Authors Notes: Yay, the second chapter!!! Um, this one's split between Race and Specs, so I'll tell you when it changes. Race's POV happens in the afternoon, and Specs's at night. And yes, Race is actually a main character, I think the only one who isn't slashed! For some odd reason, I'm convinced Race is straight...but there will definately be some slashy thoughts on Specs's part. ::grins:: The only warnings I have for this one is a faulty spellchecker. It's not working on my computer, so I'm just sorta winging it. Newsies is not my movie, unfortunately. And a huge thank you goes out to Sinhe (Madchan) for her loads of help with Specs! The IM Conversations of Doom! Dahling, you know I love you!!! ::glomp:: Go read her fic 'Foundations' for more yummy Specs/Dutchy angst. And as usual, I'm babbling. Ok, on with the fic!!

Race-Of Hotdogs and Memories

"Extry, Extry! Maniac kills seven! City at a standstill!"

I cringed even as I said the words. This was really stretching it, even for me. The 'maniac' was actually some punk kid, and the 'seven' were rats that got left by the butcher's shop as a joke. And believe me, the city was hardly at a standstill. But hey, I gotta make a living. When it comes to selling, all bets are off, and anything goes. As long as I have a place to sleep, I don't care what I have to say. Lying is part of the job description.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't had breakfast this morning. I glanced at my stack of papers. Well, I had most of them sold. I could take a little break.

I walked over to the bar and plunked down on a stool.

"Mornin' Donny. How's business?" I asked the burly bartender.

He gave me his characteristic toothless smile, running his had through his greasy hair. Donny lost his two front teeth in a fight, or so he says. It wouldn't surprise me if he banged his head on an iron bar, though. Oh, don't get me wrong, Donny's a nice enough guy, but he's not one of the brightest people I've met.

"First off, it's not mornin'. It's gotta be at least one by now. An' as for business, it's pretty slow on da weekdays," he said, cleaning a glass with a rag. "Now, what'll it be?"

"Uh, just gimmie a hot dog or somet'in'." I replied. I knew better than to ask for beer. No one would buy anything from a drunk. The mere smell of liquor would repel people faster than you could say 'full house.'

Donny gave me a hard look. "You got money?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, Ise got money dis time. I'm a payin' customer today." Last month, I had ordered lunch and ran off without paying. Donny had forgiven me, but never forgotten. I'm surprised he'd done that much, actually. Most people would've kicked me out without a second thought.

Dony slapped the hotdog down on the counter. I flipped him my money, and he caught it with ease. The smell of cooked meat wafted up, making my mouth water. I devoured the food in record time, scattering crumbs left and right. Hey, I'm a growing boy. At least, I think I'm still growing. I'm a good three inches shorter than most of the older newsies, and they'll never let me forget it. The way they acted, you'd think I was four feet tall. Yeah, but what I always say is that what I lack in height, I make up for in attitude.

I sat on the stool and looked out at the horses. Hm, Number seven was looking good today. But it was Number two that would win, I'd bet. At least, I'd bet if I had money to spare. I lost most of it to Swifty, of all people. He was on a roll last night. I'm guessing I'm not the only one that's broke today, considering how Jack was complaining this morning. I'd get him back tonight, though. I grinned. No one beats Racetrack Higgins and stays rich for long.

The gunshot sounded. And they're off, the horses sprinting down the lanes like all hell was behind them. Number four started out strong, almost too fast. He'd be wasted by the second lap. Number six was doing just the opposite, hanging back from the pack and waiting to pull ahead. But that's no guarentee, either. If you're not careful, you won't be able to catch up.

It was clear after a few minutes who the real contenders were. Number seven was ahead, but barely. Number five was coming up behind him, and Number two was in between the two. The finish line neared, and the entire crowd held it's breath. Suddenly, Number two made a break for it, racing ahead at the last minute. And in seconds, it was all over. Number two took first amid the groans and cheers in the stands. I stood up and shouted with the rest of the crowd, caught up in the pumping adreniline.

I love the track.

I suppose I should, seeing as come here every day. I know it like the back of my hand, and could find my way around drunk, asleep, or with two black eyes-and I have, at some point. I stay here longer than I stay at the Lodging House, longer than I stayed at my house, my real house. I'm here all day, every day, in rain or shine. But I never get tired of it. The hoofbeats on the dusty ground, the smell of cigerettes and cheap beer, it all still holds the same sparkle, the same magic that grabbed me so many years ago.

The possibility that anything could happen is what draws me here, the chance to make it big with only the money in your pocket. That, and that it reminds me of...him. The sounds of shouting and cheering, the rough games of chance and strength, they all bring back memories. Good memories, memories of simpler times, when everything was clear-cut, and good and bad were set stone. Memories of when I was younger, before black and white blended together into a million shades of grey. Before I had to be strong all the time, when I could allow someone else to take care of me.

I shook my head. The real reason, the only reason, I come back here day after day is because of him. I keep thinking that behind that next corner, around the next bend, he'll be standing there waiting for me. He'll sweep me up in a tight bear hug, like he used to do when I was still a kid. He'd assure me that everything would be alright, and I could allow myself to believe him. Every head of shaggy hair, every loud, booming voice, and I'll turn and stare, looking for the familiar face.

I still haven't found him. I might never find him. But I have to keep looking, keep searching. And God help me, if he ever comes back, I'll be waiting.
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Specs-Musing on a Favorite Subject

It was night already.

Funny how the days seem to go by so fast sometimes, and so agonizingly slow other times. Most of the newsies were gathered around playing poker, joking and groaning and talking. I, however, was alone in a corner, trying to read. Or pretending to read. The book was one of my favorites, Romeo and Juliet. Poor, doomed children, they risked everything for love, for the fleeting romance of a single night. A pair of star-crossed lovers, as the story goes.

I envy them.

I envy their caring, thier passion and their willingness to die for each other. They gave up all they ever knew for love, for a love burning bright as a candle in the window. A light in the dark, a hope that they would alway have each other. I envy them, for I will never have him.

I watch him over the binding of my book, praying he doesn't notice me. He's wrapped up in the poker game, laughing with a smile so sweet it breaks my heart. He looks down at his cards, making a face at what he sees. I can't help myself. I smile. Dutchy is the last person who should be playing poker. His emotions are written all over his face for anyone to see. All a person had to do was look in his eyes to know what he was feeling. Happiness, disappointment, mischief, I had seen them all.

And anger. I had seen Dutchy angry. And it scared me.

Anger always scares me. I've seen terrible things happen when rage takes over, seen it consume a person with a burning fire. Anger can control you, can possess you until your very being is destroyed. But when the madness passes, you always regret what you did, the things you said. You realize you may have destroyed your one chance at happiness, your one dream in life. All for the petty satisfaction of seeing someone cower before you, of wielding power over a person.

But why am I scared for Dutchy when he's angry? Dutchy's never done something so horrible, so terrible that no one would forgive him. Something so bad that the only people he'd ever trusted would desert him. Dutchy would stop himself, control himself before he hurt someone.

And that's why I love him.

Love; I know it sounds crazy. He's my closest friend, my shoulder to cry on. He's suppported me through thick and thin, and trusted me with his life. He's told me about his past, about his wonderful mother who died when he was five. About his father abandoning him before he was born. I know him inside and out, better than I know anyone. And he knows nothing, absolutely nothing, about me.

I'm afraid to tell him. What if he hates me? Well, I don't know if Dutchy would actually hate anyone. But he'd avoid me, make excuses not to be around me. He'd recoil at my touch with a barely concealed flinch. He'd tell me, calmly and quietly, that he was normal, he liked girls, but we could still be friends, right? And I would nod and smile. Of course, of course. And that would be the end of it. We'd slowly lose contact, and never speak to each other again.

It would kill me.

It's practically killing me right now. When all I can do put a hand on his shoulder, lean against his back. Pretend that I don't watch him constantly. Pretend that when Bumlets or Skittery touches him, the sour taste flooding my mouth isn't jealousy.

Suddenly, someone sat down on beside me with a thud. "Heya Specs, watcha doin' over heah? The party's over dere!" I looked into Blink's grinning face.

"Yeah, well Ise don' feel too much like partyin' right now," I replied, trying to hint at him to go away. I sighed. When Blink gets the bit between his teeth, he won't quit til he gets his way.

"Aw, c'mon now, Specs. Youse bein' too quiet tonight! Ya need to lighten up and have some fun."

"He's right, ya know," said someone else, sitting on the other side of me. Great, Blink had enlisted Jack's help. "Whatevah's in dat book can't possibly be more interestin' than tawking wit' your friends."

"Please, guys, just leave me alone, okay?" I pleaded.

Jack shot Blink an evil look, then they both turned back to me, grinning. My eyes widened. I was getting scared now.

"Now Specs," Jack said sweetly, "If you ain't gonna rip yourself away from dis book, then will just have to rip da book away from you!"

And with that, he snatched my book and sprinted away, yelling and whooping. I jumped up to start running after him, but Blink grabbed me and held me back.

"Specs! C'mon, play wit' us! You'll have fun!," he insisted, trying not to laugh. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I'll even let you sit by Dutchy..."

"What!!" I screeched. Oh God, please don't let Blink know. My life would officially be over.

Jack came back empty-handed, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary. "Well, Specs, I seem to have lost da book. I guess youse have no choice but to socialize!"

I glared at them both. Damn them to the bowels of hell. They got on either side of me and frog-marched me to an empty place in the circle. I sat down and scowled at the rest of the newsies, to thier vast amusement. Blink sat back down next to Mush and shot me a smug look. True to his word, I was sitting next to Dutchy. He turned and gave me a sympathetic smile. My heart skipped a beat.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad night after all.


Closing Comments: Okay, so I couldn't resist picking on Specs. ::grins:: He just makes it so easy! Um, I have a request. If anyone finds any spelling errors, could you tell me? I'll fix 'em if you spot any. Thanks!