Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.
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The Pigeon
He thought it was all about his sister, but he was wrong.
When an uprising in Brooklyn begins, and his new friendship is tinged with betrayal,
David realizes that there has always been more at stake.
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She didn't start running until she reached the front stoop.
Up until then she'd been quite certain that her façade hadn't crumbled, that no one had managed to penetrate her defenses and discover the truth she kept hidden away. With a phony smile, overshadowing the beating heart that threatened to jump out of her chest at any moment, she approached the mouth of the alley with a confident air.
The confidence lasted just as long as it took her to grab two fistfuls of her long, patched skirt, lift the hem up so she didn't trip, and hop up from the flagstones that lined Bottle Alley to the short step in front of the thin, wooden door.
Having just enough time to glance at one thing before her instincts took over and her legs started pumping, her dark blue eyes were drawn to a point far above her head. The familiar hand-painted sign was a welcome sight, and she spared a small sigh of relief to see that it was still a bright spot in an otherwise terrible area. The pink had faded some, the white touched with a hint of grey, but that was all right. Besides, it had been quite awhile since her feet had brought her this way.
Those feet were certainly earning their keep now.
She knew the boys couldn't see her, as separated by the crowd as they were, but her hurried flight was partly inspired by a pair of naïve yet innocent blue eyes she could feel watching her every move. Praying he hadn't been foolish enough to try and follow her, she subconsciously made the decision to run. It was her first response to any situation; she was only partly surprised that she'd kept her feet planted on the road for as long as she had.
Unable to stop her thoughts from lingering on him for a moment longer, she felt her smile waver until the corners of her mouth had turned down into a solid frown. Like every time she thought of him and how much she was lying—how much there was she wasn't telling him—she felt that strange twinge in her stomach. Guilt, she figured it was, and she didn't like it.
But what else could she do?
It wasn't supposed to be like this…
Despite the worn and flimsy material clutched between her fingers, the door opened easily when she turned the knob. It hadn't been locked, and she was grateful that the old matron was either too trusting or a bit daft. Already running, she didn't have time to be slowed by a closed door.
It was Sunday, the Sabbath, and many of the local factories were closed. There were girls everywhere inside, girls of all sorts and professions, crowding the front room, finding ways to busy themselves before the start of another work day. Many of them stared, some curious and a few scandalized, but none stopped her as she ran through the Home. Teller was known by most of the girls, at least by sight—if they knew anything about the Sparrow, then they knew better than to cross her.
One girl, as vain as she was conniving and curious, hadn't moved; Teller just barely dodged the blonde as she ran through the narrow hall. The staircase in front of her, she was so consumed with making it up the stairs that she barely noticed the purse of Rosamund's lips or the echo of her heeled shoes slowly following behind her.
She stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs. For one of the first times in recent days she was at a loss for what direction to take next. If she was Meggie Dryer, where would she be?
Snapping her fingers in a sudden flash of inspiration, Teller ran again. She didn't stop on that floor, choosing to climb up one more flight before going past two closed doors and knocking abruptly on the third. Without
waiting for an answer she took it upon herself to open the door; like the one out front, it wasn't locked. Opening it carefully, she slipped inside before pulling it closed behind her.
It was one of the many lodging quarters in the boardinghouse. Four double beds—eight bunks—made the room even more cramped than it should be but, luckily for her and her purposes, not all of them were occupied. Only three of them were and Teller recognized them as some of the older girls who had yet to snag a husband and move out of the Home. They'd been on the streets longer than most but they kept their pride and they kept their independence, no matter how hard it got.
Teller admired them—but she envied them a little, too.
Meggie with her dark, messy hair was standing between two of the bunks, the center of all of their attention. Singing a soft melody only loud enough for her small audience to hear, she didn't acknowledge—or maybe even notice—Teller's presence immediately.
The music captivated Meggie even more than those who heard the beautiful sound. Gently caressing a fading purple scar—it was uglier, Teller noticed, than when she saw it last, all scabbed and bloody and torn—that traveled the length and width of her throat, she was oblivious to the world around her. The song was her soul, on display for all to see. A dreamy look in her eyes, a hint of a pleasurable grin splitting her lips, the Songbird sang for herself alone.
It was only when the verse was done and the girls had started to applaud that she turned her narrow and shrewd gaze on Teller. The queer look was gone, leaving only suspicion and checked amusement at the other girl's unexpected arrival.
"Well," she said in a drawl as deceptively sweet as her singing voice, "it's been awhile and you… you've certainly looked better."
Still slightly out of breath from her sprint, and choosing to ignore Meggie's remark for now, Teller nodded at her. "Meggie."
"Teller," the dark-haired girl greeted in response.
"You busy?" she asked. It wasn't like her to beat around the bush and Meggie knew it. Pleasantries were nice enough but there was no time to waste. "I gotta talk to ya."
She didn't say anything straight away. Searching Teller's overly powdered face, taking note of the dark bruise barely hidden beneath, Meggie was looking for something. When she found it she gripped Teller's arm with her tiny hand. "Alright. But come with me first."
Teller didn't ask where; she had a pretty good idea what was going on in Meggie's head. It might've been some time since she turned to the other girl for help but there was no doubt in her mind that it was a much better move than following Jack Kelly's brilliant plan blindly. It was bad enough Racetrack Higgins had managed to bring Meggie into this—now she had no choice but to appeal to her old friend. Past debts or not.
Meggie didn't relax her hold on Teller as she wordlessly led them through the bunkroom. Teller had closed the door behind her; Meggie opened it swiftly and, in the process, nearly collided with Rosamund.
Rosamund's mouth—perfectly trained as it was—was poised to assume a pleasing grin but it faltered when she saw that Teller was with Meggie. As if she'd been burned, she took a hurried step away from the door keeping a wide berth between her and the dark haired girl.
Meggie looked past her, tugging gently on Teller's arm. "This way," she said clearly before adding, "so we can have some privacy."
She led her back down one flight of stairs before steering her in the direction of another door. It was a room Teller was familiar with but had barely entered herself; when Meggie shut the door to the cramped, dusty library behind them, Teller silently applauded Meggie's foresight. No one entered the small, musty room if they could help it.
Teller didn't have long to marvel for long. Folding her legs under her long black skirt, Meggie sank down to the floor. Once she was comfortable, she asked, "What brings you this way, Teller? I thought I made it perfectly clear when I left that I wanted nothin' more to do with the lot of you'se."
Still standing—she'd had enough of sitting on cold, dusty floors for awhile—Teller shrugged her shoulders. "I know, but I had to. And it wasn't exactly my choice."
"Whose choice was it then?"
Teller was ready for that. "Well, let's see… Racetrack Higgins mentioned ya first, and Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly decided to ask ya some questions," she said, ticking each name off with a finger. "And David, too, he thinks he can turn to you for help… oh, and I can't forget about the damn Sparrow. If it weren't for him bein' so cocky and so greedy, none of us would be in this mess."
"The Sparrow," Meggie snapped, her beautiful voice taut with bitterness. "Couldn't you ever come see me without him sendin' you?"
Teller blanched. The Sparrow was obviously not one of Meggie's favorite people but time hard turned her hard; she hadn't expected her to react that way to his name. Recovering quickly, she countered with, "He didn't send me, weren't ya listenin'? It's what he's done that led me back to Bottle Alley."
"Yeah? And what did he do?"
Taking a deep breath, Teller did what she did best: launching into the story of Sarah Jacobs' disappearance, the Sparrow's claim to the girl and how her brother David was trying to save her, Teller told Meggie what the Sparrow had done. She made sure to mention Jack and Spot, and even Racetrack… but conveniently neglected to talk about herself.
But Meggie was swift. Her features twisted in an emotionless mask, she asked, "What does all that have to do with you, Teller?"
That was a question she couldn't answer. She didn't know how to explain—and there wasn't enough time if she even could. So, shrugging her shoulders again, she said, "It's a long story, trust me. Just know that I… I started out on the Sparrow's orders but…"
"On the other side now? Jeez, better be careful."
It didn't go by unnoticed to either of them that, at those words, Meggie's hand was back on her throat. She left it there for a moment more before letting it fall to the side, resting along the seam of her oversized black dress.
She didn't beat around the bush either.
"So what have ya come to see me for, Teller? I can't shield you from him, and I can't protect ya any more than I have. He doesn't listen to me no more. And I certainly don't answer to newsboys."
"I know. And I ain't askin' ya for all that."
There was the tiniest flicker of a disbelieving expression that crossed Meggie's face. "Then what are you askin' me for?"
Teller looked everywhere but at Meggie just then. This was the real reason she'd hope to be the one to go to Bottle Alley, the only reason she didn't want David to follow her to the door. "I'd really 'ppreciate it if ya just nipped outside and had word with Kelly but… I'm askin' ya for your silence, Meggie. Ya see… I don't want them to know."
"About what?"
"About everything."
That same, strange searching look was back; narrowing her gaze, Meggie stared at Teller for a few seconds before exhaling loudly. "My silence? I can give ya that. But you'll owe me."
"I always do," Teller quipped, working hard not to give in to the urge to groan. She owed Meggie so much already that one more thing wouldn't matter; she just hoped she was long gone by the time her old friend started to call in all of her favors.
Meggie nodded in agreement. Assuming that the conversation was done now—Teller had gotten what she wanted, after all—she took a step towards the door… and paused when she noticed the other girl's hesitance.
"What?"
"There's… there's somethin' else, somethin' I wanna rub by ya. It might sound dumb but we had to draw cards to split up, right? Conlon and Race drew low and wound up together, Kelly got high and David—" She stopped there, remembering the eager look on his face when it came to revealing the cards, gave her head a quick shake and continued, "—Dave's card let him choose to come along with me. But my card… I drew the ace of spades, Meg."
"I don't think I get what you're tryin' to tell me."
"Don't ya see? It's the death card. Tryin' my damndest to go up against them all and I get the sign o' death." Teller bit her lip, any semblance of an earlier confidence vanishing with the admission. "You don't think he would… he wouldn't kill me for this, right?"
"Oh, Teller," Meggie sighed, shaking her head. "Did ya turn gypsy on me? That's just superstitious rubbish."
"Yeah, you're right. I guess."
She was partly relieved, though an irrepressible doubt still lingered. It was nice not to be so tough, to let down her guard long enough to confide in an old friend—even if Meggie was only telling her that to make her feel better. The Sparrow, they both knew firsthand, was wild… unpredictable. He was capable of absolutely anything when he felt provoked.
Or betrayed—
Teller gulped, suddenly uncomfortable. The sign of the card had been a nagging worry, tucked in the back of her mind. Now, though, now that she thought about what it might mean… was it really just silly superstition?
Before she could think about it anymore, there was a loud thudding noise just outside the closed door. It was close and unexpected enough that Teller—uncharacteristically nervy—actually jumped. It sounded like someone might've fallen against the library door; if she strained her ears, she could almost make out the muffled sounds of heeled shoes hurrying down the hall.
"What was that?"
"That?" Meggie was still calm, still unreadable. She hadn't jumped; nothing, it seemed, ever rattled her. "Probably just Rosamund again, the nosy girl. Don't pay her any attention. Maybe she'll finally go away if we ignore her long enough."
"Rosamund?" Teller's mind turned to the blonde girl she'd ran into twice since entering the Bottle Alley Home. She ran her hand down her face, groaning. "Oh, shit! Do ya think she heard us?"
"I wouldn't put it past her. Only last week I caught her with her ear to Cookie's room. She's got no shame, that one."
"No shame, and no pride, either! Jack is gonna kill me! And Dave? The last thing I need is for Rosamund to try to get her claws in him, the harpy."
"That's the third time I heard you mention this David fella," Meggie noted, looking down her beaky nose with something like interest for the first time. "Is there something goin' on there?"
"No. Of course not. Ya wouldn't understand." Her face flushed beneath the heavily applied powder, her manner suddenly flustered. "Look, I gotta get back out there. You'll come?"
"Yes, I'll come."
"And you won't…"
"No," Meggie said, sighing. She was honest, and she hated to lie—but she was even more loyal. "You have my word."
That was good enough for her.
Teller wanted to stay a few minutes longer but she knew she couldn't. She'd left Jack and David alone for too long now—and who knew how much Kelly knew—and she had to be getting back to them. Not to mention the fact that, if Meggie was right and that sound had come from Rosamund, she needed to hurry. She'd heard all about Rosamund's infatuation with Jack Kelly, and Jack's indifference to the beauty. It was bad enough Jack was in such a mood already—she couldn't handle any more of his moping. And David…
Shaking her head, letting her plait of light brown hair settle over her right shoulder, Teller offered Meggie one quick—and genuine—appreciated glance before leaving the room behind her.
She didn't stop running until she reached the front of the Home.
Pausing on the stoop, letting the door close finally behind her, Teller shielded her eyes against the sun and squinted over to where she had left Jack and David. Her talk with Meggie had calmed her down, quashing the guilty feelings she'd been struggling with since Saturday. With a renewed vigor in her step and Meggie's promise that she would help as much as she could, she started back across the street at a much slower pace—
—until she saw the back of a blonde head cozying up to David. A new sensation washed over her—similar to the guilt but much more potent—and she felt her hands curl up into tight fists at her side.
"Rosamund," she muttered, gritting her teeth as she glared daggers at the unwitting girl, "you nitwit."
And then, somewhat desperate to close the gap between the Bottle Alley Home for Girls and the corner where David stood with Rosamund, Teller started to run again.
It's what she did.
Author's Note: And here it is, the third (and final) installment of this series, following both The Sparrow and The Lark. This one is going to be a little different from the first two as you can see from this opening chapter -- instead of the opener beginning with Sarah, we see what happened behind closes doors when Teller and Meggie met up with each other on Sunday morning. This scene takes place during The Lark, when Jack and David are talking. Maybe this will shed a little insight on to Teller's real motives...
-- stress, 03.21.09