A.N., just in case some of you didn't see my note to the person who asked
about this-Kings of New York is not intended as a slash story. Spot and
Jack are very close friends here- to use Jay and Silent Bob's term, they're
'hetero lifemates'. So yeah. If you're a Spot-Jack shipper , there's plenty
of subtext you can read into to keep you a happy little clam. But for those
of you who don't care for slash, read on without fear.
..............................
There were several weeks of relative peace in the Refuge. The weather grew warmer as spring approached, and life had fallen into a routine of work and sleep and jokes and bruises. Then one morning Jack awoke to find that the windows had again been covered with frost in the night, and that his cheek had frozen to his mattress. The other boys were also awakening, and coughs rang out again from bunk to bunk.
"Spot... hey, Conlon, wake up," Jack hissed. Spot grunted through his nose and sleepily opened one eye to observe Jack's plight. He began to laugh, the chuckles interspersed with breaths that wheezed painfully through his chest.
"Shut up and help me."
"How?"
"I dunno, think of something!"
Still giggling, Spot rubbed his hands together until the friction built up heat, and began to ease his palms underneath Jack's cheek. As the cold eased, Jack felt his face come slowly unstuck, and in another moment was on his feet and shouting into the rising din of complaints and coughs and rebellious yells that filled the bunkhouse.
"Everybody shut up and listen!" The room fell quiet, though the boys continued to shift from foot to foot as the cold reddened their bare feet.
"Those of you with blankets, wrap 'em around your shoulders. Find a buddy and cuddle up. I don't care if you look like a sissy, better that than frostbite."
"People with coughs is first in line for breakfast," added Spot. The coughing in the room increased in volume as everyone suddenly developed one. "But if I find out you's fakin' I'll slog you and send you to the back of the line." The noise decreased.
"Right," Jack said. "Now put on every inch of clothin' you own and get out as fast as you can. No washin', the taps are prob'ly frozen."
There was a scuffle for several minutes, and Jack and Spot roamed around stopping fights as the boys argued over who owned which shirt. At last all were ready, and they hustled out and down the corridors to the dining room.
Unfortunately, they weren't the first. Four other bunkhouses had run to arrive at breakfast and were in line ahead of them. Spot paused at the door, blinking in disbelief. "Shit," he said succinctly.
There was nothing they could do but hope that the food would stay unfrozen until their turn came. So they filed grumbling into their place in line and waited, shuffling and rubbing their arms to keep warm. And waited. And waited.
It was nearly seven o' clock and time for work, and still there was no sign of breakfast. The discontent in the room was palpable as the boys stood blue and shivering in their light spring clothing. Whimpers could be heard amongst the younger boys, and each small thin wail that emerged from the miserable huddles caused both Spot and Jack to react physically, as though someone had slapped them across the face. Little Mitch, pale and thin from his illness, turned green and fainted. His head hit the floor with a sick thud just as the bell rang for the work lines to form.
Noisy curses arose from every pair of lips at the sound of the bell, but the boys reluctantly began to form their teams. It was Spot's voice that stopped them.
"Hold it right there! Don't anybody move!"
Startled, Jack turned to look at him, and felt a twinge of anxiety combined with rising excitement at the look he saw on Spot's face. The rebellious glow that had lingered in Spot's eyes these past few weeks had sparked into a steady burn. Jack had no idea what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it would be big.
..............................
There were several weeks of relative peace in the Refuge. The weather grew warmer as spring approached, and life had fallen into a routine of work and sleep and jokes and bruises. Then one morning Jack awoke to find that the windows had again been covered with frost in the night, and that his cheek had frozen to his mattress. The other boys were also awakening, and coughs rang out again from bunk to bunk.
"Spot... hey, Conlon, wake up," Jack hissed. Spot grunted through his nose and sleepily opened one eye to observe Jack's plight. He began to laugh, the chuckles interspersed with breaths that wheezed painfully through his chest.
"Shut up and help me."
"How?"
"I dunno, think of something!"
Still giggling, Spot rubbed his hands together until the friction built up heat, and began to ease his palms underneath Jack's cheek. As the cold eased, Jack felt his face come slowly unstuck, and in another moment was on his feet and shouting into the rising din of complaints and coughs and rebellious yells that filled the bunkhouse.
"Everybody shut up and listen!" The room fell quiet, though the boys continued to shift from foot to foot as the cold reddened their bare feet.
"Those of you with blankets, wrap 'em around your shoulders. Find a buddy and cuddle up. I don't care if you look like a sissy, better that than frostbite."
"People with coughs is first in line for breakfast," added Spot. The coughing in the room increased in volume as everyone suddenly developed one. "But if I find out you's fakin' I'll slog you and send you to the back of the line." The noise decreased.
"Right," Jack said. "Now put on every inch of clothin' you own and get out as fast as you can. No washin', the taps are prob'ly frozen."
There was a scuffle for several minutes, and Jack and Spot roamed around stopping fights as the boys argued over who owned which shirt. At last all were ready, and they hustled out and down the corridors to the dining room.
Unfortunately, they weren't the first. Four other bunkhouses had run to arrive at breakfast and were in line ahead of them. Spot paused at the door, blinking in disbelief. "Shit," he said succinctly.
There was nothing they could do but hope that the food would stay unfrozen until their turn came. So they filed grumbling into their place in line and waited, shuffling and rubbing their arms to keep warm. And waited. And waited.
It was nearly seven o' clock and time for work, and still there was no sign of breakfast. The discontent in the room was palpable as the boys stood blue and shivering in their light spring clothing. Whimpers could be heard amongst the younger boys, and each small thin wail that emerged from the miserable huddles caused both Spot and Jack to react physically, as though someone had slapped them across the face. Little Mitch, pale and thin from his illness, turned green and fainted. His head hit the floor with a sick thud just as the bell rang for the work lines to form.
Noisy curses arose from every pair of lips at the sound of the bell, but the boys reluctantly began to form their teams. It was Spot's voice that stopped them.
"Hold it right there! Don't anybody move!"
Startled, Jack turned to look at him, and felt a twinge of anxiety combined with rising excitement at the look he saw on Spot's face. The rebellious glow that had lingered in Spot's eyes these past few weeks had sparked into a steady burn. Jack had no idea what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it would be big.
