Disclaimer: I've tried, but the newsies still don't belong to me. Damn.
Author's Note: I wanted this chapter to be a kind of review - a drastic contrast so that the reader can compare where they were to where they are now. It's not only Spot who's been changed - Race is just as affected by Spot's love. They have both been changed forever, and I tried to make that as real as possible. It's not easy going from hardass newsies to anything sentimental at all. Also, there is only one chapter left. I'm really going to miss this story, lol, so please read and review and I'll get the final chapter up as soon as possible.
Race didn't know when or how, but somehow he'd fallen asleep when he hadn't meant to. The emotional exhaustion of the day before must have caught up with him. Because once he was asleep, he was gone. He slept through the rest of the boys getting up at dawn to go carry the banner, he slept through the sun slanting through the window directly into his eyes, and he even slept through Jack peaking his head in to check on them after selling. The Manhattan leader smiled seeing the pair slumbering away together, and suddenly he wondered how he hadn't seen how perfect they were together sooner.
It was lunchtime by the time Race shook himself. The commotion of the other boys all on their way to get food, and the realization that he himself had not eaten for nearly twenty four hours, woke him. He let his eyes flutter open and breathed a sigh of contentment feeling Spot still pressed against his body. The babbling incoherence of the night before had given way to a peaceful sleep, and Race was grateful. He sat up as carefully as he could, determined not to wake his partner, and looked over Spot's injuries. The black eye was worse than ever, but there was nothing to be done about that. Most of the lesser cuts were healing over, but Race decided to clean out the gash on his right arm one more time. He fetched some fresh water, ointment, and a clean bandage from downstairs and worked diligently, cleansing the wound and then wrapping the bandage tight around it. Just as he was finishing tying it up, he sensed Spot's eyes on him.
Race smiled. He resisted the urge to throw himself into Spot's arms and confess how terrified he'd been over Spot's absence. Spot was looking up at him, expressionless.
Neither one could speak.
Finally after moments of silence, Spot said in a cracky, hoarse voice, "Well, ya still heah. Which is moah den I expected …"
Race let the déjà vu sink in, the smile wide and ecstatic on his face. He set aside his bandaging things and let his face meet Spot's in a gentle kiss. "Ya so god damned stupid sometimes, Conlon," he murmured against Spot's lips.
Spot reached up and pulled Race down with him. They lay together, holding each other and Spot said, "I know. It don't make any sense why ya still heah with me. Ya desoive so much bettah den I can give ya, Race."
Race kissed the side of Spot's head softly, "Shut up, ya bum – ya ain't gonna win. I'm in love with ya and ya couldn't get rid a' me now, not if ya tried."
Spot sighed. "I nevah thought last night dat I'd be wakin' up heah."
It was the first Spot had mentioned of anything that had happened the afternoon previous. Race was almost afraid to ask about it. "What happened, Spot?" he said in barely more than a whisper.
Spot sat up then, untangling himself from Race. It took some effort, but he managed it after a few groans of pain. He sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, aware he was in nothing but his boxers. Race sat up next to him, soothingly rubbing his back. Spot would have thought Race would be disgusted by how terribly pathetic and broken down he looked at this current point in his life, but Race was there all the same: comforting, supporting, loving Spot like he never dreamed was possible. And he knew this was exactly why he hadn't been able to get Race's eyes out of his head for months.
Spot sighed. "I dunno. Dey all just came at me in my room yestahday aftah I got home. Dey was yellin' an' Spike – da bum dat's supposed tah be my second – comes at me with a knife. He ended up killin' dis kid, Mouse. Poor thing nevah had a chance. I dunno what happened aftah dat, I can't remembah nothin'. But I musta killed him, cause he wouldn't a' let me walk outta dere alive, an' da next memory I have is sittin' outside dat pub, tryin' tah fahget everythin'…"
"Why didn't ya come heah?" There was only the slightest hint of hurt in Race's tone.
"I didn't know if dat would get you in trouble too," Spot explained calmly, the look of nauseated misery never left his face. "I dunno how dey found out about us, I wasn't careful enough I guess …"
Race's eyes shot to Spot's face, "What do ya mean, found out about us. Dis ain't about us."
Spot chuckled, "Race, dat's da reason fah da whole rebellion…"
Race felt like he could cry. "Jack jus' told me …" he trailed off as the realization of the situation sunk in. Jack had lied to protect him. "Oh."
Spot's shoulders were slumped in weary exhaustion. Race shook his head suddenly. "Ya lost Brooklyn 'cause a me?" he said.
Spot said nothing. He couldn't quite believe it himself. Not that Race wasn't worth it, of course he was. It was just, Brooklyn had been his only care for so long, now it was gone completely. It was hard to comprehend.
"Spot, I'm so sorry," Race stood and left Spot's side, pacing to the window. He looked down over the streets still covered in snow. People went about their daily lives, smiles on their faces, and Race felt like the only person to have ever felt such misery.
Spot stood and joined his lover at the window. "Race …" he said, and somehow the words just couldn't form. He wanted to tell Racetrack that he loved him, that he was worth it all, that nothing could compare to how important Race was to him. But nothing came out. He wanted to describe all the emotions of the past few months. How he'd walked all the way to Manhattan in the storm that one night, just to see Race's eyes, to confirm what he'd discovered: that he had feelings for Race which reached deeper and stronger than the feelings of friendship previously harbored. How he had been nearly destroyed the night of Race's rejection – it had been like the very life of him had been ripped out through his chest. How it had felt that night after Race came back: the joy, the tears, the rollercoaster of emotions that left Spot dizzy with ecstasy. Most of all, how everything in his life had seemed to fall into place when he'd heard that voice he so adored speak his name with love …
But none of this seemed to be able to make its way to Spot's lips. So instead he wrapped his arms around Race from behind and said softly, "I just love ya."
Race felt Spot's hot breath in his ear and it sent a shock of heat coursing through his body. He nuzzled Spot's head with his own. "I really am sorry … I didn't mean fah any a dis tah happen."
"I know," Spot kissed Race's hair. "Did I really scare ya last night?" he asked teasingly, changing the subject.
Race laughed, "I couldn't function," he said honestly.
Spot sighed. "Nevah leave," he pleaded.
Race squeezed his hand, "Nevah."
