Notes: Wah! Ok…done now.

Real Notes: Sorry this took so long. School and other stuff got in the way. Plus, I'm a big procrastinator. In case you didn't know, a challah is a kind of Jewish bread. It kicks ass.

Thank Yous: To all the loverly people who have read this story! Especially to all those who reviewed!!!! And those who reviewed multiple times…..well, I can't even begin to thank you! ::hugs all of her wonderful reviewers:: ^_^… (I'm a review glutton, feed me). And to Carmen, Wizesandz and Fatechan, thanks for all the plot bunnies. (I'm hiding them under my spare bed).

Disclaimer: ::holds up a sign that says 'See other chapters. Same applies here'.::

Foundations

Chapter Six: Ruins in the Ivy

            The loud stomps of Kloppman's thick soled boots echoed loudly as he trudged up the steps to the bunk room. Jack woke instantly; his uneasy sleep disrupted for the last time. Yawning widely and soundlessly he stretched his arms to the sides, groaning slightly. The mattress creaked loudly in protest as he sat up quickly – and then dropped back down as the top of his head came in contact with the stout wood eyebeam above his top bunk.  'Ow….' He thought, rubbing his head and glaring at the wood beam above him. 'Well, dis don' look good fer da resta da day.'  Jack shoved off his sheets and half fell out of bed, grabbing the side of the bunk to keep himself from hitting the floor. Luckily, today no one was sleeping under him. He grabbed his pants in one hand as he steadied himself. While he pulled them on with one hand, he reached for his shirt with the other. Tugging it over his head, he left his suspenders trailing, and trotted off to the bathroom, noticing as he passed that most of the other boys were still in the midst of waking as Kloppman's loud voice washed over the room. As he passed Dutchy's bed he was startled to notice that the blond was gone, as was Specs, who should have been sleeping in the adjacent bed. It was only when he reached the fire escape window that he understood their absence. 'Guess deys fell asleep out dere when dey was talking' last night. Hm…' It was interesting how they clutched each other in sleep the way they were afraid to when conscious; Specs' hands were clutched white-knuckled into the folds of Dutchy's open over shirt, Dutchy's hair drifting across the brunette's face. Jack shook his head, and strolled into the bathroom, stopping in front of one of the rust covered basins. He stuck his head under the faucet and began to pump the water over his head. He only lasted about fifteen seconds under the frigid water, and then just as he began to shiver he stopped the pump. Rubbing a nearby towel on his hair, he partially dried it, and flipped it backwards, keeping it away from his face. He strode out of the door, and down the steps; first one out of the door again today.

            There was no line for papers, the newsboys had not yet left the lodging house. Actually most of them were probably still hauling themselves out of bed. Jack collected his papers, and automatically modified the headline to sell. ("Giants rats living in sewers! Infestation eminent!") He churned them out quickly, years of practice coming in handy.

His mornings were mindless, routine kicked in from when he woke up until he got his papers and beyond.  There was no variation in the mornings. He got up, got dressed, bought his papers, sold them and came home, eating somewhere in between. A riveting life, huh? Until recently anyway. Then again, he didn't know which was better, being completely confused about your sexuality, or living a repetitious, boring lifestyle. It was so much easier with Sarah… but did he really want to go back to something like that? His life right now was much more interesting, if infinitely more frustrating. 'Sarah's ovah, no use thinkin' about her. But…' he thought, lingering over the subject, 'Maybe she didn' love me…but she acted loike it! Wull, maybe Ise didn' love her. Den how come I didn' know? Ise t'ink she sensed somethin' Ise didn't. Goils intuition an' all dat.' His mouth quirked into a small grin. Then he felt his thoughts drifting towards Spot. Lust was the only word he could think of to describe what he felt for Spot. He ran a hand through his still damp hair, pulling off of his face, and sighed deeply. He didn't understand Spot's unwillingness – hell, his blatant refusal – to get involved or have sex with anyone he knew. 'Christ, Ise 'ave quite a life. Ise dunno where Ise is goin' with Spot, I dunno what Ise feel abou' 'im. All Ise really knows is dat Ise wants 'im. Da way I'm t'inkin' abou' it, 'e's gonna get dat stick up 'is ass removed. It's 'is choice whether Ise use da hard or da easy way.'

 He looked up suddenly, all of his papers gone, his hands filled with change that he quickly stored in his pockets. He wasn't ready to go back, so he began to wander aimlessly, staring at the stores as he walked past, at the clouding sky above, and the grey cobblestone below. He wasn't surprised when he looked up and had no idea where he was. He was only surprised by what he saw when he lifted his head from his feet, and looked to the other end of the street. He saw an immediately recognizable figure, who seemed to be absorbed in the activities going on in the shops. Then the boy looked up, staring at him dumbfounded. Jack smirked and began to stroll down the street, no longer paying any attention to the passing stores, the clouding sky or the grey cobblestones by his feet. He only looked out in front of him, smiling at the wide-eyed figure staring at him from down the street.

***

Spot sat on the edge of the dock, his pants rolled up to his knees, his legs swinging over the edge. The water came only to his ankles, the frigid liquid causing the hair on his legs and arms to rise.  His hands were cupped in front of him, sifting a number of small nails between them, ignoring the sharp pokes along his palms. 'Stupid life. Why'd youse havta change so damn quickly?' He picked one of the nails out of his palm, and chucked it into the open water. It sailed for a couple of yards before he heard it hit the water with a distinct plink. Plunk went the next, ploink the one after that. His shirt was open, exposing skin to the chill air. Goose pimples spread across his chest, but he paid them no notice. Plink, plunk, plunk. Three more bits of metal, sinking into the polluted blue-brown water. Erotic images flashed through his mind, what he could remember of the incident. 'The palm of a hand sliding along a sweaty chest. The curve of an arched back. Bangs plastered against a wet forehead. A mouth gasping open, framed by full lips.' He tossed his head, and hurled the rest of the nails into the bay letting the satisfying tones of plunk, ploink, plink fill his mind. He stood and walked barefoot down the planks, leaving wet footprints in his path and upon reaching the other edge slipped on his shoes.

***

Spot walked down the mostly deserted street, his wet feet squelching and squeaking against the soggy soles of his shoes. His rolled up pants had become uneven as he walked, the left leg almost to his ankle, while the right was still just under his knee. He turned his head aside and spit, leaving a wet splotch in the cobblestone. The bitter taste of summer's end still clung in his throat, cloying but almost overripe. A warm breeze swept lazily across the street, whistling as it entered the alley to his left.

He saw a bustling bakery further down the street, and walked by it, watching the people as they entered and left the store. A large woman with a big brown bag pulled behind her a small boy with startlingly red hair, a thumb stuck in his mouth. An old balding man ate a roll as he read the newspaper on a bench outside the store, his dog on a leash sitting by his feet. A young couple walked down the sidewalk, the man holding a challah in his arms. Both young man and woman wore gentle smiles, directed towards the other. A little girl stood beside her mother, stuffing a cinnamon bun in her mouth as fast as possible. 'It's people loike dis dat need uddah people. Not guys loike me. Ise don' need anyone.'  He kept walking. His step faltered as more images bubbled to the top of his mind. 'Long fingered hands twining in strands of dark blonde hair. The drum beat rhythm of thrusting hips. A web of saliva across the planes of an angular chest.'  He pushed the memories away. 'Ise don' need anyone.' He looked up, realizing his feet had gone on without him. His eyes widened. Stalking gracefully towards him from the other end of the street was none other than Jack Kelly. Then he did something that surprised himself even more than seeing the other boy.

Spot Conlon turned and fled.

***

End Chapter Six

End Notes: so… whaddya think?  Actually, I think this is a decent chapter. You know you want to review, right?