Spot Conlon was going to die. His fate would be no different from anyone else but the circumstances surrounding his death never seemed to fall into place the way he had imagined they would. He'd faced death any number of times and it was a fear he was familiar with, a fear he could control. But a short meeting in cigar smoke filled oyster bar led Spot to understand that death wasn't always the cut and dry solution. He'd been threatened, cajoled, pleaded with before but it had always been on his terms. Spot was well aware of everyone else's expectations and his place in the city had been crystal clear from the start. He may have been the boy-king of Brooklyn but there were forces out there greater than his own who weren't at all keen on taking no for an answer. He'd had a plan, at first, but then he'd driven Tay into a hornet's nest of problems and since that point he'd been grasping at straws to find a way out. It seemed that no matter which path he chose, the end result was the same. He would lose her. Losing Tay meant dealing with the long-buried fear of ending up utterly alone and that was not the kind of fear that Spot wanted to deal with. Anyone with half a brain would have given in by that point but Spot was simply too stubborn and he resented how often he'd already surrendered himself for her (to her).
"What day is it?" Tay's voice came from the dark at the end of the bed where she sat huddled on the corner of the mattress. She'd been avoiding getting anywhere near him since he'd lashed out at her. Even after he'd doused the lamplight before settling back into bed, Tay still kept her distance.
"What?" She'd broken his concentration and although he'd heard the question he needed a moment to get his thoughts together again.
"What day is it?" Tay repeated.
"Sunday." Spot turned over irritably and shoved at the lumpy pillow beneath his head. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to ease some of the fear he knew she was dealing with but he wrestled his feelings into submission. Time had never been of much concern before as the only thing that really mattered was being in the right place when the circulation bell rang. There was no set time for anything else. But he knew there was more to it than that. There was always more to it with her.
"The date, Spot," Tay whispered.
Spot knew he had two choices but either way the outcome would be painful. He could avoid answering her, toss out some quick remark that would put an end to her questions (for a moment) or tell her the truth. He'd kept her locked away for over a week, ten days to be exact. He decided to go with the former option.
"What the hell do you care what the damn date is? Go to sleep already."
Keeping Tay away from the rest of the world couldn't last much longer and Spot knew it but the problem was he didn't have any better ideas. He'd always had a plan before. There'd always been a backup plan and another backup plan beyond that but it had all flown out the window the moment Tay had fired that gun. He'd been so concerned about remaining three steps ahead of everyone else that he'd neglected to truly understand the storm that was raging within Tay. He should have known better. He'd been there each and every time she'd given in to her rage and despair, witnessing her painful outbursts and understanding he was the cause. The night of the miscarriage she had lashed out at him in a way he'd never experienced before but he remained by her side, remaining vigilant long after the drugs had kicked in and she'd fallen into a troubled sleep. Since that night Tay's reckless behavior increased by the day and so he'd tried to keep her contained but that plan ended up causing a man his life and leaving Spot to stew in his frustration. He was still so angry with her over her showing up in that situation, taking the decision right out of his own hands and into her own.
"Do you think it will hurt?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" His thoughts scattered again and he was startled by her next statement.
"When they kill me," Tay's voice was hollow and seemed to be coming from faraway, almost as if she was in a trance. "I know in prison they hang people. The men who are after us, what will they do? Beat me to death? Guess that didn't work out the first time." Tay let out a short laugh that chilled Spot to the bone. "Do you ever wonder what it feels like?"
"Stop it, Tay."
"It's always so quiet. I remember laying there, just waiting. It was almost like going to sleep and then you had to go and stop me. Just think, if you'd just let me go, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't be in this mess."
"Knock it off." He wasn't scared of death. That was to say he wasn't scared of his own death, but Tay's death? That was something he refused to even think about. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in playing along and trying to untangle the knot of morbid thoughts that seemed to be her only focus. She'd never done well indoors, he'd always known that. She's preferred the streets to safer shelters and the only rest she'd ever known within a room with four walls and a roof was the small bedroom they'd shared at the riverfront. Too much time indoors always led to the same result. Tay would slowly unravel, allowing the sadness and dark thoughts to swallow her whole until there was nothing left but a few dying embers of light within her.
"It was the same way with Rook. Do you ever think about that? They was just laying there, both of them. So quiet. Maybe you'll finally go through with it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it was you who did it."
Spot pushed himself up off the mattress and edged closer to Tay, moving slowly enough not to spook her but maneuvering himself alongside her so that she was caught between him and the wall. He reached through the dark until his hand brushed up against her. He caught a lock of her hair that'd fallen loose earlier and gently twisted it around his fingers. Spot heard a small sigh escape Tay and he was almost grateful that the shadows kept her hidden. He couldn't bear to look at her and see the complete, utter anguish etched into her every feature.
"Nothing like that is gonna happen, doll."
"You say that and then tell me I can't even leave this place 'cause it ain't safe so which is it? Can't you even keep track of which lies you've told?" The acidic tone of her voice didn't dissuade him and he bit back a scornful remark as he slid his hand from her hair to her shoulder. She brushed him away and he allowed it but slid his fingers down her arm until he held her hand in his own, tracing over the lines of her palm and relishing the way her skin trembled beneath his touch.
"You ain't never been interested in listening to me before so does it really matter what I tell you? You're just gonna do whatever you want, just like always."
"Can't exactly do much of anything locked in here, now can I?" Tay asked contemptuously.
"Considering you just killed someone, I'd say you've done enough for awhile, don't you think?" He knew the comment would stop her in her tracks and he couldn't help but feel a trifle smug over the fact that it worked. "And since you decided to just take matters into your own hands, I gotta make a choice now, don't I? 'Cause they are out for blood, doll and whether it's yours or mine, they don't really seem to care. So I'll tell you again, doll, I'm trying to keep you safe. You don't want to believe me? That's fine with me but it's the truth."
He sounded much more self-assured than he felt, especially when the thought of what might happen to her if he failed crossed his mind. He couldn't fail, he wouldn't allow it but it was just another rock and a hard place with sacrifices having to be made either way. With her Spot at least tried to keep his anger somewhat under control but each time he left and locked that door behind him he allowed his hatred and rage to lead him to do unspeakable things. The strike had shown him what he had already known about grown men who were willing to take out children and he'd been dealing with being given his own ultimatum. Either replace the man Tay had killed himself or Tay would be the next one to die. Neither of those options suited Spot and so he'd been been fighting that particular battle his own way and causing quite a bloody mess in the meantime. But he needed to keep Tay hidden from all of it. He'd already seen what she was capable of when pushed too far and his ability to control her seemed to be slipping beyond his reach. Spot was surprised when Tay dropped her head down onto his shoulder and lifted one arm, wrapping it loosely around his neck as he did his very best to remain as still as possible.
"I didn't mean it," Tay told him although it was difficult to understand her words as she pressed her face against his chest. "I'm so sorry, Spot."
"He deserved it, doll." The words felt empty and would no doubt bring her little comfort, if she even heard or believed what he'd just said. Spot knew what he had said was true, but it wasn't ever meant to be Tay's decision. He'd known from the start that eventually they'd come to that point where Tay would struggle with the enormity of what she'd done and he could only do so much to remove that burden from her shoulders. He should have told her that she didn't need to apologize, but he kept quiet. If apologizing for killing a man who deserved to die made her feel any better, so be it.
"I need to ask you something." The air in the room seemed to grow still and he concentrated all his might on keeping his breathing even as he waited to hear her question. He was at a loss as to what the question would be but he had a sense that she was going to ask him something about that night. The horrible night that no amount of drugs or alcohol could erase from his memory. He'd witnessed things that night that Tay could never know about. He'd found her crumpled against the wall, looking more like a pile of rags than a person. He remembered wondering how there could have been that much blood. It soaked through her clothing and stained his own as he carried her, barking out orders to the two boys who'd originally found her and cursing like a madman as he struggled to think of a safe place to bring her. He shuddered at the memory of the smell of antiseptic and the chaos he'd felt when the midwife claimed there was nothing she could do. He remembered every detail of that night and part of his trying to keep Tay from finding out who had done it had been because, deep down in his heart, Spot knew exactly what she was capable of.
"Would you have let me keep it?" The question came out all in one breath and Tay tried to pull back away but Spot held tight. He needed to keep hold of her, even if it was only physically. He could tell her heart wasn't really in it. Her heart hadn't been in anything since the moment he'd carried her, bloodied and broken, to that very room and she'd lost the small life she'd carried, coming within a razor's edge of losing her own life as well. There had been a few fleeting moments when he thought she'd fought back enough to recapture some of her old spirit but there was an emptiness behind her eyes that he couldn't even bear to look at any longer. It wasn't as though she really looked at him any more. Her eyes would flit from one sight to the next, dodging his gaze and never really able to meet his eyes. He found himself absent-mindedly tracing the scars along her wrist and there was a sick feeling in his stomach. He'd come so close to losing her and it didn't take a genius to understand that the thread holding them together was fraying more by the moment.
"Yes," Spot answered. It was the truth and a small piece of his heart broke as he heard a quiet sob escape Tay's throat. She cried silently and Spot quickly realized that was the first time he'd witnessed her crying over her loss. She'd fought so hard to keep out the pain and he'd watched her struggle in misery. He'd seen her hurt, the frustration, and bitterness that had become almost commonplace but until that moment he hadn't seen her cry over the miscarriage. It was heart-wrenching and he struggled to keep from sliding off the bed, crossing quickly to the door, and locking Tay and her storm of emotions inside while he escaped. But he had to figure out a way to move on, even if Tay couldn't. He was the leader, she was supposed to follow. But there was always more to it with Tay.
"Were you there the whole time?"
"Yes."
"Was it—"
"Enough, Anna." He hadn't wanted to shut her down but he had to. It was a matter of survival. He'd watched her very soul ripped away and been left behind to tend to what little remained but it was an unending pool of misery that he just couldn't even work up the nerve to face. At least not in that moment.
"Are you going to turn me in? For what I did to that man?" The desperation in her voice was nearly indistinct but Spot still picked up on it. His stomach twisted as he realized she'd called his bluff, again. He wasn't going to kill her and he sure as hell wasn't going to send her back to the Refuge.
"No." For a moment Spot felt Tay's whole body relax, as though she was not-so-secretly relieved to have heard his answer. He ran his fingers down the back of the camisole she wore and let his arm come to rest at her waist, holding her gently and betraying none of the displeasure he felt at having to tell her the truth. Her tears had stopped but he was still concerned about the crying starting up again. He hated when she cried. In the dark a quick smirk crossed his face as he realized that while he hated when she cried, he was almost always the one who caused the tears to fall in the first place. There was a long silence that followed his answer and Spot attempted to focus on anything but how badly he wanted to grasp Tay tightly by the hand, run out that damn door and leave it all behind. At the same time he felt the desire to leave her behind. He couldn't understand how he could have felt both those things at the same time. He wanted her but he didn't want her. Goddamn it.
"He said you should have taken the deal," Tay mentioned. Spot frowned into the dark and Tay instinctively felt his change in mood. She tried to untangle herself from him but Spot tightened his grip on her waist until he felt Tay give in. Tay paused for a few seconds and continued in a voice much quieter than before. "He said you threw me to the wolves. I want to know what that means. Did you…did you let them do this to me?"
Spot leaned his head back against the wall behind him and couldn't avoid letting out a short, scornful laugh. "You wanna believe the word of a dead man, doll? A man, I might point out, who is only dead 'cause you killed him. Maybe you oughta let people finish their conversation before you murder them."
Tay was quick but Spot was quicker, pinning her shoulders down against the bed as he straddled her body while she fought like a wildcat to get out from under him. He waited until she exhausted herself before saying anything else.
"This is the last time I'm gonna tell you this, you understand me?" He grabbed her by the jaw and forced her to look up at him. She kicked futilely at the bed but gave up after another moment or two. "I didn't do this to you. I didn't 'let' anyone else do this, either. Do you understand me?" He could feel Tay's jaw tighten in his hand. "Answer me."
"Yes."
"Good. Now, I plan on getting some shut-eye before I gotta go out and fix more of your mess so we're done talking about this."
"Then get the fuck off of me."
"You wasn't complaining earlier," Spot answered smugly as he allowed Tay to get up and stretched himself out along the bed. His head was pounding from the combination of cheap alcohol and the whirlwind of emotions he was struggling with. A familiar sense of regret built up as Tay shied away from him, choosing to lay as close as possible to the wall and as far from him as she could get. He'd allowed things to go too far, again. Spot threw his arm up over his eyes and decided to just break his own rule.
"Look, it ain't a secret that you mean something to me, okay? It was only a matter of time before one of 'em wised up and used you against me. I tried keeping you from all of it but…" He couldn't come up with any more words, or reasons, or excuses. He blamed himself and she was right to blame him, too. What he didn't appreciate was the fact that she seemed to think he would have known what was going to happen and allowed it. But what reason had he ever given her to think otherwise? If anything, he'd provided her with plenty of evidence to the contrary. After all, he'd willingly subjected her to violence more times than either of them could count.
"I said I understood, Spot." There was no emotion in her voice and the tiny spark of regret he felt quickly grew. He reached out cautiously and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in close and aligning his body with hers. He rested his forehead along the curve of her neck and closed his eyes.
"When I leave tomorrow, I won't lock the door. I want you to come with me."
"Promise me."
"Just believe me, for once."
"Say it."
"Tomorrow, I promise."
