyes as he ran a finger along her cheek; he often liked to trace the scar there. Naomi had often seen his eyes run across it, his eyebrows puckering as he stared at the mark as if he blamed himself for it. It rarely bothered her anymore but when she looked at it she didn't see Lighter, or the fact that it had been her own miscalculations that had brought him to her home. No, what she saw was that moment when Spot had looked at her and had told her he was going back to be leader and that he didn't want anybody to care about. Sometimes it still ached when she watched him leave though she knew now that he'd come back.

In return, she reached out and traced her finger across his silvery scar just above his left eyebrow. The only mark left on his face of the betrayal of last April when five of his boys had cornered him in an alley bent on his death so they could gain the elusive title of King of Brooklyn. "Say…that it doesn't bother you anymore. Or say that it does. Say you remember it and you want to share it with me."

"I don't want your pity." He didn't snap it like he would have six months ago, but it wasn't said softly.

She raised her hands defensively, "No pity from me, buster."

Her joking seemed to deflate him a bit, but he sent her a cursory glance, "Don't think I'm going ta just cry on ya shouldah. I'll lay ya out the facts." He waited for her nod before he continued, "I was born in da Bronx, and my parents' house was in Riverdale.

"My fathah, Richard Conlon, died before I was born. He and my mothah were married about five years before she got pregnant and about two years in he began to beat her 'cause she hadn't conceived him an heir." He raised an eyebrow at her gasp, "They married each othah for money, not love, sweetheart. Anyway, he tripped down some stairs before I was born and snapped his neck on the way down. When I was born, I was everything he had wanted and she hated me foah that. It didn't help I had his blue eyes." His lips pressed together at the thought of sharing even eye color a man he'd never known, "She cast me down to the servants, told othah's I had been a stillborn and had a fake funeral. Not too long after that she remarried his best friend, Harry Turner, and got pregnant.

"From my first day of life I was raised by the kind maids and cook in the kitchen of the home I should have been safe in. She didn't even name me. I was called Spot by the cook because of a birthmark on my back that's a perfect circle. When I was four, my mother got pregnant with her second child and when I turned five, she ordered the maids to leave me on the streets."

Naomi sat quietly, listening through the whole story and increasingly getting angrier by the minute. How dare that bitch just abandon her child like that! Yes, she understood hating the baby's father for abusing her, but the child was also part of her and that would have mattered to her. Honestly, Naomi was surprised Spot had turned out decent at all given the two whose genetic make-up he shared. "How'd you find this all out?" She asked, meeting his gaze to assure him she didn't pity him. He'd resent her pity anyway.

"The one maid wrote it all in a letter and tucked it in my pocket. I couldn't read then, but after I was taken in at the Brooklyn LH, I learned and went back one day to read it so I understood everything." He wrapped his arm around her once again, "I'm tired so can we drop it, now?"

Moving closer, she wrapped her own arms around his middle and rested her head on his chest. "Yes, though if I meet this woman on the streets I might take a swing at her."

He chuckled, "I'd like ta see ya punch somebody." It was quiet for a moment and then he sighed, "It's gettin' late, love. I'll be ovah tomorrow after my session with Ruckus."

He moved to stand but she tightened her arms around him and groaned, "You're just using that as an excuse to miss church with us, aren't you?" Saturday nights were the only nights he stayed late and more often than not the only time alone they seemed to get. A few Sundays he'd come over first thing in the morning and subsequently went to church with them. Spot Conlon and church hadn't mixed, though so he'd taken to using his Sunday mornings to mentor Ruckus before making his way over in the afternoon to spend the rest of the day with the Snow's.

Spot gave her that smirk that neither confirmed nor denied what she said so she just laughed and told him, "Why don't you bring Ruckus over after his training and he can stay for dinner?"

"I think we can make a lil' time for food." He told her, his face serious though she could see the laughter behind his eyes.

Rolling her eyes, she let him get up before following him to the door, "I'm sure you can." She teased right as he pulled her into his arms for a goodnight kiss before heading back out into the snow in the direction of Brooklyn.

A/N: A little short, but I wanted to show Naomi's feelings and otherwise get the ball rolling for future chapters. I know I said I was going to wait to write this but Naomi and Spot would not leave me alone and truthfully, their story did not seem entirely over (as you will see teehee). Drop me a review and tell me what you think so far?

Truly,

Joker is Poker with a J~

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