Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters or the places mentioned in the story. All that is Disney's is Disney's, and all that is mine is mine. This disclaimer holds true for all chapters posted, or to be posted of this story. I am not making money with this story; I am dirt poor, so don't sue me. I also take no claim to the song lyrics. Those belong to the producers, the artists, the composers, the record label, the writers, and the genius that is not my own. I am not making money off of it or any part of this story, no infringement is intended, so don't sue me.
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A/N: This isn't my favorite chapter, mainly because I don't have a favorite chapter…. But it is fairly long, well more like medium, but it has a lot of content. Though you probably really don't care about my note here and you just want to get onto the story. So by all means, go right ahead and do that.
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Warning: This chapter is rated PG for mild cursing and mild violence.
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Chapter 11: Bloodlines
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//Childish with my,
Reasoning and pride,
Godless to the extent,
That I died…//
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The night air was crisp as the promise of fall settled over the city. The darkness enveloped the area as the moon ruled the sky, vanquishing the light with its unearthly glow. Shadows were long and the light from the lamps flicked eerily as a wind whipped down the streets. All of this was observed from a pair of smoky turquoise eyes. The eyes belonged to a boy who seemed to be as much of a shadow as the one in which he stood.
The cherry red end of a cigarette bobbed and glowed as he took a deep inhalation from the nicotine stick. Even at a young age, he had learned the addictive principles of smoking. The few that were out didn't pay any attention to the young boy who was virtually hidden in the darkness. If they had, they would have seen him staring intently at the building across from them.
The building was massive with a large wall and huge gates surrounding it. It didn't look welcoming to say the least. Every once in awhile a guard would pass behind the gate, looking very proud of his position. A position that was fairly worthless in the grand scheme of things, but it was a job that many would have loved to have. Almost any job that didn't have to do with working in a factory was coveted.
Tossing the dead butt of his cigarette on the ground, he smashed it under the toe of his boot. The guard hadn't passed in about a half an hour, which probably meant the fat man had fallen asleep. Silently, he crossed the street and slinked to the gate. Standing so that so he could see inside the small guardhouse, he saw that the man was indeed sitting in his chair and was indeed asleep.
Smiling, Spot looked the gate and mentally calculated the route that he would take over it. After he had done this, he took a quick look up and down the street and checked for the note his in pocket. Finding everything in order, Spot began to climb.
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Her lungs burned, her legs burned, her head spun with the clutter of thoughts and jumbled escape routes, but she still hadn't managed to get away. Knowing the streets of Coney Island slightly better than the two boys that were chasing her, she managed to keep them behind her. The streets were slick with mud and ice and as she ran, dodging people, carts, and animals.
Looking behind her, she saw that the two were closing in on her fast and she knew that she had to find some way to get away. With a final burst of speed, she pushed herself to the absolute limit and ran with everything that she had. Darting around a corner, she then darted into an alley that she knew was there. Running down that alley, she turned into yet another narrow passageway. Then she came to a crack between two buildings and squeezed between them. It was barely wide enough for her to fit into it, but she did, and shimmied her way to the other side with painstaking effort. Sure that she had lost them, Frost then headed directly the lodging house, still running.
When she made it inside, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it. Nothing else could be heard but her heavy breathing and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Gulping air into her starved lungs, she opened her eyes to see the whole inhabitance of the bunkroom staring at her. Forcing herself to stand upright, she met each and every gaze with steady determination before walking to the bathroom and promptly vomiting.
She hadn't known her stomach was sick, maybe it hadn't been, but something about her definitely hurt. Leaning her head against the heel of her palm, she fought back another wave of nausea as she knelt over a filthy toilet. Every one of her muscles screamed in pain and protest, her forehead was beaded with sweat, but that wasn't the sickness she felt. Something deeper than physical was crying out in anguish and she knew what it was.
She had seen him.
In the first instant when their eyes had met, she had felt it again. It wasn't the giddy, butterflies that she was used to. It was something deeper. Much deeper, and it scared her. Why hadn't she run from him in that first instant she had the chance? Why had she stayed and talked to him? She knew why. There was no denying the intense attraction that drew her to him like the opposite side of a magnet.
Leaning her head back against the thin wooden divider of the stalls, she closed her eyes and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. There was no denying it anymore, not even to her conscious. Gripping the gold cross at her throat, she prayed to God that he would take these feelings away from her. They weren't something that she wanted, but they were something that could no longer ignore. Somewhere along the line, she had managed to fall in love with that terrible Spot Conlon.
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//My anger's violent,
But still I'm silent,
When tragedy,
Strikes at home…//
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"Shit," Jack breathed, slowing to a stop and looking around the streets. "Where'd she go?" he searched the area frantically with his eyes.
"Jack, she ain't heah," Spot panted, scanning the street with equal vigor.
"It wos her, Spot," Jack's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Who?" Spot played the fool.
"Cowgoil," Jack bent over, putting his hands on his knees, the cold air burning his lungs.
"Dat wos Cowgoil?" Spot asked, so everything she had said was true. There had been the proof of the articles that she had in her collection, but no word of anyone else to back her claims. Now that this one claim had been backed up beyond a shadow of a doubt, what cause did he have to doubt her others?
"Yeah," Jack straightened, looking around one last time.
"Ah yous shuah?" Spot scratched his head, still trying to regain his breath from the vigorous run.
"Yeah," Jack scowled. "Whot wos she doin' heah on Coney?" he wondered aloud.
"It's close enough ta Manhattan," Spot reasoned. "Pro'ly came heah aftah she left dere. Oah maybe she came heah foah da races," Spot speculated, and Jack looked at him seriously.
"Den why did she tell me dat she wos leavin' New Yawk?" Jack questioned, and for that, Spot had no answer because he had the exact same question.
"We'se should go back ta da races an' find da oders," Spot said instead, avoiding Jack's question smoothly.
"Yeah," Jack looked around for one final time, muttering to himself about how he knew it was her.
They hadn't run that far from Sheepshead as it was that Frost had led them in many circles trying to lose them, so the walk wasn't too bad. Quickly enough, they were reunited with the other leaders and started back towards their respective territories. The leadership 'meeting' had gone well in the fact that none of them had ended up in a fistfight by the end of their time together. Overall it had been a fairly good time, except for the ending. None of the other leaders asked where Brooklyn and Manhattan had run off to, probably because none of them really cared, but the question did stick in their mind.
As for Spot's mind, it was reeling. Frost was here on Coney? What had happened to leaving New York? Why hadn't he thought of her coming to Coney? Probably, because it had never seemed like a legitimate territory before. Also, the stories that people told about the Gut and the area around it were astounding, even to a hardened newsboy.
Rape and prostitution ran rampant. Some girls were even caught and forced into selling themselves for their masters. Though the law knew of such establishments, they didn't do anything about it. Probably, because they found their own entertainment there, along with hundreds of others.
The more questions that formed in his mind, the angrier he became. One after one the pondering boy added to his list until he was seething inside. Though, what could he do? Brooklyn was powerful, but too far away to really have anything to do with Coney. Though there was a direct route by train to the island from his territory, what boy had enough money for a train ride? Why would he want to start trouble for that one girl anyway?
She was just some dumb girl who couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She was just some girl that couldn't mind her own business. She was just some girl that didn't know where the lines of common sense and logic applied. She was just some girl that didn't know how to respect the laws of leadership established. She was just some girl that didn't know how to play by rules. Why should her whereabouts and her fate matter to him?
It mattered because he was a boy that needed the challenge that he found in her. Because he was a boy that couldn't stand the fact that she opposed him, but found that he didn't want to live without it. Because he was a boy that didn't follow those lines of common sense and logic. Because he was a boy that enjoyed the spark of wit he found in her. Because he was a boy that hadn't had anything to live for before she had come. Because he was a boy that had fallen in love against his will.
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//Why I see her dancing there,
why her smoldering eyes,
Still scorch my soul,
I see her I feel her…//
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"Blackjack?" She heard the voice from the other side of the thin door that separated them. "Ah yous a'ight?"
"Yeah Dices," She called back, pushing her chestnut hair from her face. "I'se fine," she lied.
"Ah yous shuah?" the concern rang out clearly in his voice and Frost felt a twinge of guilt.
"Yeah," she fibbed again. "Is'll be out in a minute."
"A'ight," she heard the doubt in his tone, and then his footsteps walking away. Leaning her head back against the wall she looked up at the beams of the ceiling.
Cobwebs wove their way in silk like patterns over the rafters, their eerie motions moved by the change of the movements in the room. Their gauze-like texture floating and suspended in positions that looked as though some invisible hand held them there. The lamplight was the only illumination in the small stall, casting strange shadows and giving a ghostly appearance to those silken threads that hung above her head.
Closing her eyes, she shut out what was the reality of the things around her and lost herself in a moment of times past. For as instant she could almost feel his lips over hers, like it had actually meant something to him. Though the kiss had most likely been nothing more than an escape of the brutal reality that had surrounded them. An unconscious shiver raced down her spine as she remembered things that were better to be left forgotten; but as we said before, forgetting is almost always an impossible thing to do.
Especially when it came to matters of love.
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//What if you did?
What if you lied?
What if I avenged?
What if eye for an eye…?//
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Spot wasn't alone when he was walking back to the Brooklyn lodging house later that night. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as he trudged along, distracted. Trying to think of anything but that girl that he had seen at the races, he moved along. Of course this was much harder than it seemed as different images played across his mind. Finally, the annoyance that he felt with himself boiled into rage. In his anger, he let out a harsh yell and turned, slamming his fist into the brick wall of the building he was walking by.
The sickening cracking noise let him know that he would pay for his brash action. After the sound came the realization of pain and he clutched his broken hand to his chest. Vile words flew from between clenched teeth as he swore incoherently. The wounds from his encounter with the Pullvines reopened under the abuse along with forming new splits in the thin skin that covered his hands. That girl was going to pay for all that she had done to him, even if it was his own fault. A voice broke into his spilling of profanity.
"You should really learn to watch your temper," the mocking tone was familiar and Spot straightened quickly, turning towards the interference.
"Whot do yous want?" He asked harshly, unable to identify the figure coming closer to him.
"I have a few questions for you," the looming shadow replied.
"Well I ain't got no answahs so yous can leave," Spot held his ground, using his mastered art of intimidation. His hand hurt terribly.
"Where is she?" the man asked again, stepping out of the shadow in which his stood and Spot's mind registered instant recognition when he saw the eye patch.
"Who?" Spot pretended to be ignorant, also trying to ignore the pain in his hand.
"You know whom," the man growled, his one dark eye flashing. "Where is she?"
"She ain't heah, so how should I'se know?" Spot challenged and the man didn't look pleased.
"Don't toy with me boy," his tone was dangerous, but Spot didn't blink. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Spot looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.
"Whot goil is it we'se talkin' 'bout?" he blew out smoke.
"The girl that was with you the first day I saw you," he gave his identification.
"Whot day wos dat?" Spot scowled slightly, his recovering face protesting slightly, but the pain was minor compared to the ache in his hand.
"You know what day it was, boy," the young man spat on the ground and Spot got a very contemplative look on his face.
"I seem ta remembah somet'ing 'bout dat," he nodded. "Did she have black heyah?" he asked casually.
"No," The young man seemed frustrated, but Spot was enjoying it.
"Den it hadta be da blonde," Spot nodded in understanding, but the man shook his head.
"Chestnut hair," the man corrected. "Not blonde."
"Chestnut ya say?" Spot took another drag off of his cigarette. "Whot colah is dat? Is it kinda like brown?" he wanted to end the conversation so he could tend to his hand, but he was having so much fun.
"No," The man scowled. "It's much closer to auburn," he said and Spot drew up his most convincing confused face.
"I t'ink dat yous got da wrong poyson mistah," Spot informed. "I ain't nevah known a goil wit' dat colah heyah," he turned and began to walk away but stopped when the man called after him.
"I'm not done with you," he sounded angry and Spot turned and looked at him, blowing smoke out of his mouth with a confidence and self-assurance about him that many envied.
"Well I'se done wit'choo," he answered simply, before moving to walk away again.
Heavy footsteps followed him, and Spot held his cane in his damaged hand, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground. Then traded the cane to his other hand, holding the other one close to his middle as he walked a little faster, knowing that the man was coming after him. A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to see a very irritated looking man.
"Is dere a problem?" Spot asked innocently.
"You're lying," the man accused.
"I'se told lotsa lies mistah," Spot chuckled, taking a few steps back, out of the man's grip. "I bet dat yous told a few youah self," Spot smirked.
"That isn't the point," The man growled.
"An' whot is da point?" Spot posed. "I don' know nuttin' an' if yous don' leave me alone I'se goin' ta havta soak yous," he threatened his eyes flashing with annoyed rage.
"Soak me?" The man's one eye widened slightly in misunderstanding.
"Yeah, like me fixin' yous so ya can't walk," Spot smirked.
"What makes you think you could do that?" The man chuckled, obviously thinking such a big threat from a small person was funny. True, this man was probably no older than twenty, and was at least seven inches taller than Spot, but this didn't seem to present a problem to the young Brooklyn leader. The only thing that had him slightly worried was the fact that his hand hurt like bloody hell.
"Damn right I could," Spot answered cockily.
"Just answer my question and I won't have to beat the tar out of you," the young man retorted.
"Ah yous sayin' dat yous could beat me?" Spot growled.
"With my eye closed," he spoke confidently, and Spot grimaced inside at the reference to his one eye.
"Well den," Spot gripped his cane in his good hand and looked at the taller man with every ounce of self-confidence and superiority he had. "Yous won't mind me doin' dis!" With those words, Spot swung his cane violently smashing it across the side of the young man's head.
With a howl the younger man gripped the side of his head in pain and Spot turned and ran. Spot might have been able to take him at another time, but with one of his hands incapacitated, he knew the odds were probably against him. Being of a hot temper, but also being smart, Spot opted out of this fight. His ribs still hurt from the run in with the Pullvines, and the bruises hadn't even completely healed. Now was definitely not the time to be getting into another battle.
Though he couldn't help but wonder what connection this mystery man had with Frost.
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//I'm going to live my life,
Like every day is the last,
Without a simple goodbye,
It all goes by so fast…//
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Slipping down to the ground, Spot made a quick scan of the area to find the fat guard still asleep and the courtyard empty. Darting from shadow to shadow, Spot made his way towards the old rusted fire escape on the side of the main building. It was in ill repair and Spot thought bitterly of how it would do little good in a real even of emergency. There was no way that all of the boys could get out on this thing. It probably couldn't hold more than a few dozen before collapsing.
Moving slowly up the side, Spot grimaced at every noise he made, but he finally made it up the top. Taking the coil of rope from his arm he tied it securely to a stone outcropping on the roof and testing it with a few strong tugs before tying the other end around his waist. Carefully, Spot eased himself over the edge, holding the rope in one hand and letting himself fall little by little until he was in front of one of the bunkroom windows. Knocking on the pane of glass, the boys all looked in its direction and gapped when they saw someone hanging there.
It took a little while for them to respond, but when they did, the window was open within instants and they were all crowded around it. Questions were asked but Spot motioned for them to be quiet, the last thing he needed was the warden catching him too. These boys were about as sneaky as an elephant in tap shoes. No wonder they were in here. Once they had settled down, Spot asked his question.
"Yous got a new boy in heah," he informed. "Calls himself Cowboy," he looked around the group of wide-eyed boys. "Do any of yous knows him?" A sea of heads bobbed up and down in excitement and Spot reached into his pocket, pulling out the note. "Give dis ta him," he handed it to the oldest boy in the front. "An' make shuah dat he gets it, if he don'…" he let the threat hang in the air and all of the boys watched with fear in their eyes.
As quickly as he had come, the strange boy hanging in front of their window was gone again as he pulled himself back up from whence he came. This was harder to do than Spot thought it would be and he barely managed to draw himself up over the lip of the roof before collapsing with exhaustion. Arms burning, he lay on the cool surface of the roof and stared at the stars. He had done his job, now it was up to Cowboy.
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//So why they call it falling,
Why they call it falling,
Why they call it falling,
I don't know…//
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When she finally came out of the bathroom, Dices was the first to come over and talk to her. The concern was evident in his big blue eyes as he stared at her, worried. The fretful and protective gestures were meant with good in his heart, but they served only to annoy Frost further. Something had changed that afternoon. No, everything had changed that afternoon. Inside of her, something had snapped.
No longer was she Blackjack, or Cowgirl, or Duchess, or any of the dozens of other names that she had been called, she was just a girl. A girl that loved a boy whether she liked it or not. Unfortunately for him, Dices wasn't that boy. Brushing him aside, Frost went to the bunk that she had claimed for her own and picked up her knapsack of things.
"I'se gotta go," she told Dices evenly. "I'se can't stay heah no moah," she shrugged the strap of the bag over her shoulder.
"Whot?" Dices looked confused. "Do yous need money foah boahd?"
"No," Frost shook her head softly. "I'se just gotta go, I'se soahy," she gave him a sad smile and started to walk off.
He called questions after her, all of them went unanswered and she honestly felt remorse for the poor boy. They had spent the afternoon at the races together and he would probably lose his job for it, and she was just leaving him. It was better this was though, no point in leading the poor boy on further. With her mind made up and her heart set, Frost stepped onto the darkening streets of Coney Island and held her head high.
Then with a step that showed much more confidence than she felt, she took the first step on her journey. A journey that would take her to the one place she knew she needed to be. Frost was going back to Brooklyn.
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//Days are turning,
Into weeks,
Missing you,
So I can't sleep…//
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Spot's hand burned like fire. Though he had buried it in some melting snow when he had been sure that the man was no longer chasing him, it still hurt terribly. There was little good in trying to treat it himself, he had no idea what needed to be done.
Pro'ly broken, he thought bitterly as he lay in bed, and it probably was.
Though he had broken bones before, none of them had ever hurt like this, well at least not that he could remember. Even the multiple broken, cracked, and bruised ribs he had sustained hadn't hurt like this. Maybe if Frost were here, she would know what to do, but she wasn't. Where were people when you needed them? They were never there, people always would fail him, and Spot knew that now. No one had every been there for him and he didn't expect them to start now.
Why couldn't that girl just say what she meant? Why couldn't she just tell him her past, like everyone else had, let him in and give him the blackmail he needed to keep them in control. Each and every other person had been willing to comply to tell him at least something, but this girl. It had to be dragged out of her with brute force! She was stubborn, obstinate, ornery, annoying, egotistical, infuriating, disobedient, and over all disrespectful. There wasn't anything about her that was too incredibly appealing, her appearance was plain, and her figure ordinary, but something had captured him.
Shit, he thought to himself, turning on his side but quickly moving to be on his back again. His ribs still protested the idea of sleeping on his side. The darkness around him was complete and the room was cooling very slowly with the fire dying out. The dozens of warm bodies lying around the room offset the loss of heat slightly, but not too much. Muttering under his breath, Spot threw off of the covers and shimmed down onto the cold floor.
The iciness shot up his legs from his bare feet. Reaching for his clothes, he dressed as hurriedly as he could with his inflicted hand. It hurt like something out of a bad dream. There was a thought. Maybe this all was a bad dream and he would wake up. Something told him that this was only wishful thinking.
How many days had she been gone? It hadn't even been a full week since she had left and he was already in the same mess he had been in when she had first gotten there. Though, he hadn't ever gotten out of it when she had come. No, there wasn't anything special about this girl that made him happier. That was just absurd. Though truth is almost always stranger than fiction.
He wasn't sure what time it was, and he wasn't sure why he got out bed that night, but he did. The strangeness of the night, is one that time will keep. It was one of those times where you can't just stay in bed. No matter what you did, you just had the itch and had to move. What drew him to the roof late that night was another mystery to him. Somewhere along the line, he tried to rationalize that he needed some more snow for his hand.
Climbing the ladder to the roof, he wasn't surprised to find it unlocked. Probably left open by Frost and the lodging house owner hadn't re-locked it. There wasn't much reason for this hatch, or for this alternate opening to the roof, but it was there. So Spot climbed the ladder, careful not to do any further damage to his broken hand. Pushing open the hatch, he poked his head over the edge and saw something he couldn't believe.
There, as real as anything else, was Frost.
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//You make believe,
That nothing is wrong until your crying,
Crying to me,
You make believe…//
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It didn't take her nearly as long to get to Brooklyn from Coney than from Brooklyn to Coney. Perhaps it was because she didn't want to go to Coney, but she wanted to go to Brooklyn. Though she didn't want to go just to the place Brooklyn, the person Brooklyn. Strange thing this was, but Frost didn't stop to justify it. Instead she continued on into the night, avoiding anyone that came across her way and wary of every odd noise or foreign shadow.
Though the closer she got to the Brooklyn Lodging House, the more hesitant she became. Hesitant and almost afraid. What was she doing, going back to the lodging house? She couldn't do that, could she? That would mean she would have to tell everything to Spot, didn't it? No, she had kept him at bay for long enough before, why couldn't she do it again? Maybe it was because she wanted more than anything to tell him everything, and she meant everything.
Stubborn by nature and obstinate to a fault, this wasn't an easy thing to admit. Even to herself. She could turn around right now, and none would be the wiser, she had told herself. She could go to the train station right now, she might not be able to get to Chicago, but Philadelphia wasn't that far away. Something kept her walking towards the Brooklyn lodging house though, something kept pulling her in that direction.
When she got there it would be more accurate to say that she arrived in the early morning, not the late night. The building was quiet, the streets were peaceful, and the whole place seemed to be bathed in serenity. In a few hours it would be bustling with life as loud and boisterous boys and girls would rise and be ready for a long days work. A long day it probably would be too.
Steeling herself against the pressing doubts, she opened the door. It wasn't locked, though these places rarely were. The door to the kitchen was closed, it probably was locked, but she didn't care. Silently, she ascended the stairs, avoiding every creaking board she had learned to know. When she reached the top, she didn't go into the bunkroom though; she turned and headed the opposite direction to a ladder at the end of the hall.
Silently, she scaled it. The latch at the top was still unlocked, and she laughed silently to herself. This place was practically begging to be ransacked. As quietly as possible she pushed her way onto the roof and shut the hatch after her. Sitting in the middle of the roof, she curled her legs up onto her chest as she began to think of all the ramifications her return would bring.
She would have to tell Spot what he wanted to know. She knew the rules just as well as the others. She would have to stop challenging him at every turn because that was the way it was done. Though she knew she wouldn't have to stop challenging him all together, she would definitely have to stop picking fights. She would have to accept the fact that he would never feel the same way about her that she did about him.
This was Spot Conlon after all, and he had been known for his exploits with the girls of the city. It wasn't an unknown fact to her that she was plain, almost ugly, but she made up from what she lacked in courage and brains. Those two things were not often found in woman and most of the time, they weren't looked for. Woman were supposed to be docile, humble, gentle creatures that had nothing more than cotton for brains and sweet smiles on their pretty faces. Plus, they never, ever wore pants. Why did she have to be the one who had to be a man? Why did couldn't she be a really girly girl? Would Spot return her feelings if she changed?
Beside the inner-turmoil of the situation with Spot, there was always the fact that she had put herself in mortal danger returning here. What if he found her? She already knew that he would want to kill her, but would he? Had he already left? Probably not, actually, most definitely not. He had seen her, he knew she was in New York, more specifically in Brooklyn, but she wasn't one to run from her problems. Or was she?
She had been running from something or someone almost as long as she could remember. Nothing was simple anymore, and nothing was easy. Nothing was how it was supposed to be, but that was life, wasn't it? Coming back here had been a mistake, she should have stayed back on Coney. If she had, she could have been Blackjack. The careless girl who had no vices and no qualms about romance, she could have been happy. Or at least pretended she was happy.
Everything was so confused. Why had she come back at all? It was worthless to come back now, the bridges had already been burned. There was no possible way that Spot would ever return her love, he probably wouldn't even let her sell here in Brooklyn anymore, but she had come back. Fates she was a fool, why had she come back at all?
Because you're in love.
The answer came softly, gently, almost a whisper in the wind, but it hit her like a slap across the face. She had sacrificed her better judgement, her pride, and her common sense all for one thing. Love. The situation was completely hopeless and she looked up at the cold night sky, the stars sparkling above her like ice crystals. The cold air chilled her, and she shivered as she looked back out in front of her, staring into oblivion.
Tears of surrender welled up in her eyes and she couldn't figure out why. Silently they slid down her cheeks, freezing tiny trails on the smooth surface. Brushing at them angrily, she couldn't understand why she was crying. Crying was pointless, it wasn't going to help anything, and it only made things worse. Tears were weakness and there was no room for weakness on the streets.
There was a slight scuffling noise, then a squeak of creaking hinges, and Frost's eyes shot immediately to the hatch on the roof. Every muscle in her body tensed and she shot to her feet. Slowly, the trapdoor opened and someone's dark head popped up. Instantly, their eyes locked and it was like nothing else existed. In that one moment, Frost's vision was blacked out except for that one boy that held her heart in the palm of his hand.
The tears that she was crying were forgotten as the small boy pulled himself onto the roof with complete disbelief on his face. The look quickly molding into the carefully guarded smirk that she had come to know so well. With a condescending air, he examined her and Frost felt her cheeks burn. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so embarrassed.
"Why ah yous cryin'?" Spot asked unexpectedly, and her eyes shot to hers.
"Whot?" She asked, surprised that he wasn't mocking her for her weakness.
"Yous cryin'," he stepped closer and brushed away one of her tears with his thumb and she shuddered involuntarily "Why?" he questioned, dropping his hand.
"Da cold ayah, it's stingin' me eyes," she covered quickly.
"Right," Spot's voice was laced with disbelief and she knew that the excuse had been lame. "Whot ah yous doin' heah, Frost?" He sighed heavily, and Frost thought he looked tired.
"I cames back," she pointed out the obvious. "Coney ain't da place foah me."
"Whot makes ya t'ink dat yous can comes back heah now?" Spot inquired.
"Is dere some reason I'se can't?" Frost blinked rapidly, trying to slow the flow of tears that just wouldn't stop.
"Dere might be," Spot stuck his good hand in his pocket, letting his other hand at his side.
"He came heah didn' he?" Frost asked bitterly dropping her eyes from his.
"Da man wit' da eye patch?" Spot spoke rhetorically. "Yeah, he's been heah."
"Shit," Frost murmured. "I nevah shoulda come back heah," she turned away from him and started towards the hatch but Spot reached out, forgetting about his bad hand, and gripped her arm. Automatically, a shock of numbing pain ran up his arm and though his body. The painful gasp he uttered as he let go of her arm brought Frost back to his side. "Whot's da mattah?" she asked, worried.
"Nuttin', me hand just hoyts a lil'," he held his wounded hand in his good one as he cradled it against his torso.
"Lemme see it," Frost reach out, but he jerked away.
"It's fine," he growled and Frost looked at him sternly.
"I betcha don't have youah ribs wrapped no moah eithah," she put her hands on her hips, not even noticing that her tears had stopped. "Now lemme see it!"
"No!" he stepped away from her again as she advanced.
"Spot Conlon, yous bettah lemme see youah hand oah Is'll break da oder one!" she threatened heatedly, not even remembering her resolve to try and get along with the leader.
"Leave me alone woman! I'se said dat it's fine!" he spat in her direction and her eyes flashed dark fire.
"Gawd I hate yous!" She yelled and he laughed.
"Den why did yous come back?" he asked sarcastically.
"Not foah yous!" she shot back advancing rapidly and grabbing his hand. With a yelp of pain, Spot looked at her with murder in his eyes.
"Yous do like hoytin' me," he growled and she didn't bother looking up at him.
Even in the darkness, the discoloration of the skin on his hand was a fairly clear indicator that something was broken. Right below the pinkie and ring finger on his left hand, it was swollen and dark. Frowning, Frost turned over his hand and looked at his palm, even on the palm of his un-proportionately large hand, there was bruising. After a few moments of inspection, she looked up from her work.
"Can yous move dese two fingahs?" She asked, pointing to the ring and pinkie.
"Shuah I'se can," he wiggled them slightly with a grimace on his face.
"Can yous move dem wit'out dem hoytin'?" She rephrased the question and Spot smirked.
"No," he answered honestly and Frost looked at his hand again.
"Yous broked youah hand," she told him and he rolled his eyes. "How'd ya do it?" she looked up into his eyes and he felt a shock run down his spine, he chose to ignore it.
"I punched a wall," he mumbled and Frost looked at him with disbelief.
"Well dat explains da busted knuckles," she reasoned out loud and Spot glared at her. "Why in da hell did yous punch a wall?"
"I wos mad an' dere woynt no people 'round," he answered easily and Frost just shook her head. "Whot?" he asked.
"Yous punched a wall," she seemed to find this funny.
"Yeah, so whot?" he defended.
"Why weah yous mad?" she let go of his hand and bent over to pick up some of the snow that was left on the roof.
"Some o' da boys," he lied and winced as she pressed the cold matter on his inflicted appendage.
"Yous such an idiot," she muttered and he glared at her.
"Watch youah mout'," he reprimanded and she backed off. Silence reigned for a moment and then, "So, whose da guy wit' an' eye patch?"
Frost kept her eyes glued to his hand and she knew that there was no reason to fight it anymore. Even if there was no real reason to avoid it anymore, it didn't mean she couldn't.
"He's somebody I'se used ta know," she stalled.
"I saw him tanight," Spot said and her eyes shot up to his. "He's lookin' foah yous," he added and Frost looked genuinely scared before looking back down at his hand.
"Whot else did he say?" she asked woodenly.
"He called ya Lois," Spot informed and he could have sworn he saw her blush. "How'd he know youah name?" he asked and Frost didn't answer.
Waiting for her answer wasn't easy for Spot, but considering that she hadn't run away from him, he figured that she would give him one. Every other time she had automatically changed the subject, or run off, but now she was silent. The speculation he made proved correct when she took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes.
Finally, she spoke the truth, "He's my brother."
. : ^_^ : .
A/N: Well, well, well, there is a plot twist for you all. Come on, who didn't expect that? I mean I made the guy have one eye, but the one he had was "dark as night." I think I even made references to how much it was like Frost's! Oh well, now that we know who the mysterious stranger is, how are we going to resolve this one? My guess is that none of you have any clue! That is good because I don't either! I am sure the muses will come up with something…. Anyway, I've got Frost and Spot back together, but they are still fighting. ARGH! The idiots! Why can't they just get along? [ Insert growl here ] Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Now for my lovely review board:
Ali: So you liked the whole Jack/Frost story eh? Well, I wanted to make it longer, but I didn't want to bore the reader. So I wrote a really long one, then cut out about seven pages. Ha, ha, it really wasn't key to the story, it was just another background thing that cleared up a few things. Well, Jack didn't catch her… yet. O_O Ooh does that mean that he might get her soon? You don't know, do you? I guess that means that you will just have to keep reading. Aren't I just cruel? Yeah, that pretty much sums me up. ^_^ Anyway, thanks for the review and update Oblivious!
Ice: You're hooked eh? [ Evil grin ] I have added yet another to the masses - er - not so massive masses. Oh well, at least I have a few readers. ^_^ So you are going to be patient and read this one before you read Blind Spot? You have more patients than me. I would probably read both of them because I am stupid like that. Oh well, thanks for the compliments and update your story soon!
Kaylee: Woo hoo! I got confetti! [ Does a dance ] You are pretty funny. ^_^ Woo hoo, I have a whole whopping [counts on her fingers] 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 fictions! Ha, ha, you should try writing something sometime. You might actually like it. O_O what a though, huh? Anyway, six fictions really isn't that many. I am so completely looking forward to finishing Blind Spot and Frostbitten because I have so many ideas! Okay, well, I am going to stop before I make myself seem any more stupid. Take care!
Ireland O'Reily: Well, I already said this in Blind Spot, but re-happy birthday. I'm glad that you liked the chapter. ^_^ It was kind of like a birthday present, eh? Anyway, even though Frost seemed like a schizophrenic, I wanted it to be clear that she would pretend to be people she wasn't. While she always had some of the same personality traits, she would alter some of them to become who others wanted her to be, or whatever suited her needs. I don't know if that came across, but that is what I was aiming for. Anyway, if Frost was around now, we would both be going to the shrink and maybe get a discount for all of the therapy we would need. -_^ Hey, maybe a psychiatrist would be able to get all of the muses to shut up for a little while! [ Thinks that this might have definite possibilities ] No! I have to keep my muses so I can keep writing. AGH! Anyway, I've gotta go write some on Blind Spot, so I am going to end this now. Take care. ^_^
Okay, so I only have [ 4 ] readers. [ Goes into the corner and cries ] We are missing a few from my review board! *cough* Silent breeze and Fallen Phoenix *cough* Where are you guys?