Notes: And here is the start of Chapter 2! ::claps:: I hope ya'll like it! Flashbacks are the same as dreams, -blah-. This chapter has underage drinking (was there a drinking age at the time?) in it, or whatever. I forgot to say this last time, but it takes place between six months and a year after the Strike. Chapters may not alternate between each plot exactly, but each chapter will be devoted to one of the given pairs (Specs and Dutchy or Jack and Spot). This chapter takes place after the newsies go to sleep, the day of Dutchy's rape in the first chapter; it is after Jack talks with Specs. Sorry about how short this chapter is. Again I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to Carmen (Jesschan, I love you! you are the best!) for her giant amount of help on this chapter.

Disclaimer: I still don't own the Newsies (Any of them. The movie or the boys themselves. Damn.) =P

Foundations

Chapter Two: Run into you

            Jack lay on top of his sheets, the heat of the night shimmered in the air. He was curled on his side, his bare feet tucked under him, and he stared off into space. Memories triggered by the dramatic events of the afternoon rushed to meet his tired mind.

- Events, each somehow linked inextricably to the other in no rational way. The two circumstances had nothing in common in cause, but both were the catalyst to something bigger. Maybe that is what made them memorable to the warped psyche of one boy.

"Ehy! Jackie-boy! What's flyin'?"

He was in a bar, at his present age, Spot sitting next to him at a polished wood table, they held their mugs up to each other, clinking them roughly, laughing as the beer spilled over the side. His cheeks were flushed with alcohol as he slid his chair closer to Spot's and whispered something in the other boy's ear. Spot's eyes widened in surprise, but he giggled when Jack's beer tinged breath and soft lips brushed against his ear. Spot shivered as his lips slid along Spot's jaw line, leaving a slight trail of saliva behind on Spot's skin. He then stood and went to the doorway, beckoning Spot to follow him to the street outside. After the barest hesitation, Spot stood as well and trotted to catch up him, his steps stumbling drunkenly.

  "Please, Jack. Please, don't stop..."

He was now in some sort of abandoned warehouse, his body on top of Spot's, his mouth fastened to the other's full lips. He slid his hand under Spot's shirt, liking the feel of flesh between his fingers. Spot moaned against his mouth, the words coming out garbled and full of pleasure.

"Ugh…Ise thinks Ise gonna…puke."

He rolled of Spot's chest and stood shakily, the mixture of beer and semen in his stomach making him nauseous. He stumbled for a couple of yards, across the warehouse, bent over, and proceeded to vomit. Spot stood and walked up behind him, rubbing his shoulders, pushing back his bangs from his sweaty forehead.-

Jack rolled over in his bed, the memories sitting uneasily in his head. 'It was a mistake, I was drunk, I wasn' thinkin' clearly,' his mind raged at him, coming up with excuses. Sarah had broken up with him earlier that day, which for a strange reason had flooded him with relief. He did not want to know what caused his response. He had thought she was the love of his life, and had found out abruptly she was not. Then he had met Spot in the bar by chance and on a drunken whim had kissed him. He had used Spot to clear his memory, to make him forget. He had not seen Spot since then, six weeks ago. At first he had tried to contact Spot, but it seemed he was never there. Jack had given up. He still didn't understand…anything.

Sliding off of his bed, he quietly made his way across the room and down the stairs, leaving the boarding house and stalking down the wet, rain splattered streets.

He would see Spot now, or never again.

***

Spot stood on the docks outside of the Brooklyn Lodging House. He was smoking a cigarette and thinking, insomnia, disturbing thoughts or something else keeping him awake. The soothing sound of the waves crashing against the old planks usually lulled him to sleep, but he found them only irritating now.  He jerked back to reality as the cigarette he was holding burned down to his finger. Startled, he dropped it into the water and then watched as the orange spark of light went out and he was bathed in darkness. Abruptly, he heard loud footsteps approach his position, and began to turn. Before he made it all the way around, he was tackled by a heavier body. He fell, the back of his head hitting the planks with a dull thud. A voice he recognized, but could not quite place, snarled out of the darkness.

"Youse avoided me fer six weeks; Ise not gonna let youse scampah away. Wese gonna tawk, now." He realized that it was Jack, and tried to seem unaffected. He shrugged slightly, which was no small feat from his afflicted position.

 "Alright Jack. Tawk." Spot answered his voice cold. Some of the tension hovering around Jack dispersed, and he let out a loud breath. He then rolled off Spot and sat cross-legged on the wet wood, running his hands through his hair. Spot reluctantly joined him, lit up a cigarette, flinched when Jack's hands brushed his as he stole it, and lit up another one. Jack ignored the flinch and took a drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in momentarily before letting it out. He now seemed utterly calm, but Spot knew better.

"Why was youse avoidin' me?" Jack asked quietly.

"Ise don' 'ave sex wit people I knows, so's Ise t'ought I bettah not knows youse." Spot replied, his voice at a deadpan.

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Y'know, 'ave sex wit people youse knows."

"'Cause I don't." Jack shook his head

"It don't make sense, 'sides, we was drunk."

 "So?"

"So's it don't count, right?"

"Sex always counts." Spot said seriously, before continuing in a slightly patronizing manner. "Well Jackie-boy, it was nice talkin' to yas, but Ise gotta woik tamarrow." He then stood, stubbed out his cigarette, and began to walk towards the Lodging House.

"This ain't ovah yet Spot. It ain't sorted." He heard Jack call out behind him

"Well, fer now it is." He answered and entered the dark building.

***

Upon waking the next morning, Spot rolled over and looked up at the ceiling from his top bunk. He sat up and winced as the mattress squeaked in protest. Running a hand through his hair, he pursed his lips in thought. 'It ain't possible I was wrong ta avoid Jack, right?' Spot wondered, slightly confused at Jack's reaction. 'Sure, we was pals, pretty good ones too, but don't he understand my reasons?'  Spot supposed not, considering he hadn't even explained them all that well. 'Ah well, who cares 'bout 'im, e's jus' buggin' me 'cause 'e's not gettin' any.' Spot thought bitterly. 'Don' 'e gets it? You start 'avin' sex wit people youse knows, and deres bound ta be a broken 'eart in store fer one a ya.' Spot was determined not to let that happen to him. Giving your heart to someone gave them power, power Spot was not willing to let go of. 'Aftah all, why wouldja let a goil (or guy, Spot's brain supplied) have dat much control over yas? Why wouldja want ta?' Spot shuddered involuntarily. Sex was power, in a temporary and purely physical way. Love was power to a higher degree though, and loving someone gave them power over you emotionally and mentally, it gave them access to your soul. Emotional attachment was weakness. Weakness was vulnerability. Vulnerability got you hurt.

If you had sex with someone you loved or had any emotional tie to, it gave them access to all of you, gave them the ability to reach into your soul and drink its essence. This was Spot's worst fear.

'It ain't nevah gonna happen ta me, nevah evah.' Spot shook his head and hunched his shoulders, his fingers nervously playing with the edge of the sheet covering him. 'Ise won' let it.'

Clamoring out of bed, he decided to get an early start on the day, the mantra of 'nevah evah' repeating in his head as he strode out down the steps and out of the door.

***