Title: A New Day Dawning
Fandom: Newsies, Musical-verse with a borrowed Movie-verse Spot
Pairing: Jack/Crutchie... with a little detour or two ^_~
Rating: NC-17, but only in chapter 4. The rest of the story is a pretty tame PG-13.
Word Count: Chapter 4 - 8429; Whole Story - ~36,000
Warnings: Slash, angst, reference to rape, spoilers
Summary: [Musical-Verse] Anyone who'd ever been in the same room with them knew how Crutchie felt about Jack. And after Crutchie's arrest, how Jack felt about Crutchie was equally obvious. Unfortunately for them, however, the only ones who didn't know those things... were Jack and Crutchie. Jack/Crutchie, post-musical.
Disclaimer: Neither the musical, the movie nor the boys belong to me. If they did they'd be soulfully staring into each others eyes and singing duets about running away together. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D ((Newsies, the movie, was written by Bob Tzudiker and Noni White with music by Alan Menken and was adapted for the stage by Harvey Fierstein and Alan Menken.))
11/9/11: Been productive today, got this part edited. Shock of shocks, it didn't require much. Probably since this is the part I've reread the most... *blush* Uh... yeah. So, Chapter 4 - in which there is sex... and not between Jack and Crutchie. ^_~
A New Day Dawning, Chapter 4
by Renee-chan
Jack cursed long and loud and intensely. Another day, another party, another round of dressing up and playing nice to people who wouldn't have given him the time of day if they saw him on the street. He hated it, hated the fact that he had to pretend to be someone he wasn't. Katherine saw it, felt bad about it, but she couldn't pull away from it, either. She'd been born to this. She had expectations in life, expectations which had nothing to do with putting a roof over her head or food in her belly. Willing to admit it or not, she'd started higher up on the food chain than that and her expectations were higher to match. Jack couldn't fathom it. Even when he'd started selling his cartoons to the papers, he was still just another working stiff, maybe a slightly more respectable working stiff than he'd been as a Newsie, but still just a working stiff. He understood that. This... this he didn't understand. And he'd screwed up again, hadn't even realized it until he saw the look on Katherine's face, and had fled the party when he realized that he couldn't fix it easily this time. So, now he was standing out on the terrace, staring out into the unseasonably warm December night and waiting for Katherine to come and fetch him back to the party.
He wasn't disappointed. Several minutes later, a soft hand touched his shoulder, pulled gently until he turned. Katherine stood there watching him out of sad eyes. He waited, decided to be a gentleman and let her speak first. She sighed, stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. He wrapped his around her in kind, felt the tight muscles in his shoulders relax as she cuddled into his warmth. This, he understood. This was easy. She fit into his arms perfectly and he loved the way she felt when she was there. It was when she was out of his arms that it all fell apart.
She sighed, a soft, breathless sound, and said, "Please, Jack... come back inside. Father's ready to give the Christmas toast. I'd like you to be there."
Of course. "I'd like you to be there" probably translated to: "It will look bad for me if you aren't," but what did Jack know? Maybe she really meant it exactly how it sounded. That was how he got into trouble, though. When he assumed one of these muckety-mucks meant what they said, it turned out they meant something else entirely and he'd end up the butt of some joke. And when he assumed there was a double meaning, something said to insult him, it turned out to be something harmless and he'd get in trouble for overreacting. It was like trying to take a rowboat through rapids without an oar. You might make it to the other side, but you'd be cut up and bruised by the time you got there.
And that was a stupid analogy, anyway. Jack had never been in a rowboat, had never fought his way through rapids. He'd never been out of New York. For the first time in a long time, he felt a brief pang of regret that he hadn't taken Pulitzer up on his offer. Santa Fe sounded better and better with each passing month. Still... that dream was gone. Like it or not, this was his new dream - success on his own merits, using the dirty secrets of the very hoity-toity richies who'd once kept him down to make his own fortune. It was... huh. What would Medda call it? Irony, maybe. Poetic justice. Jack would call it just desserts. At least parties like this were good for that. He'd have enough inspiration from this one party alone to draw a score of new cartoons. He smiled, nodded at Katherine and let her lead him back inside. Maybe there was something to be salvaged from tonight, after all.
Two hours later, as the clock ticked over and past midnight, Jack had to admit he'd been wrong. There was nothing left to salvage. After the toast, Katherine had insisted on dancing - one of those fancy dances with a million steps that he could never remember. She'd finally let him go, wincing in sympathy at the sour look on his face, and had accepted Bill Hearst's offer of his arm, instead. Jack had been so relieved not to have to dance another dance that he'd let her go without argument.
He'd found solace in his glass of champagne, then in a glass of wine after that. Jack didn't drink often, didn't have a head for it, and by the time he'd finished off his third glass, he was feeling warm, free, ready to try dancing, again. He'd waited for a less formal, intricate number, then swept Katherine off her feet. They'd had fun, had laughed and twirled and danced four dances... until he'd crashed them into her father's table and upended the drinks of half her father's special guests into their laps.
Jack had tried to apologize, tried to make up for what he'd done, but Mr. Pulitzer had cut him off before he could truly get started, hadn't wanted to hear any excuses. Katherine was blushing like a chastised child and had barely managed to say a word in her own defense, much less Jack's. Jack finally excused himself and fled the party for good, told Katherine he'd call on her after New Year's. At least that got him free of the rest of the season's parties. Let Bill escort her. They'd all be happier that way.
And so Jack found himself wandering back towards the boarding house, more than a little sorry that he hadn't just stayed there to celebrate Christmas in the first place... with his real family. By the time he reached his destination it was almost one o'clock and he was still a little drunk. He got inside as quietly as he could, made his way to his bunk and undid his tie. And as he did, he noticed something odd. Crutchie's usual bunk was empty. Where on Earth could the other boy be at this time of night?
As he thought about it, though, Jack slowly began to smile. Of course. He knew exactly where Crutchie was. There was only one place the other boy could be. It was their little Christmas tradition - had been ever since they came to Manhattan - to go up to the rooftops and make their wishes on the Christmas stars, whisper them on the cold night air as they curled around each other to keep warm. Crutchie must be up on the rooftop, waiting for Jack to get home. The very thought made his smile widen. He'd been so busy lately, he and Crutchie hadn't had a lot of time to spend together. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity.
Jack grabbed his coat and climbed out onto the fire escape, tried to make as little noise as possible as he climbed up to the roof. He didn't want to wake anyone, even Crutchie if the other boy had fallen asleep waiting for him. Only when Jack made his way up to the rooftop it was to find something completely unexpected. Crutchie wasn't asleep... and he wasn't alone.
Jack froze, body stiffened in shock at the last turn of the fire escape ladder, completely stunned by what he was seeing. It took him a long, long, long and very confused moment to recognize the other boy on the roof and an even longer one to understand what he was seeing. Crutchie was kneeling on Jack's mattress, bent forwards at the waist to brace his weight on his forearms. His mouth was open in a silent 'Oh', breathless little moans tumbling forth over wet, parted lips.
Another boy was folded over him, arms braced on either side of Crutchie's, helping to support his weight as he moved against the smaller boy, slim hips pressing against his friend's backside. Jack refused to consider any further what that might mean, his mind refusing to process the possibilities. The second boy was making small noises of his own, rhythmic little grunts as he moved, eyes squeezed shut and mouth tipped into a small, tight smile.
Jack knew he should move, should get off the fire escape and get the hell back downstairs. He should go tuck himself into his bunk, curl up under the blankets and sleep off that vision like it was something alcohol-induced. But he could no more leave that fire escape than he could fix the mess he'd left for Katherine. There was something about the way the other two boys were twined around each other, something about the way they moved, pale and glistening in the Christmas moonlight... Jesus, it was so beautiful it made Jack want to reach for a piece of charcoal and commit it to paper.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Jack had reached a hand down and slid it under the waistband of his trousers to press almost desperately against the hardness he found inside. The wine. This was all the wine. That was what he told himself. That was what he had to tell himself. No other answer was acceptable. He kept repeating it to himself as he wrapped his fingers around himself, started roughly stroking and pulling. Just the wine. Just the wine. Just the wine.
It had nothing to do with the graceful way Crutchie arched his back and tossed his head back against the other boy when the second boy changed the angle of his thrust. It had nothing to do with the way that arch exposed his friend's pale throat or the way his ginger brown hair seemed almost copper in the moonlight. It had nothing to do with the play of the strong muscles in Crutchie's arms as they easily supported the weight of both boys. It was just the wine. Just the wine. Just the wine.
It also had nothing to do with the way Crutchie suddenly gasped, ducked his head and bit down on his lower lip or the way the other boy took that as a cue to lunge forward and capture that abused lip between his own in a quick kiss. It had nothing to do with the arm that stole around Crutchie's stomach and slid lower to grasp at the hardness it found there. And it had nothing to do with the mewling cry Crutchie let out in answer to that movement. It was just the fucking wine.
Jack dropped his head hard against the nearest rung of the fire escape ladder, panting as he echoed that rhythm with his own stroking, desperate to keep from being heard by the two boys on the roof. He was jolted back to awareness as Crutchie let out an almost pained sounding cry and jerked in the other boy's hold, shuddering against him and again biting his lip to prevent any other sounds from breaking forth. The other boy cradled Crutchie against him, held him through the last of the shuddering before starting to move, again. Crutchie's arms were shaking now, but they held firm as the other boy moved, faster, faster, faster, until he, too, cried out, buried his face in Crutchie's back, breathing hard against the soft skin between Crutchie's shoulder blades.
It wasn't until Jack felt the wetness against his own hand that he fully realized what he'd done, what he'd allowed himself to do. And it really was just the wine. It had to be the wine. It just... He pulled his hand out of his trousers, nearly fell from the ladder in his haste to get to his handkerchief and wipe it off. And in the silence, the noise Jack made grabbing onto the ladder was as loud as a gunshot. Crutchie didn't hear it, was already sleeping the sleep of the well-satisfied and exhausted, but his partner - Jesus, his lover - he heard it. Of course, he heard it. And when those blue eyes raised to meet Jack's there was nothing warm or friendly in them. In that moment, Jack was an interloper, an unwelcome intruder on an intensely private moment. That look promised him a world of pain if he didn't get gone right that second... and keep his trap shut when he did.
Jack was no fool. Heart pounding with an odd mix of fear, pain... and a little hint of residual arousal, he fled the rooftop for the sleeping hall below. Because he knew better than anyone that you did not cross Spot Conlon... and you did not get between him and anything he'd claimed as his.
Crutchie made his way up Wooster, a smile on his face and a near skip in his step. Sure he was working on Christmas, but the Newsies of The World didn't get days off, not if they wanted to eat. But that didn't matter. He was happy. He was happier than he'd been in... Jesus, in longer than he could remember. He was needed, he was wanted, he had someone to spend his nights with. He was so delirious with joy over it that he could ignore the tiny voice inside that tried to warn him that happiness was an illusion. It wasn't. Happiness was real, especially at this season. As though to prove that little voice wrong, Crutchie took advantage of the slick sidewalk and pushed against it with his crutch, his momentum letting him slide along the walkway for a few feet like he was on skis, laughing madly as he went.
A voice next to him and now just behind him snorted out, "Idiot," but it was laced with a warm affection that the other boy didn't even try to hide.
Crutchie turned back to face the other speaker, gave him the full benefit of his beaming smile. It was only fair. He was the one who'd put it there to begin with. Spot shook his head, a smile of his own peaking out from the corners of his lips. When he reached Crutchie's side he extended his hand and whacked lightly at the back of Crutchie's head as he walked past. Crutchie hurried to catch up. After a few moments of companionable silence, Crutchie asked, "So... what made you stick around? Thought you'd have your own papes to sell."
Spot shrugged, tucked his hands into his pockets and said, "They'll keep for a day. My boys'll take care of it for me anyways." He flicked a glance sideways and said, "Why? You tryin' to shoo me off or somethin'?"
Crutchie held up a hand, waved it in negation, "No! No, I just... I didn't want you goin' hungry or nothin' on my account."
Spot glanced around quickly and when he saw that they were alone, he smirked, stepped in closer and pulled Crutchie up against him for a moment, whispered softly in the other boy's ear, "What? You sayin' you wouldn't feed me if I was hungry? You'd let me starve, Brian?"
Crutchie shivered then, eyes widening and cheeks flushing. There was just something about that... about hearing Spot call him by his real name. It had been so long since he'd been called anything but Crutchie by the people who mattered to him, he'd almost forgotten he even had another name. But Spot had known him as Brian long before he'd known him as Crutchie and the transition back was easier for him. And he loved the effect that hearing that name had on Crutchie, loved seeing the flush rise on his cheeks as he whispered that name in promise of naughtiness to come. Crutchie risked his own glance around and when he verified that they were still alone, he nuzzled into the warmth of Spot's neck, pressed a soft kiss to the skin under the taller boy's jaw and said, "Never."
Spot laughed and let him go, resumed his walk at an easy pace and said, "Then there ain't no need to worry, is there? I'll loaf around Manhattan and you can pay to take care of me. Sounds just fine to me."
Crutchie gaped at him for a minute and hurried to catch up. He said, "Wait just a minute - you sayin' you'd make a crip provide for you? Ain't that a little backwards? Oughtn't it be you takin' care of me?"
Spot stopped so quickly that Crutchie ran into his back with a small "Oof". Spot turned, his eyes fierce, and grabbed Crutchie's shoulders, gave him a small shake, "There ain't nothin' wrong wit' you, Brian. You hear me? Nothin'. You ain't no crip." When Crutchie opened his mouth to protest, Spot covered it with one hand and shook his head, "No. You ain't no crip. You got a bum leg, fine, but you ain't no crip. Not where it counts. If you had to, you could take care of me." He smiled then, reminiscent of the way he used to when he was younger, happy... carefree, "You could do anythin' you wanted."
Crutchie stared into those eyes, so firm, so resolute and just smiled. It was a small side effect to Spot not accepting any weaknesses. He expected the best from Crutchie, too. And since Crutchie felt much the same way, that worked out pretty well for both of them. Crutchie leaned forward, planted a quick kiss on Spot's nose, laughed when Spot squawked at the indignity. Crutchie said, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I can do anything." He leaned back, laughed, "Anything I want."
Spot's smile widened and he pulled Crutchie against him, again, hugged him tight before letting go and resuming his walk. Crutchie had been uncertain about it, the first time he'd brought Spot with him to Washington Square Park, but Spot was a polite guest, let Crutchie do what he needed without trying to interfere, and kept him company during the downtimes when there were no customers. He didn't stay with Crutchie for the whole day often, but when he did, Crutchie was happy to have him there. It felt like old times... better than old times. Crutchie hadn't realized how much he'd missed just having Spot around. It was nice to have him back.
Today was no exception. People were full of good cheer, children bundled up against the cold and their mothers and fathers turned out in their holiday best. Crutchie loved it, didn't even mind when some of the unfamiliar children yelled out upon seeing him, "Look, Mother! It's Tiny Tim!" He just smiled and waved back, and tipped his hat to their mothers. His regulars were there, too, buying their daily paper. And that wasn't all. Most of them paid far more for their papers than they were worth - one man gave him a whole dollar - and several of them snuck little treats and presents into his bag when he "wasn't looking". The whole process made him smile, warmed him in a way he couldn't describe. Spot watched the whole thing, expression incredulous, shaking his head.
When the square cleared out finally and Crutchie had sold his last paper, Spot finally added in his two cents, "What the hell was all that?"
Crutchie shrugged, peered into his bag with ill-concealed delight, and said flippantly, "Christmas bonus, I guess."
"You guess," Spot said.
Crutchie didn't even need to look to know that Spot's eyebrow would be raised and he'd be staring at Crutchie like he'd grown a second head or something. Crutchie knew from experience that most of the other Newsies didn't have things like this happen to them, even on Christmas, but it had always been different for Crutchie. It was the advantage to knowing your customers, the advantage to them knowing you. Crutchie had felt bad at first, knowing that he couldn't reciprocate the gift giving, but his customers had explained that they didn't expect him to, that they felt good knowing that they could do these small things for him. So, he'd let it slide and he'd shared his bounty with the other Newsies, especially the youngest boys who'd never had a real Christmas. But there was one thing... just one thing... Ah! There it was. Crutchie pulled the small package out of his bag with a cry of triumph and held it up. Spot stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
Crutchie just smiled, pulled gently at the ribbon holding the small package closed. Once the ribbon came untied, the little kerchief fell open to reveal a small stack of gingerbread cookies. They were Crutchie's favorite and Mrs. Windham brought some for him every year. Crutchie held out the package towards Spot, waited until the other boy had taken one before he took his own. He then smiled and took a bite. Crisp, rich and buttery, with just a little bit of bite to them, just the way Crutchie liked them. From the eyebrows up look on Spot's face, Crutchie could tell that he was enjoying his, too, so he held up the package for Spot to take another. Between the two of them, they finished off the small stack of cookies in very little time. Crutchie then laid back on the sun-warmed stones and tipped his face to the sky, belly full and still ridiculously, blissfully happy.
Moments later, a shadow blocked the warmth of the sun. Crutchie opened his eyes to find Spot hovering over him, an indescribable look on his face. It was something like Crutchie's blissful joy. It was something like warmth, like tenderness. And... it was a little something like pain and fear, too. Before he had a chance to ask, though, Spot leaned down and swiped his tongue across Crutchie's lower lip before pressing his own against it. When they parted again, Spot smiled impishly down at him and explained, "There was a crumb. Couldn't let it go to waste."
Crutchie laughed, pulled the other boy down for another kiss and, for just a moment, with Spot settled soft and warm on top of him and the sun in its winter radiance shining overhead, Crutchie thought to himself that this must be what it feels to be truly happy. Spot didn't linger, though, pulled away before anyone could catch them. Crutchie understood but was sad to feel him go just the same, especially because with the day drawing to a close, it meant that it was nearly time for Spot to leave. He wouldn't stay two nights in a row, Crutchie knew that, already. He couldn't afford to, not if he wanted to stay leader of Brooklyn. And Crutchie understood, but that didn't mean he would miss him any less.
They walked back to the boarding house, hand-in-hand when they dared, walking close enough to brush against each other even when they didn't. When they turned onto Broadway, Crutchie subconsciously slowed his walking, not eager to reach the end of their walk. Spot looked over, gripped his hand in understanding, but didn't let him slow down too much. They finally parted ways at Spruce Street, Spot to head over the Bridge to Brooklyn and Crutchie to go to the boarding house. It was stupid, but Crutchie paused at the corner, turned to watch as Spot ambled off into the distance. It was even stupider, but Crutchie missed him already. He snorted to himself, shook his head, Like some love-sick girl or somethin'. Jesus, Crutchie, pull it together.
He turned back to walk to the boarding house and nearly ran full tilt into someone else. A hand reached out to steady him as he got his balance back and Crutchie blushed like he'd been caught at something naughty as he said, "Oh! Heya, Jack. Merry Christmas!"
Jack stared down at him, an unreadable expression on his face that made Crutchie squirm, but for the second time that day, he didn't get a chance to ask. Jack suddenly smiled brightly and pulled him close in a one-armed hug before turning to head up the stairs, "Merry Christmas to you, too, Crutchie."
It wasn't until they were safely upstairs that Crutchie got a hint from Jack what that had been about. Seemingly nonchalantly, Jack asked as he rummaged around his bed looking for something, "So, uh... what was Spot doin' all the way on this side of the Bridge? Don't he have enough to worry about in Brooklyn?"
Crutchie stared at his friend, uncertain. The others had been a little surprised when Spot started hanging around, didn't understand how Brooklyn's frighteningly strong leader could be friends with a weakling of a crip, or why he'd want to be. They didn't know. They didn't know that Spot and Crutchie had a history. No one knew... but Jack knew. And since he did, why should he care if Spot came over from time to time to see Crutchie? Just because he and Spot were no longer on easy terms didn't mean that Crutchie and Spot had to follow suit. But the way Jack was talking... it almost seemed like he was fishing for something. Finally Crutchie shrugged, tried to match his friend's nonchalance, "Yeah, he's got plenty to do in Brooklyn, Jack. He just came over to visit, wish me a Merry Christmas, is all." When Jack turned to toss a skeptical look at him, Crutchie raised an eyebrow and pointedly reminded him, "He and I was friends long before you and me was friends, Jack."
Jack ducked his head, hunched his shoulders a bit and said quietly, "Yeah... yeah, I remember. We was all friends... once."
And that was the rub, wasn't it? They had all been friends. Jack was bigger than them, tougher and more charming. The older boys listened to him and he'd taken Crutchie and Spot under his wing... protected them. They'd been grateful - Crutchie still was - but over time Spot had grown to resent it. He was tough enough to stand on his own and he'd become vicious, mean, in a way that Crutchie and Jack would never be. Came to be that Jack spent more time protecting people from Spot than he did protecting Spot from other people and they'd eventually come to blows over it. And when Spot took over as leader of Brooklyn's Newsies, he'd told Jack that if he didn't like how Spot did things, he should take his ass over the Bridge and stay the hell out of Spot's way. Jack had... and he'd taken Crutchie with him. It had taken a long time before Spot would even talk to either of them after that, much less forgive them. Thing was, it had always seemed like there was more to the story than that. As angry as Spot had been, there had to be more to the story. It couldn't just be hurt pride. And now that Crutchie knew what he knew about Spot... he had a few suspicions about what that "more" might have been. But he wasn't going to open that can of worms unless he was damned sure of it.
The true shame of it, though, was that the way Spot and Jack had worked together for the strike had gone a long way towards mending things between them... but now that Crutchie was spending time with Spot, that seemed to be wrecking what little mending had already happened. And if anything, having Crutchie to act as a bridge between them should have brought them closer together. So, Crutchie was more determined than ever to help put the last of this fighting to bed and frustrated beyond belief that it seemed to be going back the other way, getting worse, instead of better.
Crutchie leaned over, put a hand on Jack's tense shoulder and said, "Jack... We all are still friends. Good friends."
Jack snorted, sat down on his bed to face Crutchie and said, "Friends, huh? Are we, Crutchie? Are we all friends? 'Cause Spot sure's hell don't act like it. And these days... I been tryin' to pin you down to talk to you 'bout somethin' for a week and ain't barely seen hide nor hair of you. You and me... we still friends, Crutchie?"
Crutchie gaped at him for a minute, then got up and hopped over to Jack's bed to punch him in the arm, "Are we still friends? What's the matter wit' you, Jack? Of course, we's still friends. We's more than friends. We's family, Jack."
Jack sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and said, "Lately it just don't feel like it, Crutchie. You and me... we used to talk about everything. I told you things I ain't never told nobody. Now... now I can barely talk to you about the weather."
What the hell was this? Crutchie didn't understand it. Jack doubted if they were still friends? Shouldn't that have been Crutchie's line? Jack certainly hadn't been the most loyal friend since the strike. First, after fighting so hard for them, Jack had almost given it all up to run off to Santa Fe without even talking to them about it first, had also conveniently forgotten his promise to take Crutchie with him. Then he'd only stayed because he didn't want to leave Katherine, forgetting the Newsies, again. And now, he barely had the time of day for the Newsies, spent most of his time with his girl and the newspaper muckety-mucks. Crutchie had tried to be understanding about it, he really had, and he wanted Jack to have all those things, to have that better life, but... Where the hell did Jack get off acting like the wronged party in all this?
Before Crutchie could open his mouth to say any of that, though, Jack abruptly changed the subject, "So... I been lookin' forward to those gingerbread cookies all day. Even though I'm bein' an ass... you mind partin' with one? Since it's Christmas?"
Crutchie froze. He stared at Jack, the angry words drying up in his throat. He swallowed hard and said, "I, uh... Jack... I already ate 'em all."
Jack turned a look up at him out of the corner of his eye and it took everything Crutchie had in him to not label that look an I-told-you-so look, took things he didn't even have to fight off the need to feel guilty over it. Jack merely said, "Oh. I guess that's your right, ain't it?"
Unspoken was that Crutchie had always saved at least one of those gingerbread cookies for Jack because Jack loved them as much as he did. He'd secrete those cookies away from the prying eyes of the other Newsies and he and Jack would break them out later on at night on the rooftop, their own little Christmas secret. And he'd somehow forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Crutchie sank down on the bed next to Jack and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't... I didn't even..."
Jack lifted his face, a smile firmly planted on it and bumped Crutchie with his shoulder, "They musta been pretty good if you ate 'em all yourself."
The lie was right there. All Crutchie had to do was pick it up and run with it to spare his friend's feelings. He just couldn't. He couldn't lie to Jack. He winced, looked away, "I didn't... Jack, I didn't eat 'em all myself. I... I shared 'em with Spot."
Jack nodded, eyes sad, like he'd expected that response. He said, half to himself, "You share an awful lot with Spot these days, don't you?"
Maybe it was the constant strain of keeping things secret from Jack when he'd always told the other boy everything. Maybe it was the fact that Jack was acting like the wronged party when he'd been the one to do the initial wronging. Maybe it was the fact that he had been having such a damned good day and it was going down the drain faster than a tub full of dirty bathwater. Whatever it was, Crutchie had had enough. He pushed himself to his feet and said, "And what's it to you if I do, Jack? Someone's gotta be here for me now that you ain't."
Jack's mouth dropped open and for the second time that day Crutchie had someone staring at him like he'd just grown a second head. Jack reached out to take Crutchie's hand in his but Crutchie pulled away, took a step back. Finally Jack got out, "What... what do you mean I ain't been here for you? I'm always here for you."
Crutchie shook his head, "No, Jack. You ain't. You haven't been for months. And that's fine, I can live with that. You got a girl, now. You got prospects I ain't never gonna have. And that's right. That's OK. You deserve it... but it means you ain't here, not like you used to be." He hung his head, "I guess... I guess I always thought when you finally got yourself up and outa here that I'd somehow get to come with. But, Jack... I can't." Crutchie laughed, though his eyes filled with sorrow, "I thought maybe when you stayed, I'd at least get to keep a piece of you, you know? But even though you stayed... you're still goin' off to a place I can't follow. There's no room for someone like me in the life you're startin' to build, Jack. I'm just in the way."
Some of the other boys were starting to take notice, to look over in their direction and point, and Crutchie suddenly felt exposed. He didn't do this. He didn't air his dirty laundry in public. He didn't cause scenes, draw attention. It wasn't his way, never had been. He shifted uncomfortably as Mush took a step closer to the pair, concern in his gaze. Crutchie hunched in under the weight of it.
Jack saw Crutchie hunch up, turned and noticed the attention they were drawing, too. He stood up and leaned over Crutchie, said, "You mind movin' this to someplace a little more private? Clearly we got some things to say to each other and I'd rather not have an audience, if it's all the same."
Crutchie nodded, pasted a reassuring smile onto his face and followed Jack up the fire escape to his rooftop hideaway. Between the reentry into the cold air and the long climb coupled with the longer day and the tension building between he and Jack, by the time he reached the rooftop, Crutchie's right thigh was starting to send warning twinges his way. It was going to cramp, he could feel it. He sat down on one of the crates, hurriedly started trying to work out the cramp before it got well and truly started. Jack didn't notice. He was too busy staring at something else. And when Crutchie looked up and saw what he was staring at, he wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment. The mattress. There wasn't... it wasn't like he and Spot had done anything to it. Not anything visible. Not anything Jack would notice. So why...?
Jack swallowed once or twice, throat working with the movement. Abruptly he turned back towards Crutchie, mouth open as though to say something, then stopped, eyes fixing on Crutchie's hands. He frowned, said almost accusing, "That wasn't botherin' you ten minutes ago."
Crutchie rolled his eyes in exasperation, kept working on his leg, "Ten minutes ago I hadn't climbed up a fire escape, Jack. Don't worry 'bout it, OK? It's fine."
Jack moved over, sat down on the crate next to him, finally took a deep breath and said, "You still can't do that for yourself worth a damn. Here. Lemme do it."
Jack reached out to pull Crutchie's leg towards him but Crutchie shifted, pulled the leg out of reach before Jack could get to it. When he spoke, his voice sounded breathy and a little panicked, even to him, "It's fine, Jack! You don't gotta do that."
Jack stared down at the ground for a second, said nothing. Crutchie winced. That had been a little harsh. He hadn't meant to snap at his friend. Jack was just trying to help. Jack didn't know... Crutchie didn't want Jack to know. Finally Jack said quietly, "Would you let Spot do it? If he was here?"
Crutchie couldn't take it anymore, asked plaintively, "Jack... what are we arguin' about? Could you maybe just come out and say it, already?"
"I saw you."
In the deepening dark of Christmas' last light, with the chill of the air around them keeping the hustle and bustle of the streets to a minimum, those quiet words were as loud as a shout. Crutchie froze, hands stilling on his leg, breath stuttering in his throat, heart stopping in his chest. He could barely get in enough air to say, "W-w-what?"
Jack winced, waved a hand helplessly towards the mattress, "Last night. When I got back from the party. Didn't see you downstairs, thought maybe you was up here waitin' for me, like every Christmas Eve or somethin'. And I saw you. You and Spot." He waved his hand at the mattress, again.
Blood rushed into Crutchie's cheeks, then drained back out again just as quickly, leaving him feeling light-headed. He whispered, "I... I can explain..."
Jack shook his head, "You don't have to. I know... I know... Medda's looked out for me since I was a kid, right? Vaudeville's full of people..." He blushed, "It ain't the first time I seen somethin' like that, OK?"
When there was no immediate condemnation, Crutchie's equilibrium started to return and he was able to put words together. Bully for him. He said, "So... you don't care?"
Jack snorted, let out a slightly hysterical laugh, "To say I don't care might be stretchin' things a little. I just... I didn't know you was one of them. Spot neither, OK? It... It's gonna take a little gettin' used to." He shook his head, finally turned to look Crutchie in the eye, "What I really don't get, though... is why you didn't tell me."
Crutchie was able to meet Jack's dark-eyed, earnest gaze for all of two seconds before he had to look away. Finally he shrugged, said, "Didn't know myself, Jack. Didn't know until... You know what? Never mind. You wouldn't get it anyways."
Jack reached out, took Crutchie's hand in his and this time Crutchie didn't pull away. Jack laced their fingers together, started rubbing his thumb back and forth across Crutchie's fingers. And just as before, that slow slide of skin on skin was enough to drive Crutchie a little mad. Jack just said, "Brian... try me."
Crutchie let out a choked little laugh, then. That just... that wasn't fair. It was bad enough when Spot used his name to take advantage, to get what he wanted. Spot had earned the right to that name fair and square. But, Jack... Jack hadn't really earned it at all and hearing him say it... Jesus, Crutchie never stood a chance. He swallowed, said, "You'll hate me. You'll hate me. Jack, you'll think I'm-" Disgusting. Perverted. Devil-spawn. Heathen. Possessed. A thousand other things and Crutchie couldn't even say one of them, couldn't utter the words, couldn't tell Jack the one thing that might make all of this weirdness between them go away... because it just might end their friendship for good.
Jack used his grip on Crutchie's hand to pull him closer, wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders. G-d... how many times had they sat here like this? How many times had they sat here, Jack's arm heavy and warm around Crutchie's shoulders, staring up at the stars and wishing? Jack gave him a small squeeze and said, again, "Try me."
Crutchie took in a shuddering breath, finally nodded. He said, "The thing is... Jack, the thing is... it don't have to hurt. If... if you're careful, it don't hurt. More than that. It..." He blushed, couldn't say the words. At least Jack was blushing just as hard as he was. That made this a little easier, at least. Not much, but a little.
Jack finally said, "OK. OK, you don't gotta tell me that part. I... I saw that much for myself, right?"
Crutchie blinked, slowly turned to look up at Jack, eyes wide. He swallowed hard, said, "So... when you say you saw...?"
Jack closed his eyes, winced, said, "Yeah. Yeah, Crutchie. I saw. All of it."
"All... of... it...?" Crutchie couldn't process it, thought for sure the roof was starting to spin as he tried.
Jack abruptly let go of him and stood up to start pacing. Crutchie kept his silence as his friend moved, tried to figure out how to say what he clearly needed to. And when Jack finally found the words they exploded out of him like he couldn't have stopped them if he wanted. He said, "I wasn't expectin'... Jesus, Crutchie, I don't know what I was expectin' when I came up here last night, but sure's hell wasn't that! I mean, it's just, you and... I just..." He trailed off, lost the thread of the words as he made a few helpless gestures in Crutchie's direction.
"Oh," Crutchie said. It was small, a little defeated. As Jack's eyes narrowed at him, Crutchie let out a short laugh, mindlessly started rubbing at his leg, again, "Yeah. I get it. A crip ain't supposed to... I get it."
Jack made a frustrated noise, sat down beside Crutchie, again, gripped his shoulder hard as he spoke, "No. Crutchie, you don't. It ain't 'cause you're a crip. There ain't nothin' wrong wit' you. It's just... It's because... it's 'cause you're you, Crutchie. You always... you always seemed like you was above all that stuff, like you was better than that." Jack let out a short laugh, "I guess it's selfish, but I always thought it was kinda nice that I didn't never have to worry about sharin' you with a girl, since you never seemed interested or nothin'."
Crutchie paused in his rubbing, turned to look at Jack again, completely perplexed. Twice he tried to come up with an answering response and twice he closed his mouth without saying anything. Finally he said, "You... Jack... Are you jealous?"
The wildfire blush that raced across Jack's face at that question was warmth and joy and vindication all rolled into one for Crutchie. When Jack shrugged, then finally nodded then shrugged again, Crutchie started to smile. He poked Jack in the shoulder and said firmly, "Well, it damned well serves you right, Jack! I been sharin' you with girls since you was old enough to figure out what to do with one!"
Jack shook his head, eyes focused firmly on the ground between his feet. He said hoarsely, "It ain't the same thing." He took a deep breath, said, "It ain't the same thing. No matter what girl I was with, you always came first. You know that, right?" Jack looked up then, caught Crutchie's hand in his and pulled it close, "You and me, Crutchie. You and me against the whole damned world, remember? But now... this... Spot comes first now for you, don't he? I... I never did that to you, Crutchie. Never once."
Crutchie sighed, reached over and patted Jack's hand, "I... Jack, that just ain't true." At Jack's startled look, Crutchie said, "You been puttin' Katherine first for months, Jack. And like I said before, that's OK. She's good for you. She's smart, she's funny, she's a real knock-out... Jack she's everythin' you always wanted in a girl. She's perfect. And she's takin' you places you'd never go on your own. She's makin' you make somethin' of yourself. And it's good. You deserve those things, Jack, and I want you to have those things, so I don't mind... but it gets a little lonely sometimes... sittin' here and waitin' for you to remember me."
They fell silent then, both boys lost in thought. Eventually, Jack said, "Well... what if it ain't worth the price?" At Crutchie's confused look, Jack grabbed Crutchie's hand, looked back up to meet his eyes, "What if losin' you ain't worth the price of havin' her? I don't need her, Crutchie. I don't... she ain't the reason the papers buy my drawings. She ain't the reason I got money in my pockets, now. And... we ain't so perfect for each other as all that. I... Crutchie, I hate them fancy parties she takes me to. Mr. Pulitzer... Jesus, he can't stand me, can't wait for Katherine to come to her senses and be rid of me. And I don't fit in with all her hoity-toity friends, neither. I love her and I wanted it to work out, but, Crutchie... I don't think it can. We's too different where it counts. Like old Jacobi would say," Jack screwed up his face and easily imitated the old Jew who ran the deli, "'A bird may love a fish... but where would they build a home together?'"
Crutchie refused to rise to the bait of his friend's joking. In spite of their light tone, there was real pain under those words and Jack wouldn't have said them without giving them a lot of thought. Katherine meant too much to him, he'd fought to hard to win her and he wouldn't be giving up after one bad day or on a whim. Crutchie gave Jack's hand a squeeze, said quietly, "This is what you wanted to talk to me about, wasn't it?"
Jack squeezed back, slowly nodded, "Yeah."
Crutchie leaned over and rested his head against Jack's shoulder, "Then I'm sorry, Jack. I shoulda been here for you." He finished quietly, "So... what're you gonna do?"
Jack sighed, "I don't know. I don't want to hurt her or nothin', but I just... I know we ain't gonna work out. And I don't want to string 'er along, neither. That ain't right. Anyways, she's spendin' the holidays with her family and I'm spendin' it with mine, give us both time to think. And even wit' whatever's goin' on right now... to me... Crutchie, 'family' is still you." Jack pulled his arm out from under Crutchie's shoulder at that and wrapped it back around him, "You's all the family I got, Crutchie. You and the Newsies. I don't wanna lose that."
"You won't," was Crutchie's answer, "You won't. I think of you that way, too, Jack. Always have. I... I love you. Like family." It was a small piece of the truth. It was the only piece Crutchie could give Jack... and it felt like a lie. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you G-d? Not on your life. Not on this one. Jack didn't need that. Jack didn't need to know that. Not ever. Jack was dealing with enough as it was.
As Crutchie's mind was spinning with the lies and the half-truths and the whole-truths and everything else that he didn't think he could say, Jack leaned closer and whispered, "What if that ain't what I want?"
Crutchie barely had time to register what was happening before a warm pair of lips closed over his own. And even as he lost himself in the sensation, Crutchie couldn't help but think that at least this time he knew what to do. And... it was nice. G-d, it was as nice as he'd ever imagined it could be - and he'd imagined, all right - better, even. And he'd wanted this... Jesus, he'd wanted it for longer than he'd known it was possible to want this, since before the strike, since before the Delanceys... maybe even since before Jack took him away from Brooklyn. But Jack... Jack wasn't like that. He didn't... he liked girls. And Crutchie had Spot. And, Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, could Jack's timing possibly be any worse? With a soft cry, Crutchie pushed Jack away from him and scooted back on the crate to put himself out of arm's reach.
Jack stared at him, confused, and said, "But... you... I... what's the matter wit' you? I thought..."
Crutchie just shook his head, eyes miserable, "Jack... you got the Devil's own rotten timing. What the hell are you thinkin'?" Before Jack could answer, Crutchie grabbed his crutch and got up off the crate, started doing some pacing of his own as he tried to ignore how the only thing he really wanted was to sit back down on that crate and pick up where they'd left off. He turned back towards Jack, "You... you ain't like this, Jack! And what about Spot? And Katherine? You just... Jesus, Jack, you can't just..." Crutchie let out a small scream of frustration and threw his free hand in the air.
Jack winced, hunched in on himself, "I... I guess I shoulda talked to you about that too, huh?"
"You sure shoulda, Jack!" Crutchie yelled back. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it! If the situation weren't so damned pathetic, it would be funny. It really would. Finally Crutchie pointed a finger at Jack and said, "You... you gotta figure out what the hell you want. 'Cause this... Jack, if you do this to me and you don't mean it..." He swallowed hard, eyes turning plaintive, "I can't. Jack, I just can't, OK?" Jack nodded. Crutchie took a deep breath, then said, "And if you do mean it... Jesus. Jack, I can't promise you nothin', OK? Spot and me... we're happy right now. I don't know what that means, if it's gonna last forever or not, but... he could be my only chance to... to... to have someone, OK? Someone who really gets it, who understands. And I ain't givin' that up - I ain't even thinkin' about givin' that up - unless you're damned well sure. So you think about it, Jack Kelly. You think about it long and damned hard. Then we'll talk." And with those parting words, Crutchie turned and made his way down the fire escape, pain and anger lending him speed he otherwise wouldn't have had.
And Jack... well, he sat on that rooftop all night and he thought. He thought and he kicked himself and he thought some more. And by morning, the only conclusion that he'd reached was that he was a damned fool... and he needed to do some more thinking.
A/N:
Crutchie: Really? Honestly? You couldn't let me be happy and stress free for even one chapter? One?
R-chan: *shrugs* Nope. Where's the fun in that?
Crutchie: *sighs* Damn it.
Claude: *leans over towards Nuriko* OK, maybe it's just me... but does it seem to you like she's letting him off awfully easy?
Nuriko: Jury's still out on that one. I'm honestly not sure. She seems to be putting him through the ringer.
Claude: I don't know. For some reason, she seems to have a soft spot for him. I can't put a finger on it, dude.
Crutchie: *gapes* This is her having a soft spot for me? D:
Nuriko: *snickers* Uh... yes. That would be the appropriate reaction.
R-chan: Oh for goodness sake, you people are hopeless. And so am I. This is the best I can do? Pfft. I'm pulling the plug on this before it gets any more pathetic. :-P
Questions, comments, pepperoni pizza?
