A/N: After about a year of having barely no time to write anything, I finally sat myself down and typed up little drabbles here and there to summarize my own Newsies fanfic. (Yes, I'm a bit rusty in my stories!) College classes are quite taxing on a young writer however, so as much as I would love to write endlessly, I can't. I will continue to work on this little story in the free time I have though, I have high hopes for it. :) Let me know what you think, and if you thought it was decent. I'm really tired after typing for hours to finish this tonight, so forgive any little errors. Thanks! R&R! ;)
A shrouded figure made its way through the fog, stumbling every few steps in the cobblestone covered alleyway. The hour was late, and there were faint noises of a nearby horse and carriage passing on the nearest cross-street, and a few drunken voices chuckling filtered out of local pubs. The outline of the character grew clearer as they neared the end of the alley, closer to a covered doorway that could serve as shelter for the remainder of the night. It looked as if the business owner didn't use the back door very often, considering the amount of fabric scraps piled in the corner in a small wooden crate. Either that, or they forgot about this small stash of valuables. Well, what was one man's trash was another man's treasure, wasn't it?
The frame of the vagabond was revealed to be small and slight, but lithe and well-muscled, despite tell-tale feminine features underneath the oversized ragged shirt and baggy ripped pants. As she leaned against the crate with an almost cat-like grace, she quickly looked about her to check her surroundings for unwanted company. Looming out around the corner, her dark blonde hair fell out from under her cabby hat, framing a pair of brilliant green eyes, with imperfect flecks of blue and brown, adding to her mysterious air. Neither seeing or hearing traces of a threat, she tried her best to hop over the low railing of the stairs and into the small corner, but winced in pain and scuffed her knees on the railing, falling with a clatter into the darkness. Biting her lip she gently examined her leg, which was badly bruised to match the entire left side of her body which was also covered in scrapes and bruises. Finding no further damage, she gathered a few choice pieces of fabric scraps, bundling them about her wounds, and selected the largest scraps to place under her head as a cushion on the small box. Finally, curling up with a loud sniff and closing her eyes, the girl pulled the small pouch that she carried over her shoulder and into her lap, cradling the contents gently as if they were the only source of life left in the world.
"Michael!" A young child cried out into the dreary Queens atmosphere at daybreak. "Michael! Where are you! Come back!" The tiny girl ran up and down the alleyways of the apartment buildings, falling over her own feet every few strides in her distraught condition. Long ringlets of dirty blonde streaked with red scattered around her tear-stained face as her prized possession, a dark blue cabby hat, fell off her head and into the dirty street behind her; all else forgotten in the desperate search for her missing brother. The poor girl wandered the streets for hours, continuing her frantic pleas which grew quieter and quieter, until they were just half-whispered sobs. She finally came to a stop when her feet could no longer carry her forward, falling upon the steps of an unknown doorway, too tired and too young to care where she had traveled.
The ten-year-old's tear-stained eyes fluttered open, revealing brilliant green orbs that were dappled with splashes of blue and brown. Turning her head over her shoulder, she realized the reason for waking was a gentle hand on her shoulder, and was met with a pair of stormy grey-blue eyes. "Mm...Mmm...Michael?" She questioned, still half asleep. The brooding eyes were laced with caution and concern, and they gently moved side to side in a negative response, slick dark blonde hair falling in their way. "No, me name's Patrick, 'lass. Who are ya, and what are ya doing in me doorway?"
The twelve-year-old boy stood partially up, and glanced about him to ensure no passerby were there to bother him and his new problem. He was clothed in usual ragged attire, but had a commanding air about him, despite his small stature and young age. He leaned back over the young girl draped across the steps leading to his home, and offered her his hand. She blinked a few times, as if clearing her young mind of unwanted thoughts, and decided to trust the boy that introduced himself as Patrick, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Clearing her throught, as if unaccustomed to using her voice, she managed to stammer out a few words; "I'm Alexis Corsetti, 'fell asleep lookin for me bruddah this mornin". She paused, and looked about her, the realization of the past day rushing back to her as tears threatened to spill over her long eyelashes. Seeing this, the boy leaned over her and pulled her into a slightly awkward hug, feeling sorry for the pretty little girl that turned up on his doorstep, completely disheveled. Alexis froze as he did this, then gave into the sorrow and loss she had been carrying the past two days, collapsing into the strange boy's arms, her body shaking with the strength of her sobs.
"There there now girlie, whatsa mattah with ya? What happened?" Patrick responded, surprising himself with the gentleness with which he comforted the girl who was only slightly younger than himself. Alexis simply hugged the boy tighter around his neck, as if he was the embodiement of her brother, supposedly the afore mentioned Michael. Patrick tensed, then allowed the girl to embrace him as her long curls smelled somewhat sweet, reminding him of the fields of Ireland. Wait...Ireland? She had an Italian name! He gently shook the thoughts from his head, as Irish-Italians weren't too uncommon in Brooklyn. He felt her take a shuddering breath, and knew the small creature in his arms had gone through a difficult time to bring her to this state. Her voice faltered at first,
"Well...yesterday night, me, me bruddah and muddah was attacked by three crazy men...and during the fighting she was hit by a runaway horse-cart...She was trying to protect me and me brother, Michael..." She took another shaking breath, and attempted to steady herself and her shaky speech and patchy accents, as Patrick kept a tight grip on her, giving her strength to continue. "Michael ran to find Papi, and I stayed with Mama, crying. The men that attacked us ran away though...Michael came running back, following Papi who was screaming at Mama...I nevah heard 'im so scared." Alexis paused, reliving the moment in her mind, only to be jarred back to reality by Patrick, who carefully pushed himself back from her to look into her eyes. "...I'se sorry 'lass. What happened next?" She swallowed, and forced herself to re-tell her horrific memory. "Papi brought Mama home, Michael an me followed him, cryin. She didn't make it through the night...Then in da mornin, Michael was gone...and it was just me an Papi." She shook, beginning to sob again, as Patrick blinked and pulled her into another sympathetic embrace. "...And so youse ran off searchin for your bruddah dis mornin aye? And ya turned up here on my doorstep?" He finished for her, as she nodded into his neck. Letting out a sigh, the young boy sat there with the girl for a short while deciding what to do next, as she cried out her sorrow into the chest of her temporary savior.
After Alexis' sobs had softened, Patrick shifted and made to stand up again, clearing his throat softly. "Well Alexis...I'se real sorry to hear what happened to ya...I know what its like to lose a parent." His sharp eyes focused on something far away from Brooklyn for a brief moment, before coming back to the alleyway he was standing in. "Anyway...I'm sure your pop is worried sick about ya, and you best be gettin home..." Her shimmering gaze locked onto his own troubled one, and she nodded softly in understanding. "Yeah...But where am I?" The boy shook his head sadly, sandy hair falling about his face as he did so. "You really did run all ovah didn't ya? Youse in Brookyln. A good ways from Queens, but I'm not surprised with how tired ya are."
Alexis' eyes widened in disbelief as he said this, her face filled with fright. "Brooklyn? I ran all the way to Brooklyn? Oh no...How will I ever get home to Papi?" Patrick gave her a small smirk as she said this, his eyes sparkling. "Now, I may be only twelve years old 'lass, but I know my way about these parts pretty well. You tell me what ya place looks like and I'll be your escort home, hows that?" The small girl allowed a half smile to pass across her face, but it didn't quite reach into her eyes. "I guess that would be great...Thanks Patrick." He smiled at her as he gently pulled her to her feet for the second time that day, "Suah thing 'lass. Now lets getcha home." And so the two young children began their long trek back to Queens, the boy half carrying the girl most of the way.
"Patrick!" She jolted awake, glittering eyes wide open, hitting her head on the wooden crate she had been leaning against in her sleep. "Damn..." She muttered, rubbing the side of her head as the uncomfortable memories that her dream contained haunted her thoughts. It was like she was reliving a similar event from six years ago, only this time, there was no brooding boy to help her on her feet and comfort her. She hadn't seen the strange boy, Patrick since that one day six years ago, when her brother had run away on the night of their mother's death. But now, it wasn't the home of a familiar Irish boy, but that of a run down seamstress time though, it was her father's death that had driven her to this same corner. God rest his soul. At least her parents were together again. Heaving herself up with the help of the railing on the stairs, she hissed and cringed as her entire left side shot with pain. Picking up her faded blue cabby hat, she stuffed her long curls into it as she pulled it onto her head. She re-tied the once-brightly colored green and white scarf around her neck, its still-bright red and orange thread frayed at the edges. Collecting herself, she heaved a sigh, adjusted her small pouch of valuables, and hobbled on down the alleyway and out into the misty Brooklyn morning.