A.N: Own work separate from the other published parts so far. More of a 92sies 'verse than the mix of 92sies and broadsies I've been doing.
Pidge is a term of endearment of the time period usually used between close friends or sweethearts.
If you think this feels unfinished then you would be right my dears! This was written at 3 in the morn in maybe half an hour cause I had the idea and had to get it out of my head. Tell me what you think? Working without a Beta so be gentle please. Lol.
He figured there wasn't much he could do when she started talking about the boy who sold near the shop she worked at. He figured there wasn't anything he could really say that wouldn't give him away when she asked if he knew the boy with the cowboy hat and red bandana. But he figured he could stretch the truth a little, she knew he wasn't 'hattan, she knew he wasn't supposed to be seen on this side of the Bridge. He figured he could get away with a little white lie.
"His name's Kelly, Jack Kelly. Us newsies calls him Cowboy."
"Do your nicknames really follow you to every borough?"
"Some of us they'se the only names we'se gots. Most of us don't keep the names our parents gives us."
"Is Patrick your real name then, or just one you've given yourself?"
"Is real enough I suppose."
"I don't think I like that answer."
"That's life, pidge."
He knows his days are numbered when she shows up to their usual spot with bright eyes and a smile he's never seen before lighting up her face. He knows this is probably the last time he'll be able to see her like this once Jackie and his boys make good on their promise of a strike. He knows it's probably time he told her the truth.
"And he's taller than I expected. I thought he wasn't much older than you, Patrick."
"I'se always been kinda short fer me age. And most of us don't keep much track o' age past when we'se can't swing it in a lodge no more."
"How old are you then?"
"Maybe sixteen? I was real little when I wound up at the lodge. Lots o' times it all jus' blurs together."
"Are there no records of you coming to the lodge?"
"I suppose, under me old name pro'lly The one Blue gave me afore he aged out fer good."
"And when he aged out, Spot Conlon took over?"
"You'se don't gots to say 'is full name. None of us do."
"I've only heard the boys around here say his full name, and even then they're real quiet like it'll make him appear."
"Well you knows what they says about speakin' o' devil's."
"Oh you're terrible."
"So'se I'se heard."
There's no getting out of it now as he makes his way through Lower Manhattan. There's a roiling in his gut as he walks head held high and cane gripped tight in his fist as some of his boys tail him. There's newsies from every Borough and working kids alike openly watching him and plenty of adults being a little more subtle about it. There's plenty of the older Manhattan newsies watching from the shadows as he makes his way through the midday crowd like he belongs here. There's not a sign of Cowboy or The Mouth as he settles down next to an already sitting Sarah. She hands him half a light buttery pastry and he bites back the comment that their usual spot on the fire escape in the alley behind them had better shade.
"So, from what Jack says, Spot Conlon has done a world of good for the working kids of Brooklyn. And newsies through the boroughs."
"I suppose so."
"I wouldn't mind formally meeting him. Davey said he reminded him of an avenging angel."
"Your brudda said what?"
"Oh he made some long-winded comparisons between the boy who earned the loyalty of an entire Borough -and then some- and came to the rescue of the Manhattan newsies and the angels in the Bible. Beautiful to look at and fierce to behold. Warriors of God meant to protect Heaven and Man."
"Your brudda thinks Conlon is an angel o' da Lord?"
"With everything people say about him, is it so hard to believe?"
"You Jacobs are crazy."
"Why thank you."
"Sarah, I-"
"I get why you did it. Once Jack and Davey found out about Patrick it was rough. Davey had concerns for my virtue. I'm sure you can guess how Jack felt about his girl spending time with another fella."
"Jacky boy never was good at sharing."
"Then the picture came out. Jack was larger than life before but now, now he was practically walking legend. And Davey was right up there with him. Davey, Les, Racetrack, Blink and Boots and- and all those boys, they were all part of somethin bigger now. But you, you were somethin else Spot."
"Patrick."
"What?"
"Me name, me real one, not a nickname or somethin I chose to make a new life, it's Patrick."
"Huh, I think I like that."
"Figures you would, pidge."
"This changes everything doesn't it?"
"A bit. I'se Spot Conlon and you'se Jack Kelly's girl. We've got a Strike ta run and I think there's more than just a factory or tha docks waitin for us when we'se age out now."
"You boys are changing the world."
"We're gonna try at least."
Francis Sullivan. Spot knew most of the newsies had fake surnames or used nicknames instead of their Christian ones but he could see why Cowboy had changed everything about his. He had been the one to break the news to Sarah when she met them outside of the courthouse sans her beau. He was glad to see she had managed to make it out safe, glad that both 'hattan and Brooklyn had listened when he ordered to get her to safety above all else.
She doesn't cry when he tells her about Francis Sullivan and his sentence to the Refuge. She doesn't cry when he tells her the cause that Cowboy had gotten himself what might as well be a life sentence to kids like them for was practically ground to a halt since Denton couldn't -wouldn't- publish another article about their strike. She doesn't cry when he tells her that the one person he had thought he could stand losing a girl like her to had shown up in a fancy new suit and a whole stack of crisp newspapers, denouncing the very war he started. She doesn't cry when she reaches out to pull him in close and rest her head on his shoulder while they both catch their breath but he takes a small step back, more a shifting of his weight to his back foot really, enough to keep the space between them. She doesn't cry when he takes his hat off and calls her Miss Jacobs, wishing her a good day with a bow like those fancy gents give the fancy ladies they will never be like.
He doesn't say anything when he hears word that Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly is back with a plan. He doesn't say anything when he hears that Mouth is sporting a shiner from one of the Delanceys, that he got it defending his sister's honour. He doesn't say anything when he and his boys make sure Denton makes it to Roosevelt without any of Pulitzer's goons getting to him. He doesn't say a word when he sees Jack Kelly standing tall and proud and bigger than life in front of hundreds and hundreds of young kids who had never had a voice before now, a Jacobs on each side. He holds Les close between him and Racetrack so he doesn't get swept away in the crowd.
He doesn't look for her when Jack Kelly rides away in Teddy Roosevelt's fancy carriage. He bites his tongue when the damned fool comes back, sweeping up his girl and kissing her for all the world to see. He shrugs Racetrack off when the other boy asks him if he's okay. He pretends not to see the way the other 'hattan teenagers watch him, daring him to give them a reason. He turns away when he sees her searching for him in the crowd. They had won the day, now he had a borough to run.