madmbutterfly713: Loving Spot is a common affliction. (pets Spot) He's just so darn cute. I'm glad you liked the new summary--I was worried it was a little melodramatic. Thanks for your review, dear!
sonei: I'm glad your enjoying it--thanks for the review!
Elyse: Glad that cleared things up for you. I like Lucas Davenport better to--as for how Spot acts when he and Bridget are alone, read and ye shall see. He's a unpredictable bugger, that Spotty.
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A/N: Yes--the quote for this chapter is from the 'Gilmore Girls' theme. In fact, the title to this fic was inspired by said fic. That's right, Spotty dear, you're practically a GILMORE GIRL. (sadistic laughter)
Spot: choke/gasp/nausea!
Jack: Haha. Spot's a girl..
Spot: Shut up, you aren't even IN this story.
Jack: Yeah, but Klicks loves me better, isn't that right?
Klicks: Uh, well..
Spot: Like that's supposed to be a big deal?
Klicks: HEY! Watch it Conlon, or I'll have you fall in love with Racetrack.
Spot: ...say what?
Klicks: Yeah, SpRace fanfiction has become very popular as of late.
Spot: ..but..but..I'm a PIMP. I have a cane! Race is...
Jack: Short.
Spot: I was going to say Italian but short works.
Klicks: Enough of this. There is a fic to be read, you know.
Spot: Whatever. You're the one who called me a girl.
Klicks: Shh!
7. Family resemblence
'Loving you the way I do / I know we're gonna make it work'
-Louise King
When she was sixteen, her parents had spent the majority of the year parading her around Conneticut in ugly white dresses at various 'debuts'. Debuts were basically parties proclaiming that she and her friends were all attractive, vital girls of marriagable age. To her, it felt like a cattle show. If the cattle wore ugly white dresses, of course. At every debut, Bridget had been forced into a whalebone corset that her mother had insisted be laced as tightly as possible. The first time, the pain had been almost too much for her to take.
'Mother, I can't breathe.' She had whispered as they descended the staircase, eyes watering as she wondered if her ribs were breaking. Her mother's smile hadn't flickered. 'Breathe through your nose.' She'd advised calmly. The room had swayed before her, faces blurring. 'I think I might faint.' Bridget had whimpered, an edge of desperation in her voice. 'May I please sit?' Her mother had swept her cold gray gaze over her sternly, her smile bright and phony as ever. 'No. Learn to stand.'
Standing on that pier in Brooklyn, alone with this strange, scary, boy with her brother's face and her father's cane in his hands, it was the only thing Bridget could think of. Her knees were shaking, and she badly wanted to crumple to the ground, but she did no such thing. Learn to stand, her mother had told her. And she had. No matter how tremendous the pain.
"How'd ya find me?" His voice was different. He had abandoned the crisp, refined dialect they'd been brought up with in favor of the rough slang of the streets. His handsome, youthful features were gripped with a hatred she could only assumed was aimed at her. There was no joy in his eyes at the sight of his sister, no tearful reunion to be had for Ben and Bridget, and she supposed she had been stupid to expect one.
Numbly, she showed him the wrinkled picture she'd cut out of the paper two years ago. The picture that had been her keepsake, her talisman, her reminder of new beginnings. He glanced at it dismissively, scratched his head, and furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how to handle this latest delimma without inturrupting his own routine. "Alright, you can stay wid' me tonight, and then tomarrow you'se goin' back home on the first train."
It was a kick to the stomach. Her plan, her beautiful plan, dissolved and desecrated. Her new life, her fresh start, was left dying in the mud. She wanted to cry, but crying would have been taking the easy way out. It used to be that the 'easy way' was the only option for her.
Well---not anymore. She was in New York, wasn't she? She had made it this far, too far to be shooed back home like a disobediant child.
"No." She got the feeling that the person Ben had become was not used to being told 'no' very often, because he looked angry enough to hit her. Ben never would have hit a girl, much less his own sister. She didn't think Spot Conlon would have given it a second thought.
"We ain't arguing about this, toots. I got buissness to attend to."
"What buissness would that be? You live on a pier." She almost laughed at the enraged expression on his face but decided not to push her luck.
They glared at each other for a few moments, each waiting for the other to back down. "You're goin' home tomarrow." Spot growled, eyes little more than grey slits in his face. Bridget's shoulders slumped and he winced inwardly at the hurt in her big eyes. "What hapened to you, Ben?"
Spot sighed. "I don't wanna discuss this right now." She noticed he was taking great pains not to call her by her name, and it was grating on her already stretched thin nerves. "Well, thats too bad, because the rest of this damnable city might be scared of you, but I'm your sister, Ben, and I think I'm entitled to an explanation as to why my own brother seems to despise me so much."
"That's yer trouble. Always thinkin' your entitled to things you ain't got no buissness with." He grumbled, and Bridget was seized with an urge to slap him in his cocky, arrogant face. Instead, she took a deep breath, controlled herself, and tried again. "Ben--"
"Don't call me that." He roared, and Bridget, instead of shrinking in the face of his anger, responded in kind. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that the big, tough, newsie prefers to go by Spot these days." Spot raised his hand without thinking and Bridget was too slow and too inexperienced to duck out of the way in time. It was probably the least vicious blow Spot Conlon had ever dealt, but to a girl like Bridget who'd never been slapped before, the shock alone hurt like hell.
She reeled backwards, her hand pressed against her rapidly reddening cheek, and she stared at Spot in amazement. Spot stuck his hands in his pockets and fought back the urge to apologize. Maybe she would leave now, once she realized that he was no longer the brother she wanted so badly.
He should have known better. Bridget never gave up. It was a Conlon family trait, he supposed. Anyone watching the two of them facing off against one another, the same defiant expression written on both their faces would have known them for brother and sister in a heartbeat.
"What did I do?" It was a question that had nearly driven her insane, and it left her mouth before she had the chance to check herself. Spot shook his head. "Nothin', kid. It wasn't you I was runnin' from."
"I missed you." She told him sadly, and Spot chuckled drily. "I'm sure you were the only one." Bridget's eyes darkened in anger, her hand still against her cheek. "Mother stayed in bed for a week after you left, and father sold the bussiness a year later."
Spot glanced at her, intrest piqued mildly. "He never said anything, but I knew it was because he didn't have a son to hand it down to." She said flatly, in response to his unasked question. Spot shrugged and stared over her shoulder at where all his newsies were standing, looking uncomfortable and curious as to why they had been kicked off their pier.
"Aren't you even going to ask me why I left?" Bridget asked quietly, and Spot looked her directly in the eyes, all the heated emotions gone and replaced by something akin to amusement. He'd forgotten how dearly Bridget loved to tell a good story. "You kill someone?"
She recoiled from him. "No."
"Too bad. Woulda' made for a interestin' story." He said with a grin. "You pregnant?" She smacked his shoulder in exasperation. "I'm getting married. Was," She hastily ammended, "I was getting married. Today." Spot's arched eyebrows dissapeared under the brim of his gray newsboy's cap. "Ta' who?"
"Lucas Davenport." Spot's lip curled in disgust. It was the first time she would learn that Spot would never approve of the men in her life. "You's engaged ta that red haired misery? He was a goddamn pansy when we was kids." We still are kids, Bridget thought, but kept silent.
"He was rich and well-connected. That was good enough for Mother and Father." She replied with a shrug. Spot shook his head and swore loudly, cursing their parents and Lucas in language that made Bridget's ears burn, but she didn't reprimand him. She never had, and she didn't think right now was the ideal time to start.
Spot considered her for a moment, carelessly twirling his cane, it's gold top glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. "You got a place to stay at least?" He asked finally, concension in his tone. Bridget flushed and looked away from him. "I was--actually hoping I could stay with you." She said, her voice very small. Spot rocked back on his heels and laughed at her.
"Wid' me? I live in a boarding house, girly. You wanna share a room with thoity other guys? 'Cause I'm sure they'd get a kick outta it." He taunted. "Aren't you their leader? Don't you even have your own room?" Bridget snapped, temper getting the best of her. She tried to calm down, reminding herself that arguing would get her no where. Her feet were beginning to hurt, and she wanted a hot bath. She didn't care where she went, just as long as it had a place where she could scrub off the layer of dirt and grim she'd acquired.
Spot hooked his fingers through his belt loops and smirked cockily at her. "Sho', I got my own room. But I prefers ta keep that for when I has...company." He wiggled his eyebrows and smirked wider, just to make sure she understood his meaning. Bridget stomped her feet. "Ben Conlon, I think you are terribly mean and a very poor brother, what do you intend to let me do? Freeze to death? Starve? And all because you're too selfish to share your room with me." Bingo. She'd finally played her cards right. She may not know how to organize a successful escape plan, or how to find Brooklyn on her own, but Bridget Conlon did know how to manipulate men; newsies or oil-tycoons, brothers or fiances, they were all the same.
Spot sighed and caught her arm as she made to turn and flounce off down the pier. "Aw, Bee, lighten up." Her heart soared. Bee! The use of her old nickname brought back hope, it meant that she was still his little darling. "I ain't gonna let you starve. But you can't stay with me, and I don't want you to stay in Brooklyn---it's a dangerous place, and there's gonna be trouble enough for you if anyone finds out you's my sister."
"But..then where should I go?" Spot pursed his lips thoughtfully, then turned to where David was still standing with Racetrack. "Hey, Davey, it alright with you if Bridget here stays with you for a little while? Just until she finds a place of her own?" David looked less than overjoyed with the idea of the Conneticut social butterfly living with him, but didn't think it was wise to refuse Spot. "Sure, Spot."
Spot turned back to Bridget, who had a sulky expression on her face. "Look, Bee; David and his family have a nice place in Manhatten where you can stay. You'll like Manhatten, and more importantly, you'll be safe in Manhatten." Bridget nodded, still not looking at him, but inwardly pleased that he was at least thinking of her safety. "Don't jerk your chin at me, Bridget Marie Conlon." He warned, his voice soft, and when she met his gaze she felt, for the first time, that she was truly speaking with her brother.
"I'll see you soon?" It was more of a demand than a request. Spot nodded. "I'll come see you this week sometime. Keep ya' head down and ya' eyes open, understand? Don't go nowhere by yourself, not until ya get your bearings down. This ain't Hartford, Bee. It's a whole 'nuther world."
Bridget nodded, then grinned and held out her arms for a hug. "Oh, Ben---" Spot looked a little uncomfortable at the idea of actually embracing his sister, so her settled for patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Alright. Go with Dave." He instructed.
Bridget tried to mask her dissapointment and blinked hard, "Alright. Goodbye." She said dejectedly, turning to leave.
"Oh, and Bee?" She turned, eyes bright, expression hopeful. "Yes?"
"Don't call me Ben no more."
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