Author's Notes: Third chapter is up! This one turned out a bit more angsty then I had originally intended. I guess Jacky-boy's just got some issues. ::pets Jack:: Anyway, no major warnings for this one, just tons of angst. I think I went a little overboard with his thoughts, I swear I wasn't intending on putting all this angst in. Hopefully, you can forgive me. Sorry about how short this is, too. More slash in this chapter, btw. I doubt there'll be many chapters without it ::taps fingers evilly::. As always, a HUGE thank you goes out to Sinhe, who actually got me to write the damn thing in the first place! ::gives madchan muffins:: And the reviewers!!! I'm madly in love with you all!!! ::dances:: Alrighty, enjoy!
Jack-Golden Dreams
I couldn't sleep.
I'd been tossing and turning for hours now, willing myself to relax. I curled into a ball, wrapping the thin blanket around myself. It was getting colder. I could feel winter waiting, lurking in the shadows. And soon, too soon, it would pounce. It would encase this dirty city with ice, preserving the filth for the future generations. The grime would crystalize, turning the snow grey. Grey, the color of lost hope, the color of emptiness and regret.
I'd have to start worrying about frostbite, about whether or not the kids could handle the cold. Sales would drop, because no one would want to be outside once the winter hit. Granted, Kloppman was a lot easier on us during the winter. He would let you in the first few times you couldn't make rent. But then the hunger sets in. If you can't pay rent, you definately can't buy food. And I would be forced to watch as all my closest friends waste away.
Race, who was already as skinny as hell, would be a skeleton. And Mush, well, any food he gets he'll give half of it away. The bones in Dutchy's hands would become more and more pronounced. The hollows under Specs's eyes would grow deeper. Skittery would have to borrow someone else's clothes; his would be too big. Blink's face would grow thinner and thinner, and he'd force a horrible fake smile and laugh.
And Spot. Oh, god, sometimes I thought Spot was the worst of all. He'd pretend that it didn't hurt him to watch the Brooklyn newsies, his newsies, face starvation. He'd put on a brave face and say that they were big boys and could take care of themselves. He'd act like he didn't feel responsible for them, that he didn't care if they faded away into shadows of their former selves. But deep inside, he would cry for them.
It was the price of being the leader, the terrible mask we have to wear. Never hurting, never indecisive. Never doubting for a moment that you're doing the right thing. It was painful, all this pretending. I can't count how many times I've just wanted to scream 'Help me, I don't know what to do!', all the times I've wanted to shout and yell and curse the world.
I think that's why Spot and I care so much about each other. I understand him, more so that almost anyone. And he understands me, understands me with such clarity and perception that it brings tears to my eyes. We take comfort in each other, in knowing that whatever is said between us ends there. I don't know how many times I've broken down and cried in his arms.
And he's done the same with me. Once he came to me with pain etched across his delicate features, a haunted look in his eyes. He told me that one of his closest friends was killed, murdered in a fight on the docks. After they took the body away, there was a bloodstain on the wood. And no matter how much they scrubbed, the blood wouldn't go away. I held him while sobs racked his body, stroking his fine brown hair and whispering meaningless comforts in his ear.
I love him. I love him more that I've ever loved anyone. He's always first, always the most important. His opinion is what matters to me. He holds my life in his hands, he keeps my soul in his heart. He owns me mind, body and everything in between.
I rolled over, and my eyes drifted to the loose floorboard under Race's bed. My secret, the secret I keep from even Spot. I can't tell him, can't make him worry. He doesn't need to know that I still have it. He doesn't need to know that I still think about it late at night.
The money Pulitizer gave me is hiding under that floor.
Sometimes I swear I can hear it whispering. 'Jack, Jack. Santa Fe is waiting for you. It's not too late. You can leave this place, leave behind all the cares and worries of New York. You could run away, run away to an endless summer, to a sun that burns bright all year round. You could leave...if you dare...'
No, I think, I would never desert my friends. They need me, they wouldn't know what to do if I left. I couldn't just leave everything I'd built here. I tried leaving once, but I couldn't do it. And Spot; I could never hurt Spot, even if I wanted to.
But my thoughts are trecherous. A voice, small and faded, yet terrible persistant, tells me to go. It tells me that I was overestimating my importance. Maybe my newsies would get along just fine without me. Someone would take over if I left, and maybe they'd make a better leader. Maybe Santa Fe was my real home, the place I was meant to be. And maybe, just maybe, I cared about Spot more than he cared about me.
I sternly told this voice to shut up. I was happy here, wasn't I? I had friends, family, a lover. Wasn't that was life was all about? And weren't there plenty of guys that would kill to be in my position? I was lucky, really. I had a good life, a life with flaws, sure, but a good life. I didn't need to run away from it.
But the voice would not be silenced.
________________________________________________________________________________
Closing Comments: Yay! Actual plot in the next chapter! These first few chapters have been more intro than anything else. The plots is looming. Brace yourself...
Jack-Golden Dreams
I couldn't sleep.
I'd been tossing and turning for hours now, willing myself to relax. I curled into a ball, wrapping the thin blanket around myself. It was getting colder. I could feel winter waiting, lurking in the shadows. And soon, too soon, it would pounce. It would encase this dirty city with ice, preserving the filth for the future generations. The grime would crystalize, turning the snow grey. Grey, the color of lost hope, the color of emptiness and regret.
I'd have to start worrying about frostbite, about whether or not the kids could handle the cold. Sales would drop, because no one would want to be outside once the winter hit. Granted, Kloppman was a lot easier on us during the winter. He would let you in the first few times you couldn't make rent. But then the hunger sets in. If you can't pay rent, you definately can't buy food. And I would be forced to watch as all my closest friends waste away.
Race, who was already as skinny as hell, would be a skeleton. And Mush, well, any food he gets he'll give half of it away. The bones in Dutchy's hands would become more and more pronounced. The hollows under Specs's eyes would grow deeper. Skittery would have to borrow someone else's clothes; his would be too big. Blink's face would grow thinner and thinner, and he'd force a horrible fake smile and laugh.
And Spot. Oh, god, sometimes I thought Spot was the worst of all. He'd pretend that it didn't hurt him to watch the Brooklyn newsies, his newsies, face starvation. He'd put on a brave face and say that they were big boys and could take care of themselves. He'd act like he didn't feel responsible for them, that he didn't care if they faded away into shadows of their former selves. But deep inside, he would cry for them.
It was the price of being the leader, the terrible mask we have to wear. Never hurting, never indecisive. Never doubting for a moment that you're doing the right thing. It was painful, all this pretending. I can't count how many times I've just wanted to scream 'Help me, I don't know what to do!', all the times I've wanted to shout and yell and curse the world.
I think that's why Spot and I care so much about each other. I understand him, more so that almost anyone. And he understands me, understands me with such clarity and perception that it brings tears to my eyes. We take comfort in each other, in knowing that whatever is said between us ends there. I don't know how many times I've broken down and cried in his arms.
And he's done the same with me. Once he came to me with pain etched across his delicate features, a haunted look in his eyes. He told me that one of his closest friends was killed, murdered in a fight on the docks. After they took the body away, there was a bloodstain on the wood. And no matter how much they scrubbed, the blood wouldn't go away. I held him while sobs racked his body, stroking his fine brown hair and whispering meaningless comforts in his ear.
I love him. I love him more that I've ever loved anyone. He's always first, always the most important. His opinion is what matters to me. He holds my life in his hands, he keeps my soul in his heart. He owns me mind, body and everything in between.
I rolled over, and my eyes drifted to the loose floorboard under Race's bed. My secret, the secret I keep from even Spot. I can't tell him, can't make him worry. He doesn't need to know that I still have it. He doesn't need to know that I still think about it late at night.
The money Pulitizer gave me is hiding under that floor.
Sometimes I swear I can hear it whispering. 'Jack, Jack. Santa Fe is waiting for you. It's not too late. You can leave this place, leave behind all the cares and worries of New York. You could run away, run away to an endless summer, to a sun that burns bright all year round. You could leave...if you dare...'
No, I think, I would never desert my friends. They need me, they wouldn't know what to do if I left. I couldn't just leave everything I'd built here. I tried leaving once, but I couldn't do it. And Spot; I could never hurt Spot, even if I wanted to.
But my thoughts are trecherous. A voice, small and faded, yet terrible persistant, tells me to go. It tells me that I was overestimating my importance. Maybe my newsies would get along just fine without me. Someone would take over if I left, and maybe they'd make a better leader. Maybe Santa Fe was my real home, the place I was meant to be. And maybe, just maybe, I cared about Spot more than he cared about me.
I sternly told this voice to shut up. I was happy here, wasn't I? I had friends, family, a lover. Wasn't that was life was all about? And weren't there plenty of guys that would kill to be in my position? I was lucky, really. I had a good life, a life with flaws, sure, but a good life. I didn't need to run away from it.
But the voice would not be silenced.
________________________________________________________________________________
Closing Comments: Yay! Actual plot in the next chapter! These first few chapters have been more intro than anything else. The plots is looming. Brace yourself...