Chapta Twenty-Twosies
Disclaimer: Newsies does not belong to me.
A/N: I believe I already revealed the happenings in this chapter, so, yeah. R & R... Jesus Christ, this be a long one. Ah, well. Long chappies are good chappies... And I promise this won't be boring.
Also, I'm changing this story's rating to M. There isn't anything bad in this chapter, but in the next few, it'll be getting racier and racier... And even at the real M parts, it won't be so bad, but kiddies, you shouldn't read. Not that I don't want people to read it, but, as you have noticed, Spot and Racetrack have been acting more like hormonal boys, and Ali and Natalie don't seem to have any problems with it... Yeah. But keep reading!
It is truly amazing what one little sound can do to an entire family.
Take, for example, theNatalie's family. Already bustling about, polishing off the last few tasks and getting changed, it came. Unfriendly and unwelcome, but it could not be ignored - knock knock.
Spot was getting changed in his new room when he heard the familiar, yet dreaded, noise. He stood upstairs in front of his mirror and straightened his tie - yes, tie. His golden hair sat freshly combed, reflecting the sunlight from the window. At the knocking, he could hear the kitchen, which had been directly below him, take a five-second break from the clatter of pots and pans, then footsteps all over.
Not surprisingly, he wasn't all that eager to get downstairs and greet the guests. He could hear them; the old and the young filing in slowly, letting a sharp, cold wind blow throughout the house, all the people chattering and filling the foyer. Spot sat down on the bed and looked at himself again - weeks or so ago, he would have been out, with frostbitten fingers and getting into fights.
The Brooklynite felt a pang of emotion stab him - he missed his newsie ways, his friends, his home. This house, not matter how nice, wasn't his. This family, no matter how generous, wasn't his. But he pushed the thought from his mind - he had come so far along, and was with the girl he liked more than any other. And his friend Racetrack was suffering the homesickness with him.
If you could call it homesickness.
A knock on his door snapped him from his sadness, and before he could ask, "Yeah?" Natalie stepped in, and Spot instantly forgot his drama.
She was... hot. Wearing a long, dark blue dress that shimmered in the light, it was strapless, but she wore a shawl to cover her bare shoulders.
And, well, it pronounced her! Every curve on her body looked 10x... 'curvier' in that dress. And Spot would never say it, of course, but he guessed she was wearing a corset. His eyes paused on her chest, before he sighed - and maybe just a little too loudly.
Natalie blushed. "Was that a hello?"
Spot took a deep breath, to try and calm himself. "Yeah."
Natalie laughed, before looking at herself in the mirror. "This doesn't make me look bad, does it?" she asked. Spot had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing - Look bad? Was she kidding?
He stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Nah, yer fine," he breathed, and nibbled her ear. Natalie smiled and leaned on him, and the two stood, content. Anyone watching probably could've predicted (And would've most likely been right) that they were about to get a little more intimate, but something had to ruin the moment. A shout from downstairs was heard - "Natalie Catherine!"
Natalie paused, torn between something that had been haunting her for days, or the call of family. She turned to Spot and took him by the hand - earning her a funny look.
"Come with me," she pleaded, knowing his distaste for family reunions.
"Yer aunties is heah, I'm guessin'."
"Yeah, they are. Now, please come down."
Spot shook his head. "Dey won't like me."
Now it was Natalie's turn to stare at him. "Since when is the famous Spot Conlon afraid if people would like him or not?"
"Since Spot Conlon ain't famous no more," he retorted, the ruined it by adding, "An' I'm not afraid. But I don feel like bein' insulted by yer family taday."
"They won't. Not when I'm there."
"They'll call ya a whore."
"But I'm not!"
"Dey don know that."
"Then I'll tell them."
"Dey won't believe ya."
"Yes they will."
"No dey won't."
(Read this carefully:)
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Ye– Aw, ya got me," Spot said, just realizing her trick. Natalie snickered. "Look," he tried, "I'll be down lata. Ya have to go see yer family now."
"NATALIE CATHERINE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"BE RIGHT THERE, MOM!" Natalie shouted back, and turned to Spot one last time. "Aww, come on, Sean. What are they gonna do, get old on you?"
"Yeah."
Natalie rolled her eyes and pulled him down the stairs. At first, Spot hesitated, then decided it was her party and he should just go along with it. There was a massive crowd pouring in through the open doors, and one could wonder - how many relatives could a person have?
At first, he wasn't noticed, but as the family then began to settle down, he received more and more queer looks. Finally, the whole room sat watching him and trying to look like they weren't. Natalie was squished between two old ladies, and she was making jerky head motions to make himself scarce.
'Didn't she just want me down here?' he wondered, as he waddled off.
As soon as Spot left to pour himself a drink, the chatter started up again - with Natalie caught in the center.
"So, Natalie Catherine, how have you been?" asked her great grandma called Gertrude.
"Um, fine, and you can just call me Natalie."
"Nonsense, child - that is not the full name you were christened with."
"But I–"
"Tell me, who is that dashing young man you were just with?" asked Grandma Elizabeth.
"His name's Sp– Sean Conlon."
"Conlon? Irish, is he?"
"Yes. With some Italian and Romanian."
Her grandmother's face clouded with disgust, as though she had swallowed something wretched. "Ugh, Italian?" she asked, "Nothing good about them."
Natalie shook her head firmly. "Don't say that," she warned, "It's not true."
Her older cousin, Rosa, sat in the corner, silent.
"Why, yes it is," rambled on Gertrude, "You're Irish, Natalie, and don't you–"
"And so is he!" Natalie said angrily, wishing they'd all be struck with a plague of muteness. I mean, there was such a thing as refraining from saying bad things about a person when their friends were standing nearby.
"Is he Catholic?" asked her aunt Sophie.
"I– I don't know."
"Tell me, darling," Sophie pressed, "Why is he here? This is a family party... Surely you did not invite him?"
Rosa looked up.
"Well," Natalie started, "Long story. He was in trouble and was looking for a place to stay and was my friend. He doesn't really have a home, so—"
The conservative aunts, uncles, grandmas and grandpas began making a racket so loud it could match that of crows.
"What?"
"He's staying with you?"
"Outrage!"
"How dare he!"
"What name are you trying to give yourself, girl?"
"Letting that...boy...that street rat stay with you! Are you mad?"
"Disgusting!"
"Blasphemy!"
Natalie tried desperatly to take control of the situation. "No, don't worry," she explained frantically, attempting to regain hold of the room, "We aren't in love, he isn't perverted or anything – he's just a friend who needs shelter!"
"Nonsense, if I've ever seen it," said her grandmother, rising dramatically and pointing, "You are letting an Italian street rat in this home to live with you! You should be beaten, and him, given the boot! You FILTHY GIRL!"
Natalie wondered how on earth it was that Spot could not hear any of this, but he didn't.
Suddenly, Rosa stood up, her long black hair flowing around her, in a celestial kind of way. Somehow, the sight of this made everyone fall silent and stare, but not in a bad way.
"That's enough, Grandmama," she said coolly, her face shining with an angelic light. Gertrude stared at her, as if she couldn't believe her granddaughter was telling her off, but slowly resumed her seat. Rosa swirled the wine in the crystal glass she was holding, shimmering crimson, like fresh blood. Without another word, she went off towards the kitchen, and Natalie followed her.
Rosa turned and wrapped an arm around Natalie's shoulders, smiling. Rosa was 19, turning twenty in a few weeks. She grinned. "Little Natalie... Ah, I remember when you were five. You were so noisy. How've you been?"
"Fine, except for tonight."
Rosa laughed. "I want to meet this Sean Conlon boy. Where's he from?"
"Brooklyn."
"Ah. I love their accents. So is he one of those big strong guys who's really a softie when it comes to girls?"
"Umm, actually he's not... He's pretty tough straightforward, but he's good at– Wait a minute," she cried, "I never said I was in love with him, or even liked him!"
Rosa's eyes sparkled, and she lowered her voice. "Sorry to burst your bubble, hon, but I've been dating someone for three years and I'm engaged and I know the signs. And the look on your face when you dragged him down the stairs told me all I needed to know. You fooled the oldies, but not me. Or grandmama. But she's crazy anyway."
"Well," breathed the younger, "Yeah, we are going out. But you've got to promise you won't tell anyone."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Tell me, anything happen yet?"
"Nah, just kissing."
"I see you're starting to get the Brooklyn speak in you, too."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you're catching on to his words. Anyway, I wish the best for you two, but you have to be careful. If anything happens," and she paused and stared at Natalie sternly, "And you know what I mean by anything, make sure it isn't for one."
This last line puzzled Natalie, and just as she was about to question it's meaning, who arrived but Sean Conlon himself.
Adorned in his finest clothing and holding a glass of champagne, he looked clean cut and you'd never be able to tell he was, or had ever been, a newsie at any point in his life. He looked dignified... and hawt.
Rosa smiled sweetly.
"So you're Sean?" she asked, shaking his free hand.
Spot nodded. "Spot," he corrected.
"...Pardon?"
"Call me Spot."
"Uhh, okay... Spot. Natalie here tells me you're from Brooklyn."
Natalie blinked.
"She did, did she?" Spot asked, eyeing her suspiciously. Natalie nodded slightly.
Rosa laughed again. "You guys are so cute!" she squeaked, grinning, "I wish you the best of luck. I'm guessing you guys are pretty serious, if Natalie was able to talk to me the way she just did," Spot and Natalie glanced at each other, "Or so I hope," Rosa added. "I'm off to keep granny from having a cow. Cheers."
She raised her glass, and Spot tapped his against it, making a clinking sound. Rosa then smiled and headed back off into the other room, while Spot sipped the champagne.
"Ya told her 'bout us?" he asked, a bit uneasy.
"No," Natalie replied, "She figured it out."
"She's good."
"No, we suck."
Spot kissed her hand. "Since ya begged me so much ta come see yer family–"
"I didn't ask you to come see my family - just to get down here and stop acting like a creepy antisocial guy living in the attic–"
"Right. Whateva. Intraduce me ta yer lovin' family."
Natalie stopped. After her relatives had so ungraciously acted towards her boyfriend, she was less than eager to let them see him in the flesh. But if she said no, he's get suspicious and probably wander in there himself.
And she didn't feel like being responsible for any murders.
So with a heavy heart, she muttered, "Sure," and guided him into the parlor.
Once again, her relatives fell silent at the sight of him.
"Aunties, uncles, grandparents," she announced, "This is Sean Conlon."
There were a few muttered 'hello's and a ton of whispering. Finally, some brave soul called out, "Are you Catholic, boy?"
Spot shrugged. "I dunno," he said, carelessly. This puzzled many.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"Me mudda moved back ta da Green Isle afta she had me, an' I guess she had the family records wit her. But religion ain't really onna my priorities."
"Really, now. What is?"
"Umm, let's see... Well, I don think they're important enough ta say. Stayin' alive."
"Where's your father? Surely he would know?"
"...I don know."
"Do speak up, boy, no one can hear you!"
Indeed, Spot's voice had dropped lower as he spoke, and Natalie could feel him just wishing he hadn't asked to be here. But she sat tight, with some sort of guilty interest - this would be her first time hearing his full background.
"I do think ya want ta know 'bout my dad," Spot repeated, louder.
"Why, I certainly do!"
Spot paused, and silently gulped.
"I don know wheah he is now. Last time I saw him I was seven, turnin' eight. Dat's why I was workin' as a newsie."
Elizabeth cringed. "You've lost your father and your mother, and you're a newsie? How horrible."
Natalie was growing angrier at the minute. "Oh no, " she interrupted, "The life of a newsie is so much more interesting."
"I wasn't asking you, deary," said Elizabeth, with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I was asking Steven here."
"Spot," Spot replied.
"What?"
"Sean."
"...Yes."
"You're mother's in Ireland?" someone asked, again.
"Yeah. She left 'cause she didn't like da city."
"What a terrible woman," someone said, and the room fell silent. Spot made a guttural sound from deep in his throat. "Whad ya say?" he growled, menacingly.
"You are such a poor, depraved boy," chipped in Uncle Liam.
"I am not depraved."
"Do you sleep in the gutters and streets?"
"You're a newsie, and partially Italian. That won't get you anywhere! Aren't there any shelters or homes for you people?"
Silence.
Natalie stood up. "Stop it, Grandmama."
"People like me?" Spot asked, darkly. His eyes narrowed with hatred towards the old lady on the sofa.
"You're right," a young girl whispered to her even younger friend, "He is a street rat."
Another silence. Unfortunately for the little girl, Spot had the honor of overhearing her.
"...What'd ya call me?"
"Spot," said Natalie, moving swiftly over to where he stood, fists clenched. She reached and gently touched his shoulder reassuringly, but he was in no mood for comfort. "Spot," she whispered again, "Don't do this. It's okay. Just... be calm. My parent's are here, I'll make these ignorant people stop-"
Spot brushed her arm off. "Don't bother," he snarled, "Just when this was lookin' up, dese people," he thrust his thumb towards the cowering family, "Come along an' screw it all up. YOU were da one who told me ta come down an meet yer family. Ya know, if dey was in Brooklyn right now, dey'd be hang–"
Natalie realized that what he'd say would be something violent and gory, so she clamped a hand over his mouth and a few muffled noises came out. Spot stared at her, and before he could object in his gurgle manner, she dragged him back upstairs.
She let him go, and sat as a steady stream of curses wove out of his mouth. When all that was done, she hissed, "Whaddaya think you're doing? Are you trying to get yourself kicked out?"
"Nah, I was hopin' faw sumthin' maw along da lines of them bein' da ones given da axe... But maybe I'm hopin' faw too much," he retorted.
"You have to learn to control yourself! Remember, my parents trust you. Otherwise, they wouldn't have granted you a bedroom."
Spot sighed tiredly, which signified the end of the argument. The familiar pang of guilt had returned, and Natalie tried to picture herself being surrounded in a room full of people who hated her for her background and race and having insults being thrown from all sides. But it must've been Spot's diet, she suspected, otherwise he would've acted quite differently.
"I'm sorry for yelling," she said quietly, "I know you don't need anymore of that."
"S'okay. Wasn't you who was yellin'."
"I love you."
"Mmm." Spot mumbled something - Nope, he hadn't said it.
Natalie ran a hand through her hair, flipping it back. "Now I feel really bad," she admitted, trying to shake the horrid feeling, "How can I make it better?"
Spot smiled halfheartedly. "Naw, don worry. S'okay."
"No, now I feel like I really need to do something. Let me make it up to you."
Spot looked at her curiously. "Whaddaya have in mind?"
Another dirty little thought wedged itself into her brain. And she did not hesitate to do it. Taking Spot by the hand, she led him down the hallway and into the coatroom, closing the door after her.
"It's a coatroom," Spot observed, looking around.
"No duh."
And with that, with a thump that was absorbed by a leather jacket, she pinned him against the wall and kissed him. No rules, no restrictions, no parents... for now. Just him and her and a bench and a jacket. Panting heavily, Spot threw down his fancy vest, wearing suspenders and a white shirt underneath.
Natalie chuckled as her tongue and his danced together, a funny little thought entering her head.
Natalie Catherine O'Rourke did not kiss street rats.
Haha.
Take that.
A/N: You guys BETTER review for this, it's a friggin 9 pages on my Wordperfect. WOO making out in closets! HUZZAH!