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Jack reached the top of the staircase with a heaviness in his step.
The light from the street lamps mingled with the cool paleness of the moonlight, washing the walls in an unusual luminance. The dirt and the disrepair of the room were obscured by shadows, making the surfaces glow as they never could in the sun. It was these times, when the house was quiet and the air was still, that he could almost forget that he was in the city. He hadn't known any other surroundings besides bare brick and chipping paint, but he had heard stories of the country, with its quite breezes and open hills. He had always imagined that the feeling of the country was just the same as the city after twilight, before the night began.
For the few moments between the factory workers heading home and the pubs opening their doors to those who wanted to forget the day, there was a peacefulness that could easily be missed.
He wasn't looking for it tonight, though.
Any shred of quiet in his mind had been chased away by a growing feeling of apprehension. It ate at his confidence. Something much larger than him was happening and he didn't know what it was. All he knew was that time wasn't on his side.
The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to the far end of the room. He counted the dim outlines of the bunks silently as he passed, a habit he picked up from his first days at the lodging house. The older boys didn't have the patience for younger ones that couldn't find their bunks. He had made sure from the beginning he could navigate the room down to the last post, even in darkness.
He could make out only one or two sleeping forms in the shadows. That wasn't so unusual. 'Early to bed, early to rise' wasn't the way things worked. If you went to sleep, it meant you had to get up. You never knew who would be gone when you opened your eyes in the morning, or if the nickel you made the day before would carry you through to tomorrow. Getting up meant another day and a whole new set of uncertainties. That was his reasoning anyway.
He came almost to the end of the room before turning down one of the last rows. The bunk he was looking for was occupied, and he was glad he had tried there first.
Taking in a slow breath, he combed the strands of greasy hair out of his face and cleared a place to sit across the row.
"Hey, Race," he said just loud enough to be heard as he sat down on the edge of the neighboring bunk. There was no reply. He tried again a bit louder, careful to keep his voice low enough so as not to attract any stray ears.
"Race."
Again there was no answer.
Jack leaned forward and tried to make out Race's features in the darkness. Maybe it wasn't him after all and one of the new kids had fallen asleep in the wrong bunk. Race could easily be out on the fire escape or half way to Midtown by now. Hell, he could have decided to finish it with Blink out in the street.
As Jack's eyes adjusted to the light, he could just make out the familiar checked pattern of Race's vest. He couldn't help but feel relieved, the thought of Race and Blink going at each other wasn't the most comforting thought, not after what he had just seen.
Jack sat back and looked Race over with a glance. His breathing was calm and shallow, not sharp or irritated, which was enough to tell Jack he was asleep and not stewing in his anger. He hadn't taken his shoes off. Probably passed out. Good thing he had made it to his bunk and had the sense not to go out on the fire escape. That would have been a long way down.
After a moment's hesitation, Jack placed a hand on Race's shoulder and shook him lightly. Part of him felt bad for waking Race up, the other part was not looking forward to the holy hell that he was sure he would be on the receiving end of.
"Race," he called again, his voice barely audible to his own ears.
Stirring under his touch, Race opened his eyes slowly and turned his head.
"Jack?"
There was only sleep in his voice, no tension or emotion. He hadn't remembered yet. Still caught in the few moments before waking, the world was as it should be and nothing was amiss.
"What's the matter with you?" Race mumbled, closing his eyes again, "I'm sleepin' over here."
Jack looked down at his hands and waited for him to come back to the present. He felt along the edge of his shirt, finding an unraveling string to pull on. Anything to keep him from looking at Race and seeing the moment his expression fell. The moment it darkened. The moment when he did remember.
"How ya doin'?" Jack ventured.
"What?" Race responded with a delay, the question taking a moment to find an answer.
His mind swam in the darkness; a familiar feeling that came with many evenings shared with bad whiskey and one too many lucky hands. He tried to remember what happened, how much he had lost and to who. But he couldn't remember the game. That was odd. He'd never let himself go far enough to forget everything. Maybe tonight was a special night. Was it his birthday? No, that was months ago.
All at once, Race's confused expression broke and his eyes flew open.
"What time is it?" he moved to sit up, the realization that he might have slept through the morning edition causing him to ignore the sudden jolt of pain that ripped through his muscles.
"Whoa, take it easy," Jack leaned forward and planted a restraining hand on his chest, immediately realizing what the concern was, "It's still night, you don't gotta be up for a few hours, okay?"
Race's head fell back to the pillow with a mixture of relief and dizziness. He must have had one hell of a night. Maybe it really was his birthday.
"How ya feelin'?" Jack asked again.
"Fine," he answered, not knowing what had gotten into Jack. First waking him up in the middle of the night and now asking stupid questions like that. If he was feeling bad, it was his fault and no one else's. Race rubbed away the tiredness in his eyes. He hoped he hadn't lost everything and that he had the sense to keep a nickel or two.
As he drew his hand away from his face, he noticed a dull ache. He opened and closed his hand, feeling the soreness in each movement. He ran his fingers over the skin of his knuckles, expecting to find it smooth, but instead finding cracked and drying blood. He must have gotten into a fight. Either that or he gave a lamppost a run for its money on the way home.
His thumb traced the edges of a particularly deep cut as he thought. He ignored the stinging, trying to find the memory that would explain it.
A fight.
Not over cards, something else. Not money, not girls. Not drunk, though he felt like he had a hangover.
Mush was there, Jack. Blink. Skittery. Spot.
Did he get into it with Spot? No, Spot was watching. Blink.
Blink. Blink was there.
Race could see his face in his mind. He could feel the anger he saw. It wasn't Blink's anger, it was his. He ran his thumb over the cut again.
In the next moment, it all came back to him.
God. Mother of God.
"You hearin' me, Race?" Jack asked, thinking Race had passed out again.
"Yeah," Race replied heavily. It was a noticeable change in tone, one that Jack didn't miss.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all," Race said quickly and without any real sincerity. Jack wasn't asking him about what happened that night, he was asking him if he felt up to talking. "You got a smoke or somethin'?"
"Nah, I'm out."
"Figures," Race turned away from him. He didn't want to talk. He needed a cigarette.
Jack waited. He didn't know how to ask Race what he needed to know. He didn't know if Race would even answer him.
"You want somethin' or are you up here outta genuine concern?" Race asked with an undercurrent of hostility.
"You called Blink a scab. Why?" Jack asked, getting to the point.
Race stiffened. He knew Jack didn't talk in circles when a straight line would do. And there was no kind way of approaching something like that. Though he knew the question was coming, he wasn't prepared to answer it. He couldn't tell Jack the truth. He couldn't tell Jack what he saw.
"Cause I'm a liar, Jack. You don't gotta worry about nothin' I say."
"Don't screw with me, Race," Jack cast off a measure of patience, "You ain't a liar and I ain't stupid."
"You willin' to make a bet on that last one?"
In any other situation it would have been just another cheap shot for a quick laugh, but there was no lightness in his voice.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" Jack narrowed his eyes in irritation.
Race looked away, but didn't offer any further explanation.
Jack watched him as he pulled a cigar from under his mattress. Here Race was, giving him the run-around when Blink's life was in the balance. It wasn't like Race not to be straight with him when it counted.
Something didn't add up and, as the seconds passed, Jack grew more sure of what that something was.
"It's true. Ain't it?"
"What's that, Cowboy?" Race said with a bit of effort as he tried to sit up.
"He's been the one talkin' with Greene." Jack focused on what he could see of Race's face, trying to find the answer he knew Race wouldn't give him so easily.
"Nah, must be someone else," Race shrugged it off as he struck a match to light the cigar.
"Race-"
"He ain't it," Race said again with enough assurance to make Jack almost believe it.
Almost.
It was the calm, flat denial that made Jack think twice. The Race he knew would have been on him in an instant for even suggesting such a thing.
"Don't cover for him," Jack pressed him.
"He ain't it, Jack."
It was like talking to a wall. He needed Race to be straight with him, for his own peace of mind. He could go on his own suspicion, but this was too big to leave up to a gut feeling. Jack switched tactics.
"We're friends, ain't we Race?" he asked.
"What kind of stupid question is that?" Race flicked the ash off the end his cigar.
"I know you're good to watch my back. You'd look out for me wouldn't you?
"You know I would."
"Then I'm askin' you to look out for me now. And if that ain't good enough, then I'm askin' you to look out for Mush or Skittery, or any of them downstairs. You're either lookin' out for him or us. I know it ain't the best place to be in, Race. If you say he ain't it, then that's good enough for me. I'll stand with him and won't let no one say nothin' against him."
Jack was right. Race hated it, but he was.
And Jack trusted him. He knew Jack would go on whatever he said. He hated that. It compelled him to tell the truth, it put any and all responsibility squarely on his shoulders, not Jack's.
Jack wasn't stupid. He was the farthest thing from it. And in this game, his mind had worked a fraction of a second quicker that Race's had. He had pinned Race where he knew it would affect him the most and he hid it under one hell of a poker face.
If the situation wasn't what it was, Race might have congratulated him on it.
Race knew it was entirely in his hands. He wondered what Blink would do if he were in his place. He knew the answer. And just until a few moments ago, he believed he never would either. But this wasn't the Blink he knew. It wasn't Blink at all.
He was something worse than the Delanceys combined.
He was a traitor. He had turned against them. There would be no forgiveness, no second chance. He knew the rules of the game, they all did.
There was only one way it could end.
He knew where they met, who they had deals with, who they were loyal to, and who was loyal to them. He knew things Spot didn't, that no outsider would.
They couldn't let Blink walk, they couldn't risk it. Not even if they wanted to. Not even if friendship meant what it was supposed to.
They had all learned fast that to tolerate betrayal was to invite danger. The absence of tolerance had kept them safe, to bend the rules because of sentiment was foolish and would only cause more harm.
Blink wouldn't be coming back. They wouldn't bump into each other in ten years and joke about the time Blink actually won a game of poker. What would happen could never be taken back. Time would forget him, Race would learn to forget him.
Race closed his eyes. There would be no other discussion, no chance for defense or explanation. With a word he could save Blink. With that same word he would endanger himself and every other boy that affiliated with Manhattan. He had no choice.
"I'd never give him up," Race said finally, "You know that, right?"
Jack nodded. That told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't fully believe it yet.
In his way, Race was staying loyal. He had found a way to tell Jack what he needed to know without saying it aloud. And if anyone ever asked him, Jack would tell them the truth, Race never gave Blink up.
"You didn't give him up, he gave himself up," Jack affirmed quietly, searching for Race's eyes in the darkness. He wanted Race to know he understood.
But Race didn't want Jack's understanding. He had given Blink up. And he'd have to find a way to live with that.
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AN: Hoo-rah! An update!
Thank you for being patient on this one :0) everyone gets a complimentary Blink-shaped cookie I must have re-written the darn thing fifty-seven times!
A very special thank you to Pickles "Picky" Magee, for her fly-by-night help on this chapter, and also to B/24601 for her early reading of this chap many moons ago when it was darker and experimental. And a great big thank you to everyone that reviewed and offered their suggestions, it really helped to form where the story will go.
Next chapter: Spot and Box (the rematch!)
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Ler Shoutouts! (Hopefully everyone is still around ;0) ) If I missed anyone, let me know :0)
Hilary-You changed your name! (Yes, I am Captain Obvious' loyal sidekick :0) ) I was looking and looking for Vaudville because I didn't get a chance to finish it, but it was gone :0( I hope you do find a backup soon) It was very good, and your other stories too, I wanted to reread your Jack/spot tear Thank you so much for your review, it was so fun to read, I was laughing the whole way through :0)
Jenn C- Mmmmm.Spot..sigh Oh, um, yes I was just thinking about the political ramifications of having goldfish elected selectmen. Yes, I'm an incredibly deep thinker. Thank you for your review my dear! I think you'll like the spot quotient in the next one ;0)
Cynic-hehe, Spot and Box, hmmm.let me just say that you are on the right track ;0) They were too big for this chapter, and needed one all to themselves :0) Thank you so much for your review, I hope you liked this chappy :0)
Gothic Author- Yes, I'm back! Though after a bit of a hiatus. I have the whole story planned out, so my updating should be closer together, now that school is in full swing knocks on wood Thank you so much for your review. I absolutely love humor and I try to put it in as much as I can, I'm so glad someone else gets the fun stuff ;0) I hope you enjoyed :0)
Peachy- I'm glad you enjoyed, here is another chapter I hope you like! I also hope you have been having fun with the muses ;0)
JP- hits tape recorder, music starts If it isn't One, Spotted One. I see you have uncovered our plan for world domination! Oh, wait looks at file no, my mistake, you have uncovered the newsies plan for world domination. That's a horse of a different color :0) Thank you for your review!
Owlhootoo2- I can't say anything shifts eyes the muses will get me..all I'll say is :the duck flies at midnight wink wink Thank you for your review(s) so many nice comments! I'm really glad you enjoyed reading, and I hope this chap lived up to the rest :0)
Spatz- Cuteness is the number one determinant of how innocent someone is :0) Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm really happy you enjoyed it and I hope you liked this chap!
Kate Lynn- Thank you! faint I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Vacation is the best thing ever. . .Oh, wait its over, well at least there is still newsies ;0)
Lanni- Here! Here! Update for you and the deities of Fanfiction!
24601/B- Well, since you put it that way, I think I might just have to :0) Quite a change from the earlier incarnation. I figured there will be enough angst coming up, that the story needed a little calm spot :0) You flatter me! I admire your writing so much, that hearing you say such things, makes my heart all a flutter :0) Thank you!
Picky-"masochistic newsie nuance". . .oh no! Race has been discovered :0)
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As always, thank you for reading!