Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.

Chapter 89: Deception and Disclosure

When Race woke up again, it was already early evening. Several of the Brooklyn newsies were lounging around the bunk room (though they were being respectfully quiet, no doubt on Spot's orders). The leader of the lodging house was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't surprise Race; Spot was probably getting the evening report from his "birds," the vast network of eyes and ears strategically placed all over Brooklyn and beyond.

"Hey, you're awake." Davey appeared at Race's bedside. "Are you hungry at all? I can run up to the dining hall to get you something to eat. Spot showed me where it was."

Race shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. I'll take a little more water, though." He eased himself up into a sitting position, feeling significantly more lucid than he had earlier that afternoon, and Davey handed him the jug.

"You'd better be headin' back to Manhattan soon, Dave," Race remarked after he'd slaked his thirst. "It's gettin' late, and the walk back ain't a short one."

"I want to make sure you're okay first."

"I toldja, I'm fine." Race set down the jug.

"I know, but…" Davey trailed off. "Well, I'd still like to talk to you, if you're up for it. Maybe outside? Some fresh air might do you good."

Race saw right through the poorly-disguised desire for privacy, but he didn't call the other boy out on it. Despite the fact that his suspicions about Davey's motives and loyalty lingered, Race was having a difficult time holding on to those doubts when the newsie in question was actually in front of him. It was one thing to listen to the facts and to draw the likely inferences...it was quite another to actually hear Davey speak and look him in the eye without beginning to second-guess those conclusions.

"Guess I could stand to walk around a little," Race said finally. Even though he didn't feel like moving, it wouldn't help to stay in bed all day and let his muscles atrophy; he needed to at least get out for a bit, and now that he was fully rested, he felt more ready (if still slightly reluctant) to field the questions Davey was no doubt impatient to lob at him.

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you if you're not ready," Davey said quickly. "I'll wait for however long it takes."

"Can't have you headin' back too late," Race brushed him off, grunting a little as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I know you's generally the one takin' care of the worryin' for the rest of us, but someone's gotta make sure you don't get yourself into trouble." Though he would never admit it (and despite his abiding misgivings about Davey), he was a little touched that the older Jacobs brother would come all the way to Brooklyn just to look for him, and the least he could do in return was submit to some well-intentioned questions. He knew that Davey wasn't likely to return to Manhattan until at least some of his concerns over Race's well-being had been assuaged.

Getting to his feet while simultaneously waving off the other newsie's offer of assistance, Race made his way to the front of the bunk room, exchanging some brief words with a few of the boys he knew who expressed (in a very taciturn, Brooklyn-like manner) that it was good to see him up and about.

The two of them left the dormitory and headed down the stairs, Davey waiting patiently at the bottom of the flight until Race had made his much slower descent, and then Race led them around to the back of the lodging house where several benches sat, just like he remembered them. Thankfully, no one was occupying them at the time, so he and Davey would be able to talk undisturbed.

"All right, hit me with your questions, Dave," Race said, easing himself down onto the closest bench. "I know you've got a hundred things runnin' through that brain of yours. Out with 'em."

Davey took a seat, predictably pausing for a moment to gather himself before the words began tumbling out. "I guess I just want to know what happened," he said. "And...more importantly...how you're feeling. If you're really okay. I mean, I'm not an expert at these things by any means, but I almost got soaked myself yesterday, and even that shook me up a little, so I'm sure it's a thousand times worse to actually have to go through - "

"Hold up," Race interrupted curtly. "You said you almost got soaked yesterday? What for?"

Davey hesitated. "I...might have accidentally sold some papers in the Bronx," he admitted finally.

"You sold on their turf?" Race gawked at him. "Geez, Davey! When are you gonna learn to use your head?"

"You were just telling me a few weeks ago that I'm in my head too much," Davey answered wryly. "What do you want from me, Race?"

"Well, exercisin' some street smarts every once in awhile couldn't hurt'cha!" Race scoffed. "If you got any to speak of, that is."

"I think we both know that's debatable."

"Pretty sure it ain't even up for debate now - you's just completely clueless when it comes to survivin', Dave, and that's the truth."

"I made it here in one piece, didn't I? That should count for something."

"Guess you got a point there," Race conceded, smiling in spite of himself. "But what was you doin' in the Bronx, anyhow?"

"I thought I was supposed to be the one asking questions."

"You'll get your turn."

Davey sighed. "I was looking for you, actually. The day you went missing, Albert said he'd had some kind of dream about you telling him that you were heading to the Bronx. Everyone else thought it was nonsense, but I had this strange feeling about it...I don't know."

Race snorted. "I shoulda known better than to trust that son-of-a-gun's memory. I told him I was comin' here, not to the Bronx. But leave it to him to forget that little detail."

Davey continued. "Anyway, I walked there - "

"Should've jumped a trolley," Race interjected, "but keep goin'."

Davey gave him a slightly-annoyed look, but he once again resumed his narrative. "After I got there, I made a few sales, not really thinking much about it, but then I got confronted by Gar and a couple of his boys."

Probably those lunkheads Skeet and Knuckles, Race thought. He'd run across them on a few occasions when he'd gone to visit Calico, and they always seemed to be hanging around Gar.

"They didn't soak ya?" he said in surprise. "Gar ain't usually the kind to hold back. He's real touchy, kinda like Spot, only less reasonable."

"They were about to, but Calico talked them out of it."

Race shook his head in wonderment. "That gal's always got impeccable timin'," he observed. "She's saved my skin before, too - showed up just before it got bad."

"She has a rather disdainful way of going about it." Davey sounded a little disgruntled.

Race shrugged. "Cal ain't the kind to suffer fools, and she's been through some things that ain't made her into the nicest person, but she's got it where it counts."

"If you say so." Davey was clearly unconvinced.

"So, you walked all the way to the Bronx and almost got soaked for your troubles," Race concluded. "That's the whole story?"

"Basically. Calico suggested that you might be here. She didn't say it in so many words...but sounds like this is something you do on occasion?"

Race shrugged. "Manhattan's home for now, but it weren't always that way." He was sure that Davey would want the full story, but he wasn't going to offer it freely.

"Calico told me you were Brooklyn born and bred," Davey remarked. "I didn't know that."

"Lots of the fellas don't." Race reached into his vest pocket, intending to pull out his cigar before remembering that it had been unceremoniously stolen from him - along with everything else he'd had in his pockets - during the earlier fracas.

"Is that…" Davey hesitated for a moment before forging ahead. "Is that because you don't like to talk about it? Or because they...because we...don't ask the right questions?"

It was a weighted statement, as though Davey had been thinking about it for some time, and Race was caught off guard. It wasn't the newsie way to pry or probe - you kept your past and your personal life to yourself and didn't question the next fellow about those things either, unless he voluntarily shared them...but Davey, being the outlier that he was, hadn't ever been taught that.

"Guess it's a little of both," Race replied, surprising himself with the candid disclosure. "Some of my memories of Brooklyn ain't happy ones, but it weren't all bad, either. And I still got a few people here who's real important to me."

Davey looked thoughtful, and Race could tell that he was trying to carefully formulate his next response. "Is that why you came down here in the middle of the night?" he asked eventually. "You needed to see them?"

"Just wanted to clear my head of some things," Race answered vaguely. "Get a little fresh air, ya know? Figured stretchin' my legs could help, and Brooklyn's familiar territory."

"And...you just happened to get soaked on your way here?" Davey's voice was incredulous.

Race held back a sigh.

Time to improve the truth a little.

"Ran into a couple of thugs halfway 'cross the Bridge," he prevaricated. "Just some lowlifes skulkin' around the streets at night. Stole all my money and my cigar, and roughed me up real bad, too. Pretty sure I got a concussion of some kind - head was spinnin' and I was throwin' up some tryin' to get myself to the lodgin' house over here. Probably wouldn't have made it if Spot's birds hadn't found me. But this ain't the worst soakin' I've gotten - maybe close to it, but not the worst. Gonna hurt somethin' fierce for a few days, but I'll be back on my feet soon. You's gonna have to tell Jacky that I'll be stayin' here a few more nights, though. Don't really feel up to walkin' back to Manhattan right now."

"I'll make sure to tell him," Davey promised. He paused again, then added tentatively, "Physical injuries aside...are you sure you're okay, Race? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pry, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to...but it just doesn't seem like you to get up and leave on a whim."

"You think you know me real well, huh?"

Davey looked a little taken aback at the defensive statement. "Well...no," he admitted, and Race could tell that he was slightly hurt. "But from what I've seen, you're not the kind to do that. To just skip out, I mean. Without telling anyone, or thinking about the consequences."

Race snorted. "When have you ever seein' me bein' the responsible type, Dave?"

"During the strike," Davey answered immediately. "You could have stepped back multiple times, but you didn't. And even if your methods were unconventional sometimes, you always had a reason for the decisions you made. You always put the newsies first and did what you thought was in their best interest. That's why all of this doesn't seem to track."

Race fell silent for a moment, debating whether or not to respond. He should have known that Davey wouldn't be brushed off that easily. As much as it made things inconvenient, there was something a little comforting about his persistence, though - Davey might not be the upstanding newsie that Race and the others had thought he was, but he was still remarkably incisive. And he was still a worrier.

Stealing a glance at the other Manhattan newsie and actually bothering to look closely this time, Race noticed that Davey himself looked slightly more worn out than usual. There were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, so he likely hadn't been sleeping enough (or well), and he looked almost a little gaunt. Race wondered if the Jacobs family's recent financial strain, which Davey had alluded to during their brief disagreement at the lodging house, had meant that Davey was going hungry at least part of the day.

Race felt an involuntary stab of sympathy. He knew that Davey had a lot on his shoulders, but just as Race didn't talk much about his family, Davey didn't share much about the burdens he carried outside of his newsie life. Bits and pieces surfaced here and there - Davey taking a few more papers at the distribution window to offset some unforeseen expense, Davey showing up to the circulation gate tired, admitting (if he was asked) that he'd stayed up late the night before to study or to complete a project for his job at the tenement, Davey occasionally skipping lunch at Jacobi's to save money...sleeping little and eating less weren't unusual practices for a newsie, but Davey wasn't just responsible for himself; he had his family to think about as well. He didn't get to take a break once he'd sold his last paper; he went home to a fresh set of responsibilities, expectations, and tasks, and now that Race thought about it, Davey's trips to Brooklyn and the Bronx over the last two days had probably set him back significantly if he'd lost out on selling for both afternoons.

It was a confounding thing, Race reflected, trying to reconcile his suspicions of Davey with Davey's actions, which seemed to be so contradictory to what a self-interested thief and a liar would do. The smart approach would be to hold off trusting the other boy until the matter of the missing money could be settled...but Race, who generally wasn't one to take the strictly smart approach when it came to most decisions, instead decided to throw caution to the wind and speak freely with Davey the way he wouldn't have hesitated to do before the whole unfortunate business of the Newsie Fund had reared its ugly head. He wasn't going to let his guard down completely - but he could, at least for a moment, pretend that things were normal.

"All right, Dave," he said, settling himself a little more comfortably onto the bench. "I'll let'cha in on a little secret 'bout why I come over to this side of the Bridge sometimes. I got family here - my pa, my ma, and my little sister, Sophie. She's twelve, works in a tea factory not too far from here, and lives in a lodgin' house kinda like ours, but it's for girls who's got jobs in the area instead."

He could tell that the disclosure surprised Davey, but he didn't say anything, so Race continued.

"The four of us used to live in an apartment off Gold Street."

"Gold Street?" Davey echoed. "What a coincidence; my family lived in a tenement on York, not too far from there."

Race nodded in recognition, surprised to learn that he and Davey had practically been neighbors. "Might've passed by your place a few times. Not a very big complex, if I'm rememberin' correctly."

"No, it wasn't - but the tenement we moved into in Queens after that was even smaller. Les was actually born here - in Brooklyn, I mean. We moved shortly following his arrival."

"Ah, so your brother's a Brooklyn boy, too," Race grinned in appreciation. "Sure explains a lot."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'd tell ya, but you wouldn't understand, not bein' one of us," Race answered, turning up his nose in mocking condescension. "It ain't somethin' the hoi polloi can appreciate."

Davey huffed, but he didn't argue. "You said your sister lives in a lodging house now, and you're over in Manhattan," he reiterated. "What about your folks?"

Race shrugged indifferently. "Ain't sure where either of them's livin' now. My pa left us a while back. Pretty sure he's still in Brooklyn, but he don't bother comin' around to see any of us anymore, not even Sophie. My ma got herself a new fella and moved in with him for a while, but last I heard he threw her out, so I ain't sure where she's livin' now."

"I see," Davey said, and Race could tell that he was trying to be careful about what he said next. "It sounds like you don't really stay in touch with either of your parents, then."

Race shook his head. "Not if I don't haf'ta."

"But it's different with your sister?"

"Yeah, Soph and I have always been real close, 'specially since we's been through a lot together when our parents was fightin' like cats and dogs even before they was close to splittin' up. I come over here to see Soph whenever I can. It was easier when I was hawkin' headlines on this side of the Bridge. Got a little harder once I moved to Manhattan."

"So you did sell with Spot and his boys!" Davey exclaimed. "He made a couple of comments that made me think that you had, but I wasn't sure, and of course he didn't tell me." He sounded slightly amused.

"What's so funny about that?" Race demanded.

"I'm just trying to picture you as one of Spot's newsies," Davey grinned. "You don't seem like the type."

"I wasn't one of his newsies," Race corrected him. "We sold together, but when I was workin' here, Spot wasn't the one in charge. He got that position later, 'round the time I left for Manhattan."

There was more to the story there, but it wasn't anything he wanted to elaborate on at the moment.

"Anyway," he said, before Davey could ask any questions, "I headed this way because I was gonna pay Sophie a visit. Needed to just get away from the lodgin' house a little, and I figured by the time I got here, maybe she'd be up. They got some real early hours at the factory, so I was gonna try to catch her before she headed over there, then maybe sell papes in Brooklyn for the day and treat her to an early dinner or somethin' when she got off work. Just for a change of pace, ya know?"

"So you've got immunity over here?" Davey asked. "You're not in any danger of being soaked for selling on someone else's turf?"

Race shoved him good-naturedly in the arm. "Aw, don't be sour 'bout it, Davey," he joked. "I carried the banner here for years before I ever set foot in Manhattan territory. A lot of the boys I sold with is still here, though some of 'em have aged out in the last few years. They's my family too in some ways, even if we don't talk much and we's on opposite sides of the Bridge now."

"You sound like you miss them," Davey observed.

"Sometimes," Race admitted. "Like I said, it weren't all fun and games, but I still got a lot of good memories."

"It makes sense why you'd want to come visit, then," Davey allowed. "Especially to see your sister. Les and I aren't exactly close, but I'd probably miss him too if I didn't see him every day."

"Yeah, Sophie's a real sharp gal, and she's got a way of liftin' the spirits," Race agreed. "Helps to get away from the lodgin' house too sometimes, just to not haf'ta answer to anyone."

It was the most he'd disclosed to anyone in a while - not just the information about his family, but the implication that the responsibilities at the lodging house weighed on him sometimes. He wasn't used to talking about any of it so openly or in so many words, but the admission hadn't been as uncomfortable or as difficult as he'd expected. It was almost relieving to tell someone, actually. Even if that someone was a newsie he still wasn't sure if he could trust or not.

Before the conversation could get any further, the sound of footsteps reached Race's ears, and he looked over to see Spot coming around the corner of the lodging house.

"Figured you'd come out here," he said, smiling his wolfish grin. "Just thought I'd tell ya it's already six in the evenin' and gettin' kind of late. If you's gonna head back to Manhattan tonight, Mouth, you'd better make tracks. My boys'll make sure you get to the midpoint of the Bridge, but I can't guarantee your safety after that."

"We was just finishin' up," Race assured him.

Spot nodded, then turned around and disappeared out of sight.

"He almost seems less intimidating in Brooklyn," Davey murmured thoughtfully as he and Race got to their feet. "Like he lets down his guard or something."

"He's home," Race said simply. "And he don't have to make a show of impressin' or intimidatin' no one."

"I think I like the less intimidating version of him better."

"Then you's gonna have to come to Brooklyn a little more often, Mouth," Race said, mimicking Spot's slightly menacing tone.

"Please don't call me 'Mouth' ever again, Race," Davey muttered as they arrived at the door of the lodging house. "You know I don't like that nickname."

"Should I call ya 'Thimble' instead?"

Davey gave him a look that was decidedly not amused. "'David' or 'Davey' will be fine." He pushed the door to the lodging house open, allowing Race to make his way through before he followed him in. "Will you be okay getting back upstairs?" he asked. "Spot's right - I should probably head back now. I've got to stop by our lodging house on my way back to fill Jack in so that he doesn't try to head to The Refuge tonight, and Spot told me not to bother saying goodbye - he said his birds will be keeping an eye out for me when I head back, so I probably won't go upstairs unless you need help."

Race waved him off. "I'll be fine, Dave," he said, starting to gingerly make his way up the flight. "Am-scray, all right? Get outta here."

Davey turned to go, but he paused just before crossing the threshold. "I'm glad you're all right, Race," he said. "And thanks for sharing about your family. Even though you don't like to talk about them much."

Race shrugged, keeping his eyes on the stairs in front of him. "Weren't nothin' big."

"Well...I appreciate it," Davey said. "And I hope you're feeling well enough to come back soon. Things aren't the same without you."

"Yeah, all right," Race said, outwardly brusque but inwardly pleased by the sentiment. "Enough of that, you sap. Dont'cha have a tutorin' session or somethin' to get to?" He grinned at Davey over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on a rendezvous with your lady."

"I told her this morning that I wouldn't be back in time to meet tonight," Davey said shortly, "and that concussion must be giving you a temporary lapse of memory, Race; I've told you multiple times that Sadie's not my girl, and if you're going to continue to purposefully disregard that information, I may have to soak you myself - once you're better."

"Oh boy, I's in a real fix now."

"I'm serious, Race. You can't just go saying things like that."

"Ah come on, Davey! Is it really such an unpleasant idea?" Race paused on the stairs and turned fully around to face the other newsie. "You think Beck ain't good enough for you or somethin'?

"It has nothing to do with what I think about her," Davey replied stiffly. "It has everything to do with whether or not the statement's true."

"Oh, right, 'cause bein' truthful's real important to you," Race returned, the words coming out impugning rather than jokingly as he'd intended.

Davey must have caught the challenge in the sarcastic aside, for his expression immediately turned sober.

"It is important to me, Race," he said quietly. "I don't say things unless I mean them." His expression was direct and unwavering as he added firmly, "And if you think that's just an empty statement...then maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do, either."

The callback to the earlier remark Race had made stung, but it wasn't an unfair accusation, not when Race had been the first to throw it out.

"Anyway," Davey said, stepping back and opening the door, "I'll get going now, but I hope that you're able to rest up tonight. I'll see you when you get back to Manhattan." The words were almost perfunctory, devoid of the camaraderie that had been there only moments ago, and as the door closed behind Davey's retreating form, Race, who rarely regretted anything he did, found himself wishing that he could take back his snarking remark.

His remorse only deepened when, later that evening, Spot stopped by his bunk bed to say that Davey had left money behind to pay for Race's dinner and lodging house fees for that night. Race had only grunted non-committally in reply, but after Spot had left, he'd spent the next half hour staring at the boards of the bunk above him, wrestling with the uneasy thoughts in his head.

Something needed to be done about the missing money. He didn't want to keep second-guessing himself or second-guessing Davey like this. The culprit needed to be found, and the pilfered money restored so that all of the suspicions and the contradictions could finally be laid to rest.

Once he had healed up and could return to Manhattan, Race promised himself, he was going to get to the bottom of the mystery.

A/N: We are inching closer to resolution for this plot point - thank you for hanging in there so patiently! I'd love to hear your reactions to this chapter if you're willing to share! :) Your feedback always makes my day.