I'm back!
I know it's been a while, and as per usual, my only excuses are school, work, and scholarships (also the fact that I saw Phantom on tour last week and have been obsessively writing a story for that, too - check it out if you're interested ;). But school was cancelled again today (our area is officially out of salt now and it snowed about 4 more inches last night) so I figured I'd clean up something I've been working on for awhile and get it out there.
Warning: Angst angst angst. But it has a happy ending (as per usual :) This is for you, Aly. Sorry it took me so long.
Standard disclaimers apply. I own a Phantom playbill now, but unfortunately still not Newsies.
Jack comes home in a rage, as she'd known he would the second she heard what everyone was talking about in the streets. He takes it to heart every time someone is hurt in a strike, but he'd talked with those construction workers, even considered joining them. The news hit him hard.
"It ain't fair."
She doesn't move from where she's curled on the couch. Really, she'd like to pull him into her arms and not let go until he's stopped shaking, but she knows he probably doesn't want that right now. She sees the way his fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides, and that's never a good sign.
"I know, Jack."
He goes on as if he didn't hear her. "What part of this do those cops have such a hard time understanding, anyway. Times ain't easy for any of us – don't they see where we're coming from? What part of them sees a bunch of poor guys fightin' for something we all need and says, I know what to do, let's bash their damn heads in?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry." She feels sick. She was already throwing up all morning, and this certainly isn't helping matters.
"I wish they'd be sorry. Someone should make them sorry." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Ace–"
"I know." Now he does fall into her arms, and she lets him burrow his face in her shoulder. She can tell he's trying to hold back tears.
"I don't think you do."
She blinks. "What?"
"You don't know – I was there, Ace. I saw it. It wasn't provoked, there wasn't anything goin' on except people standing there, and then the cops come in and there was blood all over and I know they ain't getting up again–"
"Jack," she breathes, but he isn't even listening.
"THEY BUSTED THEIR HEADS OPEN WITH THEIR DAMN CLUBS!"
She curls away from him, hands unconsciously coming up to cover her ears, and he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek in apology before wandering away to fall into a chair. "Sorry, Ace," he whispers, his voice broken. "Sorry." She thinks he's shocked she didn't shout back — normally she would. But today she's just too tired for a fight.
He sits there without moving for half an hour.
She watches him over the pages of her book, inexplicably concerned for him in a way she isn't sure she could articulate. But she's seen him upset before, heard him joke flippantly with a dark undertone about that night after the strike when Crutchie was taken and the boys thought they had lost everything. It's not without reason that he scares her when he's like this.
Finally he stirs, grabbing a canvas and a pile of paint from a drawer and setting up by the easel without looking at her. The painting that begins to take shape is angry, full of thick black lines and dark red splashes, but it's probably therapeutic. She finally feels she can leave him alone and wanders into the kitchen to try to find him something to eat.
The smell of the leftovers from their dinner the night before makes her stomach turn, but she holds her breath and carefully arranges it on their nicest plate anyway. She tries to smile when she returns, holding out the plate to him. He shakes his head.
"Don't wanna eat," he grunts, adding another slash of dark color.
"Jack, you have to," she says, frowning at him. "You haven't eaten all day. You're shaking. It'll make you feel better."
"I can't," he says, his voice tense. She can see the muscles of his jaw standing out as he clenches his teeth.
"You can–" she starts to say, her voice impatient, but he spins toward her, hand outstretched.
They both watch, as if time has slowed down, the porcelain dish twists toward the ground. It hits with a crash, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces on impact. Neither of them breathe. Then she forces herself to.
"Get out," she says, her voice a deadly calm.
He flinches back, a tortured expression on his face. "Ace–"
"No. That was senseless and violent, Jack! You leave my house, and you do not come back until you're ready to stop this nonsense."
She should feel guilty for pulling that card against him, for reminding him that it's her job that pays the rent and not his, but she has bigger concerns right now. She's not only thinking for herself anymore.
"Ace, you know I would never–"
"If you can do that, are you any better than them?"
That's the final straw. He slams the door on his way out. A momentary flash of panic shoots through her mind — did she take it to far? She knows he would never hurt anyone, and it sounded unforgivably like she was implying that he would. What if he doesn't come back? What if he runs straight to that damn roof again?
He can't leave her. Maybe he doesn't know it yet, but she needs him now more than ever. She could never do this on her own.
But she also needs him to be sane.
She sinks to her knees beside the shattered dish, too shocked to cry, too terrified to do anything else. The hours tick by. The sun sets. Still the apartment remains silent.
When it's dark and her breathing is somewhat even and her legs have long since fallen asleep, she forces herself to her feet and decides to go looking for him.
He could be anywhere. He could have gone to the lodging house, to Davey's, to the deli, to Brooklyn. He could have gotten on a train to Santa Fe and been halfway across the country. But he's not. He's on the fire escape outside of her room, where he used to wait for her when they were nothing but a pair of lovestruck teenagers.
She knows him so well that it was the first place she looked.
He's curled against the metal bars on the side furthest from the stairs, clutching the posts with white knuckles as if it's the door to a prison cell. "Jack," she whispers, but he doesn't even turn his head.
"You don't gotta be here," he rasps, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You hate me. You're angry. You got every right to be."
She could point out that he's still on her property and she has every right to be here, but she doubts that would make him feel better. She could assure him that she could never hate him, but she really hopes that deep down, he knows it. Instead, she says, "I'm not angry. I was upset, yes, but not– I just needed space. We can't do this, Jack."
"So don't," he whispers back, his voice cracking, and as she crawls closer she can see the tear tracks on his cheeks, the shaking of his shoulders. "Just leave. I ain't stopping you."
Instead, she sits down right beside him and pulls him into her arms. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
He is silent except for the occasional choking sound as he tries to suppress his sobs, and so is she. She's not sure what there is to say right now — they're both upset, and clearly irrational. But finally he meets her eyes, and his are pained.
"I'm not cut out for this, Ace. I know that." He grips at the railing even more desperately, looking away again. "I ain't meant to live in a nice place with a pretty girl and a real job. I was barely good enough for the streets." Her heart breaks for him. He's crying so badly she's surprised he managed to get the words out.
"Stop it. Just breathe, okay?" When it's clear he's trying to do as she says, shuddering breaths shaking his entire frame, she holds him tighter and presses kisses to the top of his head. "I'm not cut out for this either. I don't know if anyone is. But we have to figure it out, and pretty quickly."
"What does that even mean?" he chokes out, and she laughs, rubbing his back comfortingly.
"If you'd shut up a second and stop making me feel terrible, I'd explain everything."
"Sorry," he murmurs, letting out a breathy laugh. "It's been a rough day."
"I know," she says. "You think I don't get it, but I do. I was there last time, remember? People were hurt in that rally, too."
"You didn't start tryin' to destroy the apartment, though." He laughs darkly. "I ain't surprised you kicked me out."
"Stop being dramatic. I didn't kick you out," she says forcefully. When he scoffs, she shakes him a little. "Don't you get it, Jack? I am never going to leave you."
"Me either," he says. He gives her a little grin, and her heart swells. "But I guess you knew that, huh? I didn't get further than the end of the block before I turned around."
"Damn lucky, too," she retorts, shoving him playfully. "I didn't want to have to tear the city apart looking for you." Then she sobers. "I need you."
"Yeah." He drags his sleeve roughly across his cheeks, taking a deep breath. Her hand finds his, and he squeezes like it's a lifeline. "Nothing's ever gonna come between the two of us, huh?"
She smiles gently at him, her eyes sparkling. Well, she guesses it's as good a time as any. "No," she says, laughing at his confused expression. "The three of us."
Surprise! There's a Kelly baby on the way! Bet you weren't expecting that at the beginning (or did the title give it away?)
I don't know if I'll ever get around to continuing this, but if I do, I guess I'll need to start thinking of names . . . anybody have any ideas?
Also, readingsloth, the proposal you asked for a long time ago (sorry about that, oops) is probably coming soon. It'll almost definitely be as unconventional as this, though ;)
Reviews are confidence boosters! Also, follow me on Tumblr (starryknightnight) for other snippets of stories and art work and such! I'm currently working on a picture of Jack and Katherine, Disney style, and the sketch is already up there somewhere . . .
Much love,
KnightNight