Chapter 12

Brooklyn, October, 1902

The brightness of the sun's rays filtering in through the attic window was the first thing Spot became aware of as he lazily drifted into wakefulness. The second was the feel of Kate's warm body molded against his own, her thin chemise the only thing separating his bare chest from the soft skin of her back.

He smiled lightly as he tightened his arm around her middle, leaning just close enough to brush his lips on her exposed shoulder.

She stirred at the contact, murmuring something incoherent into the pillow, causing his smile to widen as he moved his lips slowly and seductively toward the base of her neck.

She sighed pleasantly. "What a way to wake up."

He smirked as she turned to face him, her eyes squinting at the brightness. Her fingers absentmindedly ran through the hair that fell over his brow, a spark of mischief brewing in her stare. "Not anything like the dream I was having though…I wouldn't mind falling back asleep to feel that again."

She laughed as he took the bait, positioning himself over her in one swift movement and lowering his face until his lips were almost touching hers. The corresponding shudder of anticipation from her body and the catch of her breath against his mouth were almost too tempting for him to resist just leaning in and kissing her until she was fully gasping.

But he steadied himself, brushing his lips over hers, whispering, "Well why don't you tell me specifically what I was doing that felt so good, and then we'll have no problem performing an encore."

She looked away momentarily before she smirked. "Who said it was you?"

"Oh?" he quirked his eyebrow, as she tried to hide her laughter. "Then who was it?"

"I don't want to make you feel inferior or anything," she said, again looking away dramatically. "Because it's a lot to live up to. But…I think I may be falling for a Hessian. From, up north somewhere. Sleepy Hollow he might have said. He's got hands, he's got a horse…I dunno. It's really just a magical connection between us."

Her body began trembling in laughter as he shook his head at her absurdity. "Still not done with the terrible Halloween jokes I see. Last week it was 'someone with real lightning in their veins'. The week before…." He trailed off rolling his eyes, attempting to stifle his own smile of amusement.

It should have been irritating—the silly word games and teasing—her needless interruptions almost every time he attempted anything physical. He should have been frustrated—outraged— by the fact that she thought him vulnerable enough to goad. To show no deference. In any other instance, with any other person, it would have been.

But not with her.

Because her antics and quips, her natural ability to not take herself too seriously was so uniquely hers—a genuine showing of her affection that Spot was beginning to see not very many had experienced. She created puzzles that he greatly enjoyed solving. Her jokes were unfunny, but at the same time amused him significantly. Because she knew how terrible they were. That was the thing that made her laugh.

And he loved hearing her laugh. It was a sound that regularly caused his chest to fill with an emotion he wasn't sure he had ever felt before. One that seemed overwhelming, but also sating.

He didn't know what the hell was going on with him.

He didn't know why he was completely content with the fact that it had been months and they had yet to be fully intimate. He had given her free reign of his body, and she had eagerly engaged with a proficiency and confidence that he had not quite expected. And he had been utterly enthralled by it.

But also, further confused by her.

Because how could this incredibly powerful, responsive woman be so convinced that something was wrong with her own body. That she was in any way defective. If anything, he had become assured of the opposite—that there was undeniably a way to reach that desire, that want, inside of her, inciting it until she finally was able to connect the emotions with the tangible sensations of physicality.

But he had barely explored anything above or beneath her waist in all their months together. Not because he didn't want to—God did he want to. He was just being patient, waiting for the right time. He wanted to make sure he understood her body first and give her time to trust and understand his. Because when he did finally touch her in all the ways he wanted to, there would be no brokenness or numbness. No absence.

He'd make sure she'd feel every single tinge of heaven, every pulse of pleasure that no other son of a bitch had ever thought to show her. And he'd guarantee that she'd know it was by his hands—

That she was indisputably his.

The strange possessive thought took him back slightly as his head slowly cleared, bringing him back to the present conversation and the pretty girl beneath him.

"It was 'the man who made my heart stop'," she laughed. "And I thought today's was better!"

He smirked. "You thought 'the headless horseman' was better? You realize that today's amazing lover is dead and headless though, right? Meaning, he literally has no fuckin' head. So, he can't speak. He can't look at you. And he definitely can't do things like this—"

And he leaned down, aggressively pushing his lips over hers, as she inhaled somewhat in surprise. But it only took a moment for her to match the tone he set, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth before he even more forcefully took over. His lips sloppily meandered past her mouth, down her jaw until he reached the sensitive area where her neck and shoulder met. She gasped as her fingers clenched within his hair, her body arching to meet his.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he whispered in her ear before nipping it, one of his hands delicately sliding along the outside of her lower thigh. He relished in the shudder that accompanied his touch as he pulled back and stared intently into her wide, fervent gaze, her pretty, dark curls framing her face.

"I most likely bore you half to death," she said breathlessly with a smirk.

He chuckled at her sarcasm, the same impish spark shining curiously in her eyes. But before he could say a word, she had grasped his bare shoulders with her hands, clenching her legs against his hips to flip him on his back. She straddled him triumphantly, placing her hands on either side of his head before saying, "But really though, you'd never believe that with such a staggering bevy of women to choose from, Thomas Conlon would dare settle with one silly, hopeless, rabble-rouser for the past nine months. What has this world come to?"

He smiled at her as she leaned in to place gentle kisses along his jaw and neck. "What can I say? I like my rabbles roused." But on a softer note, he ran a hand through her hair and murmured, "And maybe you aren't the hopeless cause you seem to think you are, Kate."

But his comment had an unexpected effect on the girl who had slowly moved her lips down to his chest and then his abdomen. Her body suddenly stiffened and then shot up in panic, her eyes wide as she said, "Wait, what did you say?"

He stared back at her with a similar look of alarm. "What? Rabble roused?"

"No," she huffed, closing her eyes, and shaking her head. "The other thing. Hopeless cause?"

He nodded slowly, unsure of what was unfolding before him and if he should be concerned or not.

Kate's eyes popped open as she asked anxiously, "What's the date today? It's October, right? October twenty-something?"

"Yeah," Spot replied. "Almost Halloween. October 28th I'm pretty sure."

"Shit!" Kate hissed, looking frantically around. "Oh no, I completely lost track of the days. Shit!"

And she was up in a flash, almost making Spot dizzy with how quickly she ambled about collecting the garments she had discarded on the floor the previous night. He sat up slowly, his eyes wide as he watched her clumsily begin to get dressed, muttering anxiously to herself.

"Kate," he said slowly, "What the hell is going on?"

"It's—it's the 28th and I completely forgot. I need to go get Julia a present—I need to—to get some other things for tonight. I'm a complete monster for forgetting—I just feel awful, but I think I have enough time to—"

"Wait, it's Julia's birthday today?" Spot asked, still completely bewildered by her statements and actions.

"No," Kate answered quickly. "It's lost causes day."

Spot stared silently at her for several beats as he watched her pin her hair messily out of her face, unsure of what she had said, or if he had even heard her correctly. But when she turned to meet his gaze, she smiled reassuringly. "I'm not crazy, I swear."

She came to sit back upon the cot, pulling her stockings on as Spot ran a hand through his hair and half-heartedly joked, "You once told me not to rule that out." She laughed softly as she turned back to meet his still confused stare before he continued, "Really though, what the hell are you talking about? Lost causes day?"

She laced up her second shoe and fully turned to him. "It's—it's just a thing Julia and I do every year. It's a holiday that we celebrate—mostly we just drink—then she makes me give a speech—and then well—she—I guess we—" she paused seeming to search for the right words to relay, but her eyes caught the sun shining through the window, so she leaned in to give him a short, though intense kiss on the mouth and stood. "It's a really long story and I need to go run a bunch of errands before tonight. But if you don't already have any plans, I'd love it if you'd join me at Sonny's around nine. It's always good fun—or at the very least interesting."

She shot him an imploring smile as he smirked back at her, "A speech huh? I might have to come see this supposed holiday celebration."

"Hopefully that part will be over by the time you get there," she muttered rolling her eyes. "But maybe I'll see you later tonight."

And with a swift smile she was out the door and down the stairs.

Brooklyn, December, 1903

"Go away, Conlon."

Spot closed his eyes to steady himself against Kate's harsh tone. The frigid December air seemed to eat through all three layers of his clothes as he dug his hands further into his pockets, clenching them into fists. But after a few deep breaths, he lifted his eyes back toward her small form on the opposite side of the roof and walked her way once more.

The sun was setting in the distance, and he noted how her eyes emptily took in the faraway colors as she brought a cigarette shakily to her mouth. Her features appeared gaunt and shadowed—her cheeks hollowed, her eyes haunted by dark circles of exhaustion, and the thin jacket she wore looked to swallow her whole.

"Seems you don't understand simple English anymore," she said flatly as he came to stand beside her, allowing several feet between them for good measure.

She took a long drag off her cigarette, still avoiding even a glance in his direction. "So, I'll try again. Go the fuck away."

He sighed, looking somberly toward her as he began to roll his own cigarette. "This is how it's gonna be now? You've been avoiding me for an entire month, Kate. And that's pretty fuckin' impressive since you don't ever leave the goddamn building." He stared earnestly at her, willing her to give him any kind of real response, but she simply blew a thin stream of smoke through her lips. "Look, I'm glad you're doin a little better now an' feelin' up to movin' around and talkin' more. All I'm sayin' is I'm here too. I see you talk to Mary all goddamn day. You talk to Rummy when he stops by. Shit, you even talk to most of the fuckin' newsies. So, why not me? Why can't we have a conversation?"

Kate had made huge strides in her healing journey, both physically and emotionally over the last month. Her left arm was fully functional again, her ribs mostly healed, and her nightmares had receded substantially both in intensity and number. She had become much more participatory in the household, learning the chore schedule from Mary, and then taking on the more arduous tasks herself. Not to mention that the bond between the two women began to naturally flourish, much to Spot's fulfillment. They appeared to have a plethora of in-house activities that seemed to amuse the two of them greatly—trading commentary on poorly written articles in the paper, trying to find the snootiest looking debutantes in the society pages every day, and a long running list Spot found on the counter entitled "best things heard in the boy's washroom". They cooked together, and read books, cleaned, and ate quick meals, Kate often listening to Mary prattle on about any number of things throughout their days. The only thing Spot did find somewhat concerning was that Kate often shared nothing personal in return, keeping her addendums at surface level only.

She also had welcomed Rummy's visits warmly, though maintained her distance, just as she did with everyone else. He managed to pull a few smiles out of her, gently running over all the bland topics he knew of, and she seemed appreciative for his thoughtfulness in the end. Though, as both Spot and Rummy discussed, she was certainly no closer to the girl they had known so well—the one that would play drinking games against the large boy and Julia and still manage to be the last one standing and laughing.

"She's hidin'," Rummy muttered one day to Spot after Kate walked out the room. "I can see her in there, but somethin's blockin' it. Like she's holdin' herself back for some reason."

But Spot shook Rummy's worried face from his mind as he forced himself back to the present, noticing Kate step closer to the ledge she had been leaning against the moment before.

And then she scoffed, tapping some ash off the end of her smoke, her hands trembling even more forcefully as her eyes avoided his at all costs. "I have nothing to say to you, Spot Conlon. Nothing at all."

He felt the indignance building swiftly in his chest even as he desperately strained to temper it. He had been trying so fucking hard for so long, but this last month had been wearing on him worse than the other two combined. Seeing her talking and interacting with others, offering smiles and kindness, no matter how fleeting or limited it was, to everyone around her but him was goddamn maddening. She ignored him, said nothing, walked past him as if he was a piece of furniture—something disposable and in the way.

And he had tried to talk to her. He had tried to bring up the things that had happened before. The things he had said, the horrible, awful things that he had told her. But he would only manage to get two words out before she swiftly moved on, disappearing before he had a chance to blink.

He knew she must have some thoughts on what had transpired between them, some fiery rejoinders to throw in his face at his cowardice and cruelty. She must feel someway about it. She was still here, under the same roof as him, with no plans to relocate anytime soon, so she had to eventually open up and discuss what this meant for them. Unless…

Unless she really didn't have anything else she wanted to say to him. Ever again.

The sickness that filled his stomach was overwhelming, the thought almost bringing him to his knees. But he quickly got a hold of himself, clenching his body together and snapping his mind back into focus. He had known this wasn't going to be easy—that he had done damage between them that he wasn't even sure he knew how to fix. But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to try like hell to get her back anyway.

He could do this everyday for as long as it took.

But as he watched her inhale irritably from her smoke once more, a thought occurred to him. Maybe the soft, gentle approach he had been using wasn't doing him any favors. Maybe it was time to push, just a little, and see if she could still push back.

So, he quickly lit his cigarette before turning fully toward her, his eyes animated and purposeful. "Now I know you're full of shit, Kate."

He saw first, her look of shock as she finally turned toward him and met his stare. Her eyes were wide, the green bright in the reflecting dusk, and for just a moment, she almost took his breath away with just that look. But then her gaze narrowed, her cheeks flushing and jaw tightening.

"Alright," she said sharply. "Since you seem to think that everything and everyone has to function on whatever flight of fancy you're operating on for the day, I'll be clearer. I don't want to talk to you. Leave me the fuck alone."

The sarcasm dripping from her voice was almost music to his ears. Anything other than the flatness that had pervaded her tone for the previous weeks. He felt a smirk growing on his lips as he saw her flick her cigarette off the roof, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?"

And then he saw the rageful fire alight in her eyes, like a beacon of hope shining straight toward him.

"You self-involved son of bitch," she hissed. "You know damn well why I don't want to talk to you. You know why!"

He could see her body tremble slightly, the anger passing through her like a quake through the Earth. She stared at him as hurt and betrayal warred against the ire within her gaze. But she closed her eyes and shook her head, rubbing her hands over her face in a calming manner.

After several moments, she took a deep breath and murmured, "You know what, I'm not doing this with you. I'm not doing this with anyone. There's no point in getting angry—about any of it. It happened and it's done. So now it's all just best left alone."

At first he was stunned by the sheer level of control she had over herself. But then it slowly occurred to him that what he was seeing was not actually control-it was well-practiced denial.

In that instant, Spot suddenly understood something about Katherine Moore that he had never quite realized before. And he hurt for her immensely.

How many times had she said some version of those words or thought those sentiments to herself? How many years had she been swallowing other people's abuse and cruelty with little to know emotional investment and response? How many times had others denied her the right to feel whatever way she did about what had transpired?

He had assumed she had thick skin. And in a lot of ways she did. But in other, more concerning ways, by being denied the right to an emotional reaction in the many, many traumas and horrors that had befallen her, she hadn't avoided the emotions. She had buried them—twisting them into a mutated version of the story where it was somehow her doing.

Her fault.

And suddenly he knew how he could help her.

He knew the first small thing he could do to start to make things right.

"Why isn't there a point in getting angry? Don't you remember what I said to you that night?" he asked resolutely.

Kate's body stiffened as she looked at him, eyes wide. "Yes."

"So why aren't you angry?" Spot goaded, narrowing his gaze as he took one more puff off his cigarette and then tossed it to the ground. "Do you remember? You came here late, you were upset, you said you were in trouble. You asked if you could stay with me for a few days until some things blew over."

Spot saw the color drain from Kate's face at his words, a pang of guilt reverberating in his own gut as he continued, "I let you in and we went up to the attic, but I was already unhappy with you. Because you had been lying. For months—about everything."

She nodded weakly, her gaze wandering from his. But he needed her to stay with him. For this to work, he needed her to stay where he was guiding her. She wasn't ready for the other, far more complicated tragedies, and neither was he. But this one—he was almost certain he could get her through this one in one piece.

So, he walked to her, gently grasping her face to tilt it toward him, refocusing her eyes on his. "Don't," she whispered, her whole body shaking beneath his grasp, but he tightened his grip a little more, shaking his head.

"Then you told me what happened with Julia's fiancé. Your boss. You said he'd roughed you up quite a few times before, that you thought something wasn't right with him. But that two days before you came to me, he locked you in his office because of something you had done wrong. That he decided to teach you a real lesson that day. So, he raped you, but before he could do anymore damage, you stabbed him with a pen, and busted through his window, down the fire escape and ran."

Several tears escaped her eyes, making Spot's chest constrict in pain. But he knew he had to finish the story. "You went to Julia, but she didn't believe you. So, you came to me. You begged me for help. You were crying. But I said that since you wouldn't even tell me the man's name, and that you had lied about almost everything else, I had to assume you were lyin' about this too."

At that, Kate's body jolted as she yanked against him somewhat harder, but he held fast, wrapping his other arm tightly around her back so she couldn't pull away. Not yet.

"I don't wanna hear this," she gritted out, shaking her head.

"You need to," he stated clearly, his eyes intently staring into her tearful ones. "Because I didn't just stop there, did I? I told you some horrible things, Kate. I told you that story was getting tired. That I was sure it had gotten around the city by now that you were just some used up whore. So, what would any man really have a need with you anyway? I certainly was embarrassed to have spent any time with you. You were sixteen and already spoilt rubbish by street standards. And you sat there, Kate. You sat there and—"

"STOP IT!"

The shriek echoed across the rooftop and into the darkening sky above. He looked attentively at her face, seeing the flush of her skin, the rage boiling in her eyes. Her body was tense, her breathing ragged as she pushed against his chest harshly, freeing herself from his hold.

"I can't believe you said that to me! I can't believe you! You're—you're a heartless bastard!" she cried, both her hands splayed across her chest, as if she were trying to hold together a deep gash.

"I came to you for help! I—I came to you vulnerable, and you attacked me! What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that to me? I know you don't love me. You laughed at me when I said it to you all that time ago. Which is so cruel—so fucking heartless. I just can't even believe I'd come back for more. Goddammit, Spot! Goddamn you! You are so selfish—so—so cowardly, and so fucking manipulative!" she yelled, now clenching her head as she paced back and forth in front of him.

"You take and take and take! You demanded honesty from me, you demanded my whole story, but the minute I asked you for yours, the rules fucking changed! And you laughed when I told you I loved you! Oh my God, you laughed. You utter piece of shit! Was this all a game to you? This whole time?"

She paused from her diatribe, glaring at him furiously, waiting for an answer. "No," he offered simply, his eyes sad as he met her gaze. "It was never a game. I cared about you. I...still do."

"Then I don't understand at all," she said, some of her energy dissipating as she shook her head. "But you're an absolute bastard for all of those things. You're exactly right—I should be angry. I should've been furious a long time ago. I can't believe I can stand being this close to you! How could you?! How could you do that to me?! How could you toss me aside like that—treat me like nothing!? And here you are now, asking why I won't have a fucking conversation with you? Are you serious?!"

She breathed heavily for a few minutes, a hand on her head, looking up at the sky as Spot took a few steps closer to her, saying clearly. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, Kate. And I certainly haven't done enough to earn back your trust. But I do want you to know that I'm sorry. For everything. For all the horrible, cruel lies I spouted to you over the past two years. For making you feel less than. For making you doubt yourself and doubt me. For—everything."

She stared steadily at him for a long while, her stormy eyes studying his contrite face, before she offered him a hesitant nod. "I—I still don't know what to do with all of this. With you. There's just—so much time—so much shit to sort through."

"Well," Spot started gently, offering her a small smile. "As much as I hate to encourage this, I think you should probably try on the anger for a while. It's warranted for at least a few days more."

"At least," she blazed, her eyes all fury and hurt.

Then she sighed and nodded several times, finally turning to go. But just as he raised his head toward the night sky releasing the breath he had been holding for what seemed like the last hour, he heard her voice again

"Spot?"

His head jerked in her direction, her green eyes glowing in the semi-darkness as she quietly posed, "Have you already decided what you want? With all of this?"

And he couldn't help the easy smile that pulled at his lips as he slipped his hands into his pockets and meaningfully, though sadly met her gaze. "You."