Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, Medieval Times, or any other media references I may make.
Chapter 23
—General PoV—
"Out late last night Skittery?" asked Rubix, grinning tauntingly.
Skittery buried his head in his hands and groaned. "Shut up and just do your job for once."
Blink looked over from where he was scanning the tapes. "I think wittle Skittery has a tad of a hangover..."
Skittery didn't say anything. Rubix laughed. Blink turned back to the tapes.
Arrow brushed down the horses and watched, out of the corner of her eye, Jonathan examining Jingles. Watching more obviously was Boots.
"She'll be fine," Jonathan concluded, as he had every other time he checked her. "She's a healthy horse, there should be no problem in delivery. There's nothing to worry about," he added, seeing Boots' sceptical face.
Jonathan shut the stall door and he left Boots alone with Jingles. Boots stroked Jingles' neck and smiled. Jingled whinnied softly.
"What am I going to do?" asked Boots.
"Kind of sad, isn't it?" Jack asked Arrow.
Arrow looked away from Boots. "What do you mean?" she asked haughtily. "Don't be sarcastic about it, the poor kid, his horse—"
"I don't mean it like that," interrupted Jack immediately. "Jeez, Arrow, why do you always take things so offensively?"
Arrow looked shocked. "I don't—I never..."
"I've only ever tried to be nice to you. What exactly do you have against me?" Jack had completely forgotten about Boots and Jingles.
Arrow straightened herself up, trying to match Jack's six foot two with her own five foot five and failing miserably. "I don't have anything against you," she said clearly.
"It sure seems that way," retorted Jack, raising his voice slightly.
"You don't seem to ever have to actually work for a damn thing in your life! Do you know what it's like to have to put an effort into everything you do?"
"What do you mean 'I don't work'? I work my ass off! You're the smart one; you seem to have all the answers for everything! No one ever takes my word for anything; I have to prove it all! I work harder than you will ever know!" Jack was only mildly aware that he was shouting and that everyone was looking at them.
"I never get anything I work for!" shouted Arrow angrily. "Why do you think I...why don't I..." but she couldn't finish. Finishing her sentence would be like admitting that she was jealous of him, and she was much to proud for that.
"Don't even say you don't get anything your work for! I know you! You're little Miss Perfect! Things couldn't be bet—"he stopped, seeing the tears streaming down Arrow's face. "I didn't mean..." he whispered quietly.
Arrow turned away. Everyone else resumed their activities, trying to make it seem like they hadn't been watching.
Jack walked around to face Arrow. "Listen, I'm really sorry."
Arrow sniffed. "No, it's my fault." She wiped her face. Jack stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her.
Arrow breathed in his smell of cigarettes and hay.
"You know," said Jack softly. "I've always kind of liked you. Even though you wouldn't give me the time of day."
Arrow laughed and looked up at him. "I really never liked you. I hated you, actually. But I like that you're brave enough to tell me what a lazy ass I am."
Arrow laughed.
Jack laughed.
"Boots, could you step in here for a minute please," called Pulitzer from inside his office. Boots obeyed and sat at the desk.
Mr Pulitzer cleared his throat and made a huge deal out of shining his glasses. "Since it has come to my attention that one of our horses is pregnant, I would like to ask a favour of you."
Boots nodded, his throat dry.
"I was wondering if you would like to sit in on her delivery. I am aware that you tend to this horse regularly. I know it is a while away still, but I would appreciate your help."
Boots was stunned. "Of course sir, thank you very much!"
Pulitzer chuckled. "No problem."
"Dutchy," asked Specs nervously while they poured drinks.
"Yeah?" asked Dutchy promptly, spilling a bit of cranberry juice onto the floor and swearing quietly.
"Where do you want to go for dinner?"
Dutchy looked back up quickly. "Dinner? Uh...maybe..." he thought for a minute.
Specs swallowed nervously.
"Maybe for Mexican or something."
Specs nodded. He hadn't dreamed about Mexican food. "OK."
Dutchy stood up and threw the dirty bar towel in the sink. "You know what I hate?" he said quite randomly. "Bread before meals. It robs me of my appetite."
Specs laughed and grinned widely. "You know what? I hate that too."
End
It's over! I'm not sure if that seemed rushed or not, but I hope you all liked the ending. Please review! Oh, and I don't eat Mexican food. At least, tacos. They make me puke. No jokes.
Shoutouts:
Rubix the cube—I couldn't tell if you were joking or not, but I really am a good kid. I don't drink. I don't ever like to drink. Yuck, it tastes bad!
Cassies-Grandma—as I said already, I don't even like alcohol. Except maybe a good ole Malibu and orange juice...
Erin Go Bragh—no slash for a week!!! Here's what I would do... print off all my favourite slash-filled stories and reread them.
Eagle Higgins Conlon—Kind of ironic, isn't it? The story is over. I would have kept it going, but I was running out of things to say/write about.
Jacky Higgins—he will definitely think twice. I don't think having a migraine is much fun, in fact, I know it isn't.
Sapphy—I feel for poor Specs. A dream like that would scare the crap out of me!
Two-Bits—I think SCS is chronic. I just can't seem to write a long chapter for this fic.
Shooter O'Brien—that's...interesting. Are you on anything? I'm just joking, I don't usually remember my dreams, except one about Southpark-esque people attacking me. I don't even watch Southpark.
Bobcat:slashgoil—Oh, that's so sad! I'm sorry about Cassie and everything! I hope everything else is going good for you, at least!
Ireland O'Reily—Specs shouldn't get cold feet, you're right. Dutchy is a great guy!
Fantasy3—was it a blue paper dispenser, that's the kind I found. I wrote the last chapter in the intention of seeming like it was real. I'm glad it worked.
Almatari-of-Arda—thanks for the advice. I think...