Drunken Confessions
By: The Jack Loving Misfit aka Courtney M.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't you people understand that yet?! J/K. I own none of the newsies, or the movie or anything really. I HAVE NOTHING!!
Rating: R (some language, slash, sexual situations)
Category: Romance/Angst (really piling on the angst in this one!)
Pairings: Blink/Mush, Skittery/Snitch and Jack/Race (please don't ask, I do what my mind tells me too)
Summary: Slash fic focusing on the above couples, one every third chapter. The story lines don't really tie in much and the other newsies only play minor roles. But basically, here's the simple summary of what's going on with each pairing. Skittery and Snitch are the only official couple. But there having quite a few problems that they can't seem to be working out. Such as the fact that Skittery may not love Snitch anymore. Blink and Mush are best friends, who have realized they love each other, but neither are willing to risk their friendship for something more. So what happens when Mush is suddenly in a tragic position? And then there's Jack and Race. Who, in a drunk state, slept together. And are now forced to deal with the aftermath or something that could simply be a horrid, drunken mistake, or something much, much more.
A/N: While all the stories are occurring at the same time, none of them interact really. So you could, like, read just the Blink/Mush story line and not have to read the others because they don't tie in together. Or you could read all three story lines. Who am I too tell you what you can or can't do? Oh, and I'd also like to mention that. . .I forgot. So, uh, if I remember, I'll tell you later.
And so, without further ridiculous ramblings on my part, my newest creation. . .
* * *
Chapter One: Fools With Booze
* * *
I'm so tired, but I can't sleep
Standing on the edge of something much too deep.
It's funny, you feel so much, but cannot say a word.
We are screaming inside, oh, but can't be heard.
- 'I Will Remember You' Sarah McL.
* * *
The moment the cold water hit his flushed face, he was sober. It didn't totally erase his hangover, but he pretty much didn't care about that. He'd rather have a horrid hangover then the images and memories of the night before that were pounding through his mind. Memories he wished he has gotten rid of the minute his drunkenness subsides into a dull, if not painful, buzz.
But for Racetrack Higgins, that was not the case.
He closed his eyes briefly, resting his upper body on his hands, which latched onto the old water pump where they got their main source of water. The minute his eyes fell shut, select images flashed across his eyelids, teasing him. Instantly, he opened them again and shook his head as if to clear his mind. It didn't work, only helped to make him slightly dizzy and further his headache.
Off to the side, he heard one of the squeaky mattresses being moved under the occupants shifting weight. He stopped breathing altogether to hear if that person was getting up or not. When no other sounds were made, he slowly let his confined breath out. Only to be surprised seconds later by Snipeshooter shuffling into the wash room, rubbing his eyes, yawning and giving Race a crazy look.
"Race?" He asked tiredly, yawning in the middle of his speech.
"Go back ta bed kid," Race said in the straightest voice, he could muster.
"Are you okay? You look kind of pale," Snipe ignored the advice and walked closer to him.
"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."
"What'da you do last night?" Race's head shot up at that comment, eyes flashing at the young newsie in front of him.
"What'da mean?"
"Well, youse got a hickey," The boy pointed out on the base of his neck and shoulder. His fingers reached up to touch the spot and he sighed both internally and externally at his horrible luck.
"Like I'se said, it's nothing. Just go back ta sleep."
"It's obviously something if youse is up dis early."
"Don' worry about it," Race said forcefully, glaring at Snipeshooter's inquisitiveness.
"Race, what happened? Youse can tell me. Besides, it can't be all dat bad if you got some action out of it," He smirked, which was silenced by Race's dagger like glare.
"Look, Snipes, just go ta bed alright? An' maybe I'll tell ya about it in da morning, huh?" Race lied. The kid's eyes shone a little brighter, believing that he might learn the mysterious information.
"Sure, sure. I'se 'ill see ya later Race," He said moving from the washroom back to his bunk which was just across from the aforementioned person.
Race breathed a sigh of relief when the young newsie was no longer in sight. His over active mind was working a mile a minute, he couldn't trust himself not to just blurt out the whole thing out. But apparently, he couldn't trust his body or anything for the day. Another wave of memories washed over him, sending him back into the night's previous activities. Which had only been heightened by the combination of a decent meal as well as the horrendous amount of alcohol in his system.
"It was a mistake. Things like this happen sometimes, just a mistake. . ." He whispered to himself quietly.
The sun was just beginning to streak through the musty lodging house, signaling to Race that morning had arrived. And that rest of the boys would be up and about soon. Kloppman having to shove some out of their beds just to get them moving. He could definitely think of one particular boy who was going to have trouble waking up this morning.
Running a hand through his hair, he soundlessly walked back into the bunkhouse, (one of the few advantages to being small) and over to his bunk to grab his hat. As he predicted in his mind, Snipeshooter was out like a light once again. He smiled softly down at the peaceful boy, wishing he himself could go back to that age and realm of semi-innocence. He frowned at his own thought. After tonight, there was definitely no going back to that now.
He made his way over to the door, leading to the stairs, just as silently as before, not wanting to wake anybody and rouse anymore suspicion and questions onto himself. The only bunk he stopped at briefly was the same bunk he has occupied only slightly more then twelve hours earlier. His pulse quickened as his eyes fell over the actual owner of the bed, lying spread out. The upper part of his body uncovered, undressed and sweating. Forgetting about sound, he rushed through the door and left the lodging house with only a passing 'goodbye' to a stunned Kloppman.
When he had reached relative safety, out of the shadow of the lodging house, he slowed his former brisk walking pace of a thoughtful stroll, thanking god for the mornings crisp, fresh air. He definitely needed it, something to calm his him down enough so that he'd actually be able to sell his papers. Preferably, without his screwed up nerves cutting through his jittery system.
Weasel was more then shocked to see him trotting up the wooden platform behind the early morning shiners. Paying without a sound (and paying the whole amount) he didn't even stop to look at any of the headlines. Simply tucked them under his arm and walked towards the gates - his eyes downcast and free hand shoved in his pocket. He was stopped, however, when he ran into two solid bodies.
"Hey, where's yer little newsie friends? You breakin away from dem or something?" The body to his left said.
Race sighed to himself, recognizing the voice. He raised his eyes to peer into the face of both the smirking Delancy brothers. It was too early, and far too bad a day, to have to deal with them at such close range.
"Can I go?"
"Can you go. . . can you go, well, let's see. Youse got any money?" Oscar suggested, lips breaking into an impossibly large grin. Race sneered at him and tried going around both boys. Morris, however, put a stop to that by shoving him backwards hard enough to make him stumble and fall. Dropping his papers beside him.
"Youse ain't dat tough, are ya kid? Nuthin without the others. . .especially yer precious Cowboy."
Race crushed his eyes shut at the mention of Jack's nickname. He also fought the urge to visibly shudder. Which just resulted in unsettling him more. And making the night images push to the fore front of his mind. Reluctantly, he picked himself up, bending down briefly to grab his papers. He glared at the two laughing brothers and just pushed past them on his way to the streets of New York City.
* * *
Five hours later, and he had only managed to sell half of his papers. Maybe not even that amount, he'd been to depressed and distracted to sit down and count them. Sluggishly, he made his way over to Tibby's, knowing full well that Jack would probably be there with the rest of the boys. But if he stayed far enough away from the handsome leader he figured he might be able to avoid all contact. Something he was VERY interested in doing, because he still wasn't sure how to deal with this situation.
The little bell at the top of the door clinked as he swung the door wide open, planting a fake grin on his face. Though, even to his own body it felt ridiculously fake. Scanning the crowd quickly with his eyes, he saw Jack sitting in the far corner with David and Les. Laughing away, a large smile plastered over his eighteen year old face. The night before certainly didn't seem to have any bad after effects on him. Cursing himself angrily, Race climbed into an empty booth, bowing his head in his eyes and sighing rather loudly to himself.
Moments later a large shadow was cast over his body and he looked up to see who had walked in on his line of vision. He choked on his own breath when he saw Jack standing there, an innocent and yet strangely concerned look gracing his face. Sliding into the seat across from him, Race watched with wide eyes as Jack just stared back before speaking.
"Youse okay Race? Yer lookin a little pale," He said, reaching over to the other side to feel Race's forehead. Instantly Race pulled backward, a confused and horrified look on his face.
Jack frowned slightly at Race's reaction and retracted his hand slowly. "Race? Ain't ya gonna talk ta me?"
"An' what do ya want me ta say to ya?" He asked, voice higher then he intended it to be. Jack furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips.
"I don' know. Maybe telling me why ya seem so damned depressed?" He suggested casually, trying to stare Race down.
Race watched Jack. Eyes wide in disbelief. To say that he was dumbfounded by Jack's words and tones would be a total and complete understatement. But when he looked in Jack's stable brown eyes he took a different approach all together. He laughed. Not just your ordinary laugh, a side splitting laugh that was bitter in every right that Race intended it to be. Now it was Jack's turn to look at his best friend in bewilderment.
"Race. . .what's so funny?" He asked slowly, cautiously.
Race abruptly stopped laughing and seriously grasped Jack's eyes with his own dark ones. "Youse don' remember do ya?"
"Remember what?"
"Last night."
Jack tilted his head to the side slightly and appeared to be thinking about Race's words. Licking his lips again, he pulled his head back into it's original position and shook his head, a guilty look adorning his features.
"Sorry. . .what happened last night?"
Race shook his own head and ran a hand through his hair. He picked up his papers, angry, he stood up from the booth, Jack watching him not understanding a thing. He sighed and looked back down at Jack.
"If youse can't remember, well, den I'se ain't gonna tell ya."
With that he left the Manhattan leader sitting by himself in the booth, a confused and partially saddened look on his face. What had happened last night.
* * *
Race couldn't think properly for the rest of the day. Just knowing that Jack couldn't even remember a damn thing about the previous night pissed him off rapidly. How could that be fair? That Jack doesn't remember a thing when all he could even breath was about what had happened between them. It didn't add up in his mind. Not at all. Cursing under his breath, he sped up his walking so he could reach the lodging house in a faster rate then he planned on.
He still had a nice stack of papers tucked under his arm, but he had long since given up on even attempting to sell them. He was too far gone to understand what was going on around him, let alone actually make up fake headlines to hawk.
Wiping access sweat from his forehead, he paused in his walking to look around at the city rushing around beside him on the streets. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the cry of a fellow newsie, but he couldn't recognize the voice, too far away even for his keen ears. Not that he minded really, it didn't matter to him wither or not he knew who it was, just the screaming invading his mind was enough for him. It distracted him from the task at hand briefly.
But just as quickly as his mind left the situation, it came roaring back, seemingly angered at being ignored for even the barest of time. Sighing to himself, he picked his walking pace back up and concentrated on trying to push the events and images of the previous night out of his mind. None of this worked. In fact, he seemed to have loosened old memories and new details began streaming through his open and slightly pained mind.
He had decided, after his lunch time encounter, that he wasn't going to go to the races that day. He didn't think he would be able to exchange his normal friendly banter, or calm himself fully down like you needed when you were ruining your day and loosing all your money to fowl mouthed gamblers in bowler hats. Instead, he walked over to the lodging house, knowing he would probably be the first person returning in the day.
Trudging up the stairs, woefully, Race pushed open the bunkhouse door and moved over to his bunk before collapsing. He closed his eyes, sighing to himself gently, and crossed a arm over his tightly shut eyes.
"What are youse doing home so early?" He heard a angry, and tired voice ask him from the other side of the room.
"I'se ain't feelin very good Skitts," He answered quietly.
Skittery snorted and went over so that he was sitting on Snipeshooter's bed next to where Race was casually laying. "Seems ain't nobody feelin to good today den."
"Jack sure seemed layied back," Race snapped from under his arm's weight. The bitterness of Jack's forgetfulness welling up inside of him once again. Skittery threw him a 'are you crazy?' look, despite the fact that Race couldn't see it.
"Youse ain't seen much of Jack today 'ave you?" Skittery asked.
"No. But it was too much as it was."
Skittery frowned at the way Jack's best friend was talking about him, but continued on anyway. "Well, I'se saw 'im jist before I'se got 'ere. An' 'e seemed like is best friend had jist been shot. All distraught like."
Upon hearing this information, Race removed his arm and stared up at Skittery, eyes now open wide. After a few moments of reflective silence, Race's features hardened again.
"Good. 'E deserves it."
Skittery stared, slack jawed, and eyes ridiculously wide as the words left Race's lips. The gambler couldn't actually be serious could he? It was obvious Race knew what was making Jack lose his cool, but why was he so okay with it? Race recovered his eyes and sighed quietly to himself.
"I'se don' understand youse sometimes Race," He said finally, shaking his head and standing. Quietly he left the room.
Once Race knew that Skittery was indeed gone, he let his arm drop from his eyes which were welling with strangled tears. Wiping them furiously on his sleeve he bit his lip to keep from letting a tortured sob escape his throat.
"I'se don' either, Skitts. I'se don' either."
* * *
A/N: The next chapter is going to be the first Skittery/Snitch chapter and after that is the Blink/Mush chapter, so stayed tuned if those are the couples you like. Hopefully, I can get those chapters done fairly fast. Like this one. But anyways, reviews are greatly appreciated, and all that stuff. I should go write the next chapter for 'Delinquent Central' be back soon!
By: The Jack Loving Misfit aka Courtney M.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Don't you people understand that yet?! J/K. I own none of the newsies, or the movie or anything really. I HAVE NOTHING!!
Rating: R (some language, slash, sexual situations)
Category: Romance/Angst (really piling on the angst in this one!)
Pairings: Blink/Mush, Skittery/Snitch and Jack/Race (please don't ask, I do what my mind tells me too)
Summary: Slash fic focusing on the above couples, one every third chapter. The story lines don't really tie in much and the other newsies only play minor roles. But basically, here's the simple summary of what's going on with each pairing. Skittery and Snitch are the only official couple. But there having quite a few problems that they can't seem to be working out. Such as the fact that Skittery may not love Snitch anymore. Blink and Mush are best friends, who have realized they love each other, but neither are willing to risk their friendship for something more. So what happens when Mush is suddenly in a tragic position? And then there's Jack and Race. Who, in a drunk state, slept together. And are now forced to deal with the aftermath or something that could simply be a horrid, drunken mistake, or something much, much more.
A/N: While all the stories are occurring at the same time, none of them interact really. So you could, like, read just the Blink/Mush story line and not have to read the others because they don't tie in together. Or you could read all three story lines. Who am I too tell you what you can or can't do? Oh, and I'd also like to mention that. . .I forgot. So, uh, if I remember, I'll tell you later.
And so, without further ridiculous ramblings on my part, my newest creation. . .
* * *
Chapter One: Fools With Booze
* * *
I'm so tired, but I can't sleep
Standing on the edge of something much too deep.
It's funny, you feel so much, but cannot say a word.
We are screaming inside, oh, but can't be heard.
- 'I Will Remember You' Sarah McL.
* * *
The moment the cold water hit his flushed face, he was sober. It didn't totally erase his hangover, but he pretty much didn't care about that. He'd rather have a horrid hangover then the images and memories of the night before that were pounding through his mind. Memories he wished he has gotten rid of the minute his drunkenness subsides into a dull, if not painful, buzz.
But for Racetrack Higgins, that was not the case.
He closed his eyes briefly, resting his upper body on his hands, which latched onto the old water pump where they got their main source of water. The minute his eyes fell shut, select images flashed across his eyelids, teasing him. Instantly, he opened them again and shook his head as if to clear his mind. It didn't work, only helped to make him slightly dizzy and further his headache.
Off to the side, he heard one of the squeaky mattresses being moved under the occupants shifting weight. He stopped breathing altogether to hear if that person was getting up or not. When no other sounds were made, he slowly let his confined breath out. Only to be surprised seconds later by Snipeshooter shuffling into the wash room, rubbing his eyes, yawning and giving Race a crazy look.
"Race?" He asked tiredly, yawning in the middle of his speech.
"Go back ta bed kid," Race said in the straightest voice, he could muster.
"Are you okay? You look kind of pale," Snipe ignored the advice and walked closer to him.
"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."
"What'da you do last night?" Race's head shot up at that comment, eyes flashing at the young newsie in front of him.
"What'da mean?"
"Well, youse got a hickey," The boy pointed out on the base of his neck and shoulder. His fingers reached up to touch the spot and he sighed both internally and externally at his horrible luck.
"Like I'se said, it's nothing. Just go back ta sleep."
"It's obviously something if youse is up dis early."
"Don' worry about it," Race said forcefully, glaring at Snipeshooter's inquisitiveness.
"Race, what happened? Youse can tell me. Besides, it can't be all dat bad if you got some action out of it," He smirked, which was silenced by Race's dagger like glare.
"Look, Snipes, just go ta bed alright? An' maybe I'll tell ya about it in da morning, huh?" Race lied. The kid's eyes shone a little brighter, believing that he might learn the mysterious information.
"Sure, sure. I'se 'ill see ya later Race," He said moving from the washroom back to his bunk which was just across from the aforementioned person.
Race breathed a sigh of relief when the young newsie was no longer in sight. His over active mind was working a mile a minute, he couldn't trust himself not to just blurt out the whole thing out. But apparently, he couldn't trust his body or anything for the day. Another wave of memories washed over him, sending him back into the night's previous activities. Which had only been heightened by the combination of a decent meal as well as the horrendous amount of alcohol in his system.
"It was a mistake. Things like this happen sometimes, just a mistake. . ." He whispered to himself quietly.
The sun was just beginning to streak through the musty lodging house, signaling to Race that morning had arrived. And that rest of the boys would be up and about soon. Kloppman having to shove some out of their beds just to get them moving. He could definitely think of one particular boy who was going to have trouble waking up this morning.
Running a hand through his hair, he soundlessly walked back into the bunkhouse, (one of the few advantages to being small) and over to his bunk to grab his hat. As he predicted in his mind, Snipeshooter was out like a light once again. He smiled softly down at the peaceful boy, wishing he himself could go back to that age and realm of semi-innocence. He frowned at his own thought. After tonight, there was definitely no going back to that now.
He made his way over to the door, leading to the stairs, just as silently as before, not wanting to wake anybody and rouse anymore suspicion and questions onto himself. The only bunk he stopped at briefly was the same bunk he has occupied only slightly more then twelve hours earlier. His pulse quickened as his eyes fell over the actual owner of the bed, lying spread out. The upper part of his body uncovered, undressed and sweating. Forgetting about sound, he rushed through the door and left the lodging house with only a passing 'goodbye' to a stunned Kloppman.
When he had reached relative safety, out of the shadow of the lodging house, he slowed his former brisk walking pace of a thoughtful stroll, thanking god for the mornings crisp, fresh air. He definitely needed it, something to calm his him down enough so that he'd actually be able to sell his papers. Preferably, without his screwed up nerves cutting through his jittery system.
Weasel was more then shocked to see him trotting up the wooden platform behind the early morning shiners. Paying without a sound (and paying the whole amount) he didn't even stop to look at any of the headlines. Simply tucked them under his arm and walked towards the gates - his eyes downcast and free hand shoved in his pocket. He was stopped, however, when he ran into two solid bodies.
"Hey, where's yer little newsie friends? You breakin away from dem or something?" The body to his left said.
Race sighed to himself, recognizing the voice. He raised his eyes to peer into the face of both the smirking Delancy brothers. It was too early, and far too bad a day, to have to deal with them at such close range.
"Can I go?"
"Can you go. . . can you go, well, let's see. Youse got any money?" Oscar suggested, lips breaking into an impossibly large grin. Race sneered at him and tried going around both boys. Morris, however, put a stop to that by shoving him backwards hard enough to make him stumble and fall. Dropping his papers beside him.
"Youse ain't dat tough, are ya kid? Nuthin without the others. . .especially yer precious Cowboy."
Race crushed his eyes shut at the mention of Jack's nickname. He also fought the urge to visibly shudder. Which just resulted in unsettling him more. And making the night images push to the fore front of his mind. Reluctantly, he picked himself up, bending down briefly to grab his papers. He glared at the two laughing brothers and just pushed past them on his way to the streets of New York City.
* * *
Five hours later, and he had only managed to sell half of his papers. Maybe not even that amount, he'd been to depressed and distracted to sit down and count them. Sluggishly, he made his way over to Tibby's, knowing full well that Jack would probably be there with the rest of the boys. But if he stayed far enough away from the handsome leader he figured he might be able to avoid all contact. Something he was VERY interested in doing, because he still wasn't sure how to deal with this situation.
The little bell at the top of the door clinked as he swung the door wide open, planting a fake grin on his face. Though, even to his own body it felt ridiculously fake. Scanning the crowd quickly with his eyes, he saw Jack sitting in the far corner with David and Les. Laughing away, a large smile plastered over his eighteen year old face. The night before certainly didn't seem to have any bad after effects on him. Cursing himself angrily, Race climbed into an empty booth, bowing his head in his eyes and sighing rather loudly to himself.
Moments later a large shadow was cast over his body and he looked up to see who had walked in on his line of vision. He choked on his own breath when he saw Jack standing there, an innocent and yet strangely concerned look gracing his face. Sliding into the seat across from him, Race watched with wide eyes as Jack just stared back before speaking.
"Youse okay Race? Yer lookin a little pale," He said, reaching over to the other side to feel Race's forehead. Instantly Race pulled backward, a confused and horrified look on his face.
Jack frowned slightly at Race's reaction and retracted his hand slowly. "Race? Ain't ya gonna talk ta me?"
"An' what do ya want me ta say to ya?" He asked, voice higher then he intended it to be. Jack furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips.
"I don' know. Maybe telling me why ya seem so damned depressed?" He suggested casually, trying to stare Race down.
Race watched Jack. Eyes wide in disbelief. To say that he was dumbfounded by Jack's words and tones would be a total and complete understatement. But when he looked in Jack's stable brown eyes he took a different approach all together. He laughed. Not just your ordinary laugh, a side splitting laugh that was bitter in every right that Race intended it to be. Now it was Jack's turn to look at his best friend in bewilderment.
"Race. . .what's so funny?" He asked slowly, cautiously.
Race abruptly stopped laughing and seriously grasped Jack's eyes with his own dark ones. "Youse don' remember do ya?"
"Remember what?"
"Last night."
Jack tilted his head to the side slightly and appeared to be thinking about Race's words. Licking his lips again, he pulled his head back into it's original position and shook his head, a guilty look adorning his features.
"Sorry. . .what happened last night?"
Race shook his own head and ran a hand through his hair. He picked up his papers, angry, he stood up from the booth, Jack watching him not understanding a thing. He sighed and looked back down at Jack.
"If youse can't remember, well, den I'se ain't gonna tell ya."
With that he left the Manhattan leader sitting by himself in the booth, a confused and partially saddened look on his face. What had happened last night.
* * *
Race couldn't think properly for the rest of the day. Just knowing that Jack couldn't even remember a damn thing about the previous night pissed him off rapidly. How could that be fair? That Jack doesn't remember a thing when all he could even breath was about what had happened between them. It didn't add up in his mind. Not at all. Cursing under his breath, he sped up his walking so he could reach the lodging house in a faster rate then he planned on.
He still had a nice stack of papers tucked under his arm, but he had long since given up on even attempting to sell them. He was too far gone to understand what was going on around him, let alone actually make up fake headlines to hawk.
Wiping access sweat from his forehead, he paused in his walking to look around at the city rushing around beside him on the streets. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the cry of a fellow newsie, but he couldn't recognize the voice, too far away even for his keen ears. Not that he minded really, it didn't matter to him wither or not he knew who it was, just the screaming invading his mind was enough for him. It distracted him from the task at hand briefly.
But just as quickly as his mind left the situation, it came roaring back, seemingly angered at being ignored for even the barest of time. Sighing to himself, he picked his walking pace back up and concentrated on trying to push the events and images of the previous night out of his mind. None of this worked. In fact, he seemed to have loosened old memories and new details began streaming through his open and slightly pained mind.
He had decided, after his lunch time encounter, that he wasn't going to go to the races that day. He didn't think he would be able to exchange his normal friendly banter, or calm himself fully down like you needed when you were ruining your day and loosing all your money to fowl mouthed gamblers in bowler hats. Instead, he walked over to the lodging house, knowing he would probably be the first person returning in the day.
Trudging up the stairs, woefully, Race pushed open the bunkhouse door and moved over to his bunk before collapsing. He closed his eyes, sighing to himself gently, and crossed a arm over his tightly shut eyes.
"What are youse doing home so early?" He heard a angry, and tired voice ask him from the other side of the room.
"I'se ain't feelin very good Skitts," He answered quietly.
Skittery snorted and went over so that he was sitting on Snipeshooter's bed next to where Race was casually laying. "Seems ain't nobody feelin to good today den."
"Jack sure seemed layied back," Race snapped from under his arm's weight. The bitterness of Jack's forgetfulness welling up inside of him once again. Skittery threw him a 'are you crazy?' look, despite the fact that Race couldn't see it.
"Youse ain't seen much of Jack today 'ave you?" Skittery asked.
"No. But it was too much as it was."
Skittery frowned at the way Jack's best friend was talking about him, but continued on anyway. "Well, I'se saw 'im jist before I'se got 'ere. An' 'e seemed like is best friend had jist been shot. All distraught like."
Upon hearing this information, Race removed his arm and stared up at Skittery, eyes now open wide. After a few moments of reflective silence, Race's features hardened again.
"Good. 'E deserves it."
Skittery stared, slack jawed, and eyes ridiculously wide as the words left Race's lips. The gambler couldn't actually be serious could he? It was obvious Race knew what was making Jack lose his cool, but why was he so okay with it? Race recovered his eyes and sighed quietly to himself.
"I'se don' understand youse sometimes Race," He said finally, shaking his head and standing. Quietly he left the room.
Once Race knew that Skittery was indeed gone, he let his arm drop from his eyes which were welling with strangled tears. Wiping them furiously on his sleeve he bit his lip to keep from letting a tortured sob escape his throat.
"I'se don' either, Skitts. I'se don' either."
* * *
A/N: The next chapter is going to be the first Skittery/Snitch chapter and after that is the Blink/Mush chapter, so stayed tuned if those are the couples you like. Hopefully, I can get those chapters done fairly fast. Like this one. But anyways, reviews are greatly appreciated, and all that stuff. I should go write the next chapter for 'Delinquent Central' be back soon!