Chapter 8
"Fine, talk!" Jack said curtly. His eyes were inky in the darkness and he looked mean. Jack frowned. He hadn't meant to be so harsh. He knew better than anyone that sometimes circumstances required a person to do things they would normally never do.
Scrapper closed her eyes, sat up straight and took a deep breath as if donning armor to protect her soul in a fight for everything that she had. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and raised her face so she could meet his gaze straight on. Her thick braid draped over her right shoulder. As she opened her mouth to speak, Chloe wished desperately for a glass of water. She swallowed hard. Nothing was helping dislodge the lump in her throat.
"I...I..." she stuttered. Tears welled up in her eyes and she cursed in Gaelic under her breath at her self for allowing her emotions to have so much control over her instead of it being the other way around. She dropped her head and angrily swiped the tears from her eyes with her fists. Her jaw set tightly as she willed herself to regain control. Chloe wanted desperately to tell him everything, but the words just wouldn't come to her. She wanted nothing more than for him to hold her, allowing her to feel safe and warm again.
Soft tendrils of curls blew loose and danced on her face. She suddenly looked fragile like a china doll. Suddenly it made sense, the soft features, the aversion to getting too chummy with the fellas, hiding beneath the baggy clothing and tattered cap. So she HAD pretended to be a boy. Big deal. He'd heard of that being necessary, especially on the frontier, to protect women from being assaulted by lowlifes that would jump at any chance to take advantage of a defenseless woman with no protection. Jack felt like a complete ass. He hadn't meant to make her cry.
He reached out his hand, running his fingers lightly over the dark bruise over her eye, then down along the edge of her jaw. He lifted her chin, that defiant chin, so he could see her face again. She was pretty, even with the shiner. Fair skin contrasting with the black eye. Her eyes were framed softly by thick dark lashes that were longer naturally, than many women had with adding false lashes. The silvery moonlight mixed with the deep green and made her eyes a mystical mix of the two colors.
His thumb swept away the lone tear that slid down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Chris..." He started to apologize for being a jerk.
"Chloe." She managed to choke out.
"Chloe." He smiled at hearing her name. It felt nice rolling off his tongue. His left eyebrow cocked up slightly. His hand still framing her jaw. "Ya don't have to say nuttin more. 'Less ya wanna." The words sounded foreign to his ears, he wanted her to tell him what she was running from, trust him to protect her. He would, protect her, they would all protect her, she was one of HIS newsies and they all had each other's backs. But, more than that, he had felt the need to protect her from the first moment he saw her in Central Park. He was relieved to know she was a girl. Spot had been giving him a hard time earlier that night, about the kid makin' eyes at him like a love sick school girl and Jack returning the looks.
Jack moved closer to her, positioning himself so he was facing her but sitting slightly to the side so they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. She still looked terrified, but not of him. "C'mere." He took her in his arms and gathered her close to him. Her head laying comfortably against his chest. She made no noise, but allowed the tears to flow, soaking the front of his once white shirt. He stroked her hair as he spoke softly to her, mostly nonsense words that he would use with a small child or injured animal. He hated to see a girl cry, any girl, but especially one of his friends. Rather than turn from it though, like Spot did, he would try to comfort them.
He hadn't seen her cry before this, not even when she'd been banged up from the fight with Oscar. And she had handled herself so well when she stitched up Specs eye and tended to Crutchy and himself. She was a tough kid. But, he wasn't sure Scrappah really fit her anymore. He'd think of something.
"It's gonna be alright, Chloe." He soothed. He had no idea if this was true but he would do his best to make it so.
"Jack Kelly! Git yer filthy paws offa me sistah!" Boomed a familiar voice from the fire escape.
Jack froze and Chloe sat up instantly. They both turned to the fire escape to see Hope standing with her hands on her hips. A fierce mother lion look on her face. Her curly black locks blew wildly about her face as a gust of wind whipped across the roof.
"Cowboy's got 'is hands on yer what?" asked Spot as he scrambled up behind her, followed so closely by Racetrack, that when he stopped next to Hope, Race bumped into him.
"What da Hell?" Race's jaw dropped.
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END CHAP 8 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Fine, talk!" Jack said curtly. His eyes were inky in the darkness and he looked mean. Jack frowned. He hadn't meant to be so harsh. He knew better than anyone that sometimes circumstances required a person to do things they would normally never do.
Scrapper closed her eyes, sat up straight and took a deep breath as if donning armor to protect her soul in a fight for everything that she had. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and raised her face so she could meet his gaze straight on. Her thick braid draped over her right shoulder. As she opened her mouth to speak, Chloe wished desperately for a glass of water. She swallowed hard. Nothing was helping dislodge the lump in her throat.
"I...I..." she stuttered. Tears welled up in her eyes and she cursed in Gaelic under her breath at her self for allowing her emotions to have so much control over her instead of it being the other way around. She dropped her head and angrily swiped the tears from her eyes with her fists. Her jaw set tightly as she willed herself to regain control. Chloe wanted desperately to tell him everything, but the words just wouldn't come to her. She wanted nothing more than for him to hold her, allowing her to feel safe and warm again.
Soft tendrils of curls blew loose and danced on her face. She suddenly looked fragile like a china doll. Suddenly it made sense, the soft features, the aversion to getting too chummy with the fellas, hiding beneath the baggy clothing and tattered cap. So she HAD pretended to be a boy. Big deal. He'd heard of that being necessary, especially on the frontier, to protect women from being assaulted by lowlifes that would jump at any chance to take advantage of a defenseless woman with no protection. Jack felt like a complete ass. He hadn't meant to make her cry.
He reached out his hand, running his fingers lightly over the dark bruise over her eye, then down along the edge of her jaw. He lifted her chin, that defiant chin, so he could see her face again. She was pretty, even with the shiner. Fair skin contrasting with the black eye. Her eyes were framed softly by thick dark lashes that were longer naturally, than many women had with adding false lashes. The silvery moonlight mixed with the deep green and made her eyes a mystical mix of the two colors.
His thumb swept away the lone tear that slid down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Chris..." He started to apologize for being a jerk.
"Chloe." She managed to choke out.
"Chloe." He smiled at hearing her name. It felt nice rolling off his tongue. His left eyebrow cocked up slightly. His hand still framing her jaw. "Ya don't have to say nuttin more. 'Less ya wanna." The words sounded foreign to his ears, he wanted her to tell him what she was running from, trust him to protect her. He would, protect her, they would all protect her, she was one of HIS newsies and they all had each other's backs. But, more than that, he had felt the need to protect her from the first moment he saw her in Central Park. He was relieved to know she was a girl. Spot had been giving him a hard time earlier that night, about the kid makin' eyes at him like a love sick school girl and Jack returning the looks.
Jack moved closer to her, positioning himself so he was facing her but sitting slightly to the side so they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. She still looked terrified, but not of him. "C'mere." He took her in his arms and gathered her close to him. Her head laying comfortably against his chest. She made no noise, but allowed the tears to flow, soaking the front of his once white shirt. He stroked her hair as he spoke softly to her, mostly nonsense words that he would use with a small child or injured animal. He hated to see a girl cry, any girl, but especially one of his friends. Rather than turn from it though, like Spot did, he would try to comfort them.
He hadn't seen her cry before this, not even when she'd been banged up from the fight with Oscar. And she had handled herself so well when she stitched up Specs eye and tended to Crutchy and himself. She was a tough kid. But, he wasn't sure Scrappah really fit her anymore. He'd think of something.
"It's gonna be alright, Chloe." He soothed. He had no idea if this was true but he would do his best to make it so.
"Jack Kelly! Git yer filthy paws offa me sistah!" Boomed a familiar voice from the fire escape.
Jack froze and Chloe sat up instantly. They both turned to the fire escape to see Hope standing with her hands on her hips. A fierce mother lion look on her face. Her curly black locks blew wildly about her face as a gust of wind whipped across the roof.
"Cowboy's got 'is hands on yer what?" asked Spot as he scrambled up behind her, followed so closely by Racetrack, that when he stopped next to Hope, Race bumped into him.
"What da Hell?" Race's jaw dropped.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
END CHAP 8 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~