Disclaimer: These are always mandatory when dabbling in fan fiction. If there is anything at all that is reminiscent of the 1992 musical Newsies, then it probably belongs to Disney. The characters of Patrick Conlon & his family (with the exception of Spot Conlon) and Diana Mason & her family, specifically, are mine, as well as others that may work their way into this story.


Legacy

03.23.08

It had been handed down in the Conlon family from generation to generation.
Some thought it was a blessing, others a curse.
But Patrick—he just thought the key was an old, tarnished bit of metal.


The snoring was almost unbearable. To her ears, it sounded like a chainsaw that kept stalling—no, better yet, a chainsaw that was going to town on a rather thick tree trunk—and she had the sudden overwhelming urge to kick him out of the bed. It was bad enough that he had stolen most of the covers during the night but the snoring? It was just not acceptable.

Diana was, at the back of her mind—buried behind a wall of indignation that couldn't believe a living human being could make such noises—well aware that Patrick always snored. From that first day, when the two of them moved into their quaint apartment off of Easton Ave, Patrick had snored. She had tried everything from wearing earplugs to bed to buying him those nasal strips that were guaranteed to stop the snoring but nothing had worked. He was a snorer, that was all there was to it.

Therefore, it made no sense, really, that she was so aggravated by the plethora of snuffles and snorts that came from the mass of blankets on the left side of the bed. But she was.

The snores grated on her nerves and she had half a mind to smack him in the chest with her pillow. If she had to wake up early because his snoring was bothering her, then it only seemed fair that he would have to get up, too. However, before she removed the pillow from her face—the pillow, when she tried to cover her ears, had not drowned out the loud noise but she left it there anyway—she realized that that would be a very catty thing to do. Patrick worked long hours five days a week; he deserved to sleep late on the weekends.

So, sighing as she slipped out of the queen size bed they shared, Diana decided that she might as well make the best of her early start. It was—a quick glance at the slim silver watch she always wore told her—only a quarter after eight. While the Student Center over on Livingston Campus was sure to be open, her study date wasn't until ten o'clock. There was more than enough time for her to take a nice, hot, relaxing shower and get dressed before heading out across town.

Her sigh turned into a yawn as she quietly shuffled across the small bedroom. Patrick's shoes and belts and work uniforms littered the floor and she instinctively navigated her way without stubbing her bare feet once. She kept her eyes partly closed, as if she was enjoying the last vestiges of her sleep, tiptoeing along the small, somewhat clear path that led to the bathroom.

Until, of course, she felt a soft brush of… something hit the edge of her toes; she did not stop, though, as she kept walking… right into something that felt like a great, furry lump. Diana's eyes sprang open but she too late. She was not able to stop herself; she tripped over her own two feet in an attempt not to flatten the lump. Struggling to regain her balance, Diana fell—hard—into the doorway of the bathroom.

Thud.

"Ah, crap."

"Meow?"

Her right shoulder banged, her breath all but stolen by her unexpected fall, Diana let out a frustrated grunt as she momentarily closed her eyes again. She strained her hearing and, after a beat, nodded assuredly to herself. Patrick was still snoring, not that she expected any less of him. It would take quite a lot more than tripping over her pet to wake him up.

Then, opening her eyes once more, Diana pushed herself off of the threshold before squatting down to meet the cat face to face.

It was a pretty cat, if a little heavier than was healthy, with thick, lush grey fur. With wide, staring copper-colored eyes, daring pupils that were narrowed into slits and a demanding look that only a feline could get away with, it stood there, waiting for the girl to reach out her hand.

And she did, because Diana had lived with the cat for enough years to know what it wanted when it found its way into her path. It was either food or petting, and they were nowhere near the kitchen.

"Mornin', Six," she greeted, somewhat begrudgingly, as she held her arm out in front of her. "Sleep well, did you, girl?"

The cat rubbed her face affectionately against Diana's outstretched hand, purring contentedly. In her own way she answered her owner.

Diana understood what she meant. "That's good. I'm glad one of us was able to get some shut eye with Mr. Snores-a-Lot in there," she said, using her fingers to scratch behind Six's ears. "But, if you don't mind, next time? If you want your pettin's, you gotta wait until I'm awake first, all right? Hmm?"

"Meow."

"Good. I'll take that as a yes," Diana decided, pulling her hand back and pushing her sleep-wild hair out of her eyes, as she stood up and entered the cramped bathroom. Six followed her right in.

She was aware of the fact that Patrick thought she was just a little bit crazy—even if he would never admit it; they'd been down that road once before and he did not have a death wish—for the way that she spoke to Six but, in her experience, a cat could be much more intelligent than it initially seemed. She was convinced that Six—and Five, a rambunctious tomcat that Diana's mother couldn't bare to part with—understood everything that she said.

Diana waited until Six's long, stick-thin tail had followed its counterpart into the bathroom before reaching for the door handle. Ever since that one time, when Jack Kelly spied on her while she was showering, she was very careful to make sure that the bathroom door was shut and no invisible, would-be peeping toms were lurking about; not to mention, the echoes of long dead girls peering back at her from the other side of a mirror…

She shook her head. All that happened years ago, no need to worry about that now.

Right?

Biting her lip, Diana wondered why the memories of that one particular summer were haunting her so much recently. It seemed like, ever since this most recent semester had started—her last one, thank goodness!—everything was so different. She barely saw Patrick anymore as it was, what with her schoolwork and his job, and she could feel that something was between them, pushing them away from each other. Really, it was no wonder that she was…

Diana shook her head again, fervently this time, and, before she had closed the bathroom door, she poked her head back into the bedroom. Though she did not see his head, she could make out his blanket-covered form still lying on the edge of the left side of the bed. He was sleeping, and she was glad.

If she was being honest with herself, she didn't really want to deal with Patrick at the moment. She had gotten off easy the night before and the last thing she needed was him to start asking questions—especially questions that there wasn't a real answer to. Not yet, anyway.

That was, after all, her job.


Patrick was snoring, yes, but he was also dreaming.

It wasn't a particularly good dream. In fact, it felt like one that he had had thousands of times before and, without the element of surprise, it wasn't very enjoyable. It was actually kind of annoying.

Wherever he was—if it even was him; he didn't feel like himself, and he kept answering to a name that sure wasn't Patrick—it was dark and it was wet. Everything was passing him by in a blur, mixtures of greens and browns and whites spinning by him, moving so fast that he couldn't make out anything in the absolute mess.

One minute he was running and the next, swimming. Patrick—the dream Patrick, at least—was wading in a pond—maybe it was a river—and the water was rushing past him with such a frenzied pace that it was amazing that he wasn't being carried away by the current.

With the water up to his thighs, cold and cruel, he stood in place, confused. He had the strange feeling that he was looking for something—someone?—but, for the life of him, he couldn't figure what it was. It wasn't really a surprise to him that he didn't know what he was looking for; this was not the first time that he was out searching and he hadn't stumbled upon the reason behind this repeated dream yet.

He felt confident this time as he fought the waters and tried to make some sense of the faded and fuzzy mixed images that cascaded ceaselessly before his eyes. Though it was difficult to discern the distance to the shore, Patrick could have sworn that he saw something sparkle across the water. He didn't know exactly what it was but promptly decided to find out for himself. It was, at the very least, worth a shot.

Until—

"Meow."

He heard the sharp tone of Six's cry, followed by the pointed prodding of her soft paw and knew that he was no longer dreaming. Patrick was not wet, nor was he crossing rushing water; he was on his back, a heavy weight settled on his chest. That weight—as well as the cry and the paw-prodding—was far more familiar than any strange dream and Patrick knew exactly what would happen if he ignored Six—and he didn't have any spare shoes for her to get sick in.

Groaning as he slowly—and unwillingly—pulled the blanket over and away from his face, he lifted his head and eyed his unwanted companion. She was sitting primly on his chest, her tail wrapped around the front of her paws, a blank expression on her furry face.

"What the fuck do you want, cat?" Patrick growled, his throat dry and his voice rusty. He was suddenly very thirsty but he knew he was not going to be able to get up and get a drink until the fat cat decided to climb off of him. It was almost their little weekend ritual; whenever Diana was gone from the bed, Six decided when she wanted Patrick to wake up, too. A couple of pokes, well placed weight and a meow or two and Patrick would open his cyan eyes in acknowledgement of her presence.

The cat always won because, if she didn't, she was spiteful enough to use her claws to get her way. Patrick had more than enough scars on his hands and arms from ignoring Diana's cat as it was; he learned shortly after Six's arrival that it was much better just to give in. Besides, Diana seemed to like the cat better than him sometimes. And she never got scratched.

"Meow."

Patrick sighed. "Whatever. I'm up anyway," he said, feeling foolish for actually talking to the cat. He usually made fun of Diana for the way she treated Six as if she was a child, he didn't need to start doing the same. He had enough problems as it was.

Six narrowed her eyes but, as Patrick squirmed underneath her bulk, understood that the boy wanted to get up from the bed. Taking her time, stretching before she moved, Six stepped onto the bed. Once her last paw was on the mattress rather than resting on Patrick's chest, she curled up into a harmless, fluffy ball.

He knew better, though, and was very careful to climb out of the bed without disturbing her. The next two days, a weekend without Six there to watch him evilly—he swore that the cat had it out for him; Diana just called him jealous—was going to be even greater than he first imagined.

It was just about ten o'clock and he knew that Diana was already gone for the morning. She had told him about that project she would be working on all morning, and then she needed to bring Six and all her supplies over to her friend's apartment so that the cat would be taken care of during the weekend. Patrick had argued that Six would be fine but Diana insisted and, well, whenever Diana actually insisted, trying to argue against her was like fighting a losing battle.

Therefore, with all the errands that Diana needed to do—he could tell, from the mess that was still cluttering the bedroom, that she still hadn't packed her overnight bad for their weekend trip—that he wouldn't be seeing her until late that afternoon, at the very earliest. And, while he had the faint desire to wait for her so that they could take the train into the City together, Patrick decided that he would probably be better off heading in on his own.

His father was antsy to see him, that much was obvious from his conversation the night before, and Patrick had a thing or two he wanted to get off his chest. Though he didn't know exactly why—somewhere, deep in his consciousness, the sparkle of that hidden object from his dream came to mind—he felt like the time was almost perfect; he'd been putting it off for so long now, and there was no doubt that Diana was getting restless, becoming distant.

He had to do it, and soon, or he would never get the chance…

Patrick was still thirsty and he was hankering for a cup of coffee from the local deli on the corner but, before he threw on some clothes and grabbed his wallet, he made up his mind to pack his own bag. There was a duffel bag thrown under the bed and, after a few unsuccessful attempts to grab at it, he retrieved the dusty, old black bag. He slapped it against the edge of the bed, knocking the dust covering off it and letting the particles erupt in a cloud, ignoring the annoyed growl that came from Six.

Socks, two shirts, a pair of pants and some underwear were thrown into the open bag, as well as a belt, half a stick of deodorant, a battered copy of Good Omens, and a tub of hair gel. His Gameboy Advance and a couple games were tossed on top in case reading on the train gave him a headache; he made a mental note to remember to buy extra batteries before going to the train station.

Then, when he was sure he had most of the essentials that he would need for the night, he opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. Most of his summer clothes were stashed in there, plus a magazine or two, but he ignored them as he slid his hand under the drawer's contents. Using his fingers as detectors, Patrick moved his hand around until he found what he was looking for. After closing his fist around the small object, he drew his hand out and, using his left hand, closed the dresser drawer.

His fingers unfolded, revealing a small, square box that was resting in the center of his palm. There was no need to open the box—he knew what was inside of it. With a quick toss, and perfect aim, the box landed right inside his duffel bag, nestled right up against a fur-covered shirt. Patrick glanced at the shirt and then the box before shaking his head and walking over to his closet.

There was a button down shirt, grey and light blue stripes running down its length, hanging in the back of the closet. It was a nice shirt, one that brought out the intense color of his eyes, and it was one that Diana had bought for him for his birthday back in January.

Patrick gave it an appraising look—it was fur-free and without any wrinkles—before removing it from its hanger and folding it up. He tapped the silky material of the shirt with his open palm before adding it to his packing.

Perfect…

A hint of a nervous smile flittered across his face but he banished it almost immediately; it was unnecessary and out of place. Patrick Conlon wasn't nervous—he didn't think there was any need to be—because he never was a nervous, doubtful type of guy. He was cynical at times, perhaps a bit crass, but he rarely felt out of control, let alone nervous.

He was used to getting what he wanted and, when you always get what you want, there's no place for doubt.


The doors of the bus opened, letting in a rush of cool air before a handful of students attempted to embark and disembark—most of them doing it at the same time—the rambling Rutgers Route L behemoth. It was a much gentler affair than normal; Saturday classes were not very popular and most students started their treks to the library later in the afternoon, if at all.

After slinging her bag over her shoulder and sidling past the headphones-wearing boy who had shared the seat with her, Diana exited out onto the sidewalk. Sidestepping a muddy puddle caused by an early spring shower, she lowered her head and walked forward, approaching the Student Center with as much care-free ease as she could muster.

Her heart was hanging slightly heavy in her chest but she tried to ignore the feeling. Besides, when all was said and done, she was sure that Patrick would understand why she was doing this, why she was keeping so many secrets from him. He could be very jealous at times and the last thing she needed was for him to find out just where she went when she said she had a project to work on.

Diana nodded graciously at the bus driver that held the front door open for her as she squeezed passed his considerable-sized bulk and entered the brightly lit building. The Center's quick stop convenience shop stood to her left but she was fully stocked up on Red Bull and index cards and quickly scurried by the inviting doorway.

Her shower had taken longer than she expected, and Six had needed to be brushed and fed. Then the cat point blank refused to let her leave until she found the stuffed Beanie Baby kitty that Six liked to carry around—Diana found it jammed under the refrigerator and had spent a good five minutes trying to figure out how that had happened—and, by the time Diana was leaving the apartment, it had been quarter to ten.

She glanced at her watch. If he arrived at the Student Center on time—and she had no doubt that he had, she was just worried that he would have left after she failed to show up at ten—then she was already twenty minutes late. And she hated being late.

Someone was exiting out of the lounge as she approached the door, a blonde girl who was walking forward while glancing over her shoulder. She was giggling—Diana tried not to roll her eyes while waiting for the girl to move so that she could enter the room—and, since her attention was not on the direction she was going, the girl bumped right into Diana.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Sorry," the blonde snapped, barely moving her gaze from whatever it was she was making eyes at.

Diana shrugged. It wasn't worth it. "No problem."

The girl sighed and, because there wasn't any choice for her except to turn back or keep on going, she slowly walked past Diana. Diana, whose watch told her she was now twenty three minutes late, huffed the impatient huff of someone who knew they were late and didn't want to be any later before entering into the lounge.

The word "lounge" really didn't do the room justice. There was enough space in this wing to fill two of Diana's apartments; with a Dunkin' Donuts on one end, a small café on the other and enough seats to fit over one hundred people, the Livingston Student Center lounge was a perfect place for the two of them to meet again.

It was empty in the lounge, only three or four tables occupied. Diana, prepared to search the room for her partner, only had to stare straight ahead until she saw him sitting at a booth on the opposite end of the lounge's entrance. She couldn't help but let out a small snort under her breath; she had a pretty good idea now what that rude blonde girl had been looking at as she left.

The boy was good looking; there was no doubt about that. With a shock of dark hair and eyes just a shade lighter, his features were at a contrast to his fair complexion. His face—his body, really—was long and thin; he was tall, too, but not awkward. There was an inherent grace to him, a charm that drew her attention to his very presence at once.

He stood up when he saw her approaching. There was a smile on his handsome face as he held his hands out in an open and welcoming gesture. "Diana," he said warmly, his voice deeper than his thin frame would suggest, "I was wondering if I was going to be stood up for our little date."

Her cheeks, despite her conscience yelling at them to stop, were heating up like an inferno and she could feel the coy smile that rearranged itself on her face. She stopped right in front of him, sure that the guilt her lateness caused was emanating off of her.

The boy lowered his arms and, before she could do anything to stop him, he leaned in and kissed her on her cheek. As he drew back and, lazily almost, re-took his seat in the booth, he told her, "I'm really glad you're here."

She swallowed quickly, willing the nervous squeak out of her voice. Every time she saw him, she sounded like a mouse; she hoped that, this time, she wouldn't. It was getting embarrassing.

"Hi, Bobby," she said.

And then she winced. If her voice was any higher, only dogs would have been able to make out her greeting.


Author's Note: Hey, guys! Well, I will continue to try to update this every Sunday but last week was just out of control. Yesterday was my first day off in eleven days (gotta love it when they spring an inventory on you out of nowhere!) and I had to do all sorts of prep for the holiday today. However, I worked on this chapter whenever I could and, after my Easter egg hunt this morning, I was able to finish this chapter. Hopefully I'll have enough chapter out midweek to make up for missing last week…

So, yes, there was the chapter and I'd love to hear what you think about it. Next chapter will be… different. I can't wait to get to it :)

Happy Easter!