Author's Notes: Well, it's been a long time since I picked this one up. I got caught up in Gundam Wing again…and then The Faculty of all such things. But, for now, I'm back and ready to start writing Newsies again. I hope you all like. And I feel bad that it has been so long!
Silly note: You know you're tired when you write Itchy instead of Dutchy….
Thanks Yous: It's very hard trying to think up un-cliché scenes, so I'd like to thank Wizesandz and Fatechan for that. Carmen, I hope to talk to you soon! And, of course, the reviewers. Thanks as well to all those people who kicked me in the rear and told me to get it in gear! Mainly Stage, Wizesandz and Carmen. Thank'ee!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, and probably never will…. And I'm getting tired of having to write this all the time, when I obviously don't own anything…
Foundations
Chapter Seven: A Breath of Air
The sunlight streamed down onto Spec's upturned face. Still sleeping, he squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as possible and groaned softly. His nose wiggled as blond hair fell against it and he roused, sneezing loudly. One eye cracked open, and then shut tightly again, the piercing light of the sun shooting straight into Specs' sleep-filled eyes. Pain shot up and down his arms, emanating from his hands. Very slowly and carefully, he uncurled his fingers from their fisted position among the folds of Dutchy's yellow shirt. Slowly flexing the tortured muscles of his hands, he reached back to scratch at a tickling on the base of his neck. Brown eyes opened again and brown eyebrows shot up when he felt a piece of old newspaper clothes-pinned to the back of his shirt. Holding the paper in front of him, Specs straightened his glasses, and read the note scribbled in the margins of the day old paper. The note read, in Blink's loopy but legible handwriting,
Specs and Dutchy-
All of da newsboys and Mush and me decided pitch in some money for you, so you don't havta sell today. We talked it over wit Kloppman, an' he decided you could both use da day off. 'Sides, you boys looked so cute out there!
-Blink, Mush and the whole gang
Specs blushed and imagined the lewd smile Blink must have worn when he wrote said note.
Dutchy still hadn't stirred. Specs looked over his shoulder at the blond, and blushed a deeper red. His legs and back were still pressed against the blond's slim body, and Specs could feel his body heat, even through two layers of clothing. ''E… does look cute…' Specs realized. Dutchy's hair was still strewn across his face and neck, his light brows furrowed cutely from the bright sun filtering through his eyelids. Slowly, one eye peeked open, the other one squinting in daylight.
Specs pulled his lips into a small smile, aware that their bodies were still touching, and that his face must also be pink. Dutchy yawned and stretched, and Specs couldn't help but notice that his undershirt, still visible through his open over shirt, rode up on his stomach just a tad. 'Ise wouldn'a noticed this yestaday, would Ise?' He realized. 'Wha' happened?' No answers became apparent immediately. Specs looked away from Dutchy's waist and ran his fingers through his bangs, then realizing the absence of his bowler hat. He began looking around the fire escape for it. Dutchy, grasping what he was searching for, reached behind him, nearer to the wall of the Lodging House. He then handed the retrieved bowler to Specs.
"Ise saw dat youse 'ad gone ta sleep wit youse's hat on, an' I figured you'd be wantin' ta take it off. So Ise did it fer ya." Dutchy said in a sleepy voice. "Wha' toime is it anyway?"
"Late," Specs replied, "but dem guys let us have da day off, cuz we was lookin' all depressed last noight. What wit youse and ya sprained ankle."
"An' youse was sobbin' inta a pillow. You t'ink dat let dem in on it, huh?"
"Maybe, but Ise don' wanna t'ink abou' last noight any more den I gots ta." Specs said soberly. Dutchy nodded in response.
"Me neithah."
***
Sitting at a window table in Tibby's, it seemed as if nothing was wrong. Dutchy gesturing towards the passing crowd with a forked sausage; Specs' hands folded primly under his chin, eyes gazing off into nothing.
"Ehy, Specs?" Dutchy asked quietly, his eyes not moving from the people gathering and separating outside, "Wha' do wese do now?"
"T'day? Oah in general?"
"Eithah. Both. I don'know."
"Ise don'know eidah. Wha' is dere dat we really can do? Ise guess wese jus' ignoah it, oah wese deal wid it." They lapsed back into silence, Dutchy watching the people, Specs watching Dutchy.
Minutes passed, both boys sitting silently, others entering and leaving the restaurant around them. Slowly, inch by inch, Dutchy turned his head back to face Specs. He looked distressed; the lines on his faced deepening, his hair falling over his eyes.
"Ehy, Specs?" he repeated, his voice wavering slightly.
"Yeh, Dutchy?" Specs replied, his own voice quiet.
"Can Ise…can Ise tell youse 'bout 'im? Please? Ise… need to." Dutchy trailed off uncertainly. "Ise jus' can' forget." Specs hesitated for a moment, before nodding decisively.
"Let's get outta heah." Specs stood up before offering Dutchy a hand, which the other boy clasped as he rose to his feet.
***
With nowhere to go, nowhere they needed to be, they headed east. They wandered the streets, passing decrepit old buildings, unused lots, fading storefronts and homey but rundown markets. Finally, they reached facade of an old church. The stone blocks that formed the walls were darkened almost to black with soot and dirt, two ancient gargoyles rested on either side of the arch above the warped wood door. It seemed as if it had gone unused for some time. No candles or lamps could be seen inside the streaked stained glass windows.
Dutchy, walking almost silently, motioned for Specs to follow him into the church. He picked his way up the crumbling steps, and reached for one of the chipping black handles of the door, and pulled it open, wincing at the whine of old hinges. Dusting the chipped black paint off of his hands, he turned to see Specs climbing the stairs after him. Waiting for Specs to grab hold of the door, he strode into the darkened church. It took less than a minute to reach the back of the church, and without turning to see if Specs was following him he began to ascend the narrow stairs up to the organ platform. The organ itself was gone, either stolen or sold, leaving the platform empty. Dutchy sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the entrance, brushing the dust of the floor into intricate patterns before destroying them again. Waiting for Specs to join him.
"So, youse wan'ed ta tell me som'thin'." A quiet voice from the dark doorway. Dutchy started slightly, looking up from the floor to the entranceway.
"Yeh. Siddown, why don' youse?" Specs came forward into the meager light, and slid gracefully to the ground next to Dutchy, against the back wall.
"Youse was gonna tell me abou' 'im. Abou' Arch." Dutchy shivered at the mention of his name. "Youse don' 'ave to if youse don' wanna." His voice was still quiet, calm, collected. Unlike Dutchy himself. Struggling to regain control, he nodded.
"Yeh, Ise do have to. Bettah now den nevah, as dey all say." He sighed, "Jonas Archer was a friend o' da family. If it wasn' fer 'im, Ise'd still be dere now." His story came out one word at a time. While his voice didn't falter, Dutchy could not keep a few tears slipping from his eyes. He had been born in a town outside of the New York City limits, into a kind, if poor, family. He had known Arch for as long as he could remember. By the time he was seven, he was already being assaulted by the older man behind his family's back. Threats kept him from telling anyone. "'E tol' me some many time dat 'e was gonna kill me if Ise tol' anyone." On his tenth birthday, he was raped for the first time. "Sometimes Ise couldn' even talk to my family it hurt so much. Dey tried ta figure out what was wrong. Ise shook dem off. Told dem it was nothin'." He became more introverted, talked less. When he was twelve, a couple of weeks before Christmas, he finally decided to leave. "Ise figured Ise'd go to da City, get lost in da crowds. So Ise did. An' all was right again, Ise 'ad a family of sorts. Ise tried ta forget, an' Ise succeeded, until 'e same back." Dutchy stuttered to a stop, looked down at his knees. He bit his lip, trailed his fingers through the dust. Specs, shocked into silence, opened and closed his mouth several times, before gathering Dutchy's slim body into his arms, if only to reassure himself that the blond was still there. Still with him.
Dutchy shifted in his grip, turned to face the brunet behind him, just looking at him. He quickly leaned forward, awkwardly smashing his lips against Specs before retreating. Then, almost silently, he uttered three simple words:
"Stay with me."
***
End Chapter Seven
End Notes: Okay, okay…so it took me four months (or more?)… and it's pretty damn short… but don't kill me! They kissed didn't they?
