Disclaimer: I own...Velma's family and Clarissa Clausen. That's all.

Hope you enjoy!

—viennacantabile

fell the angels

eight : time and the hour

.

Most of life is so dull it is not worth discussing, and it is dull at all ages. When we change our brand of cigarette, move to a new neighborhood, subscribe to a different newspaper, fall in and out of love, we are protesting in ways both frivolous and deep against the not to be diluted dullness of day-to-day living. Unfortunately, one mirror is as treacherous as another, reflecting at some point in every adventure the same vain unsatisfied face, and so when she asks what have I done? she means really what am I doing? as one usually does.

—Truman Capote, Summer Crossing

.

Outside Doc's, Graziella huffs. "What does he think he's doin', bossin' me around like that?"

Velma just shrugs. "Maybe he just didn't want ya where the PRs could get at ya," she suggests as they begin the walk back to their block. The real truth, and what everyone knows besides her best friend, is that Graziella has a mouth bigger than the whole West Side and doesn't mind proving it, even in sticky situations like these.

"Whaddaya think I am, dumb or somethin'?" the redhead snaps. "You know Riff likes showin' me off, same's I like showin' him off!"

Velma rolls her eyes and attempts a different tack. "Graz. Honey. Why would ya wanna be in there, anyway? All they're gonna do is snap at each other for puttin' toes on each others' blocks."

Graziella pouts. "Well, yeah, but…it's like he's always tryin' to get rid-a me!" she bursts out, crossing her arms. "Like—like he don't want me around!"

"Graz," Velma sighs, rubbing her temples before trying one last time, "look. It ain't that he don't want ya around, but don't ya see, he's gotta act the big man around the Jets. They won't do what he says if they see him doin' what you say." It's a white lie—Riff would never take orders from his girl—but half of the excuse is true, anyway.

Graziella sniffs. "That don't stop Ice."

Velma smiles in spite of herself. "Well, no, but he's lieutenant. It'd be different if he was leader." She sighs. "Thank God he ain't."

Graziella watches her, curiosity in her eyes. "What, ya really wouldn't want him to be? Then you'd be the Jet captain's girl," she points out, a trace of something Velma can't quite identify in her voice. "That ain't no slouch job, y'know."

Velma glances at Graziella. "It ain't about me," she says, surprised. "It's about him havin' to be out there, makin' the big decisions with eleven other guys lookin' at him if somethin' goes wrong. It ain't that I don't think he could do it," she adds, not wanting her friend to get the wrong impression. There is very little she doesn't think Ice could do, if he wanted to. "It's that…well, I know he could."

Graziella considers this. "I don' get it," she finally says, tossing her orange curls. "If he can do it, why wouldn't ya want him to?"

Velma sighs. Graziella is a really great best friend when you want to talk about clothes, or dancing, but this is something she won't be able to understand: how some things can change a person, and how those changes can turn the boy you once loved into someone you don't even know. Leading the Jets—a full-time job if there ever was one—is one of them.

So instead she opts for the explanation she knows Graziella will get. "Well, see," she says with a little laugh, "if Ice was leader, where'd that leave Riff? An' you?"

Graziella immediately beams. "Oh, Vel," she sniffs, putting an arm around her best friend, "that's the sweetest thing I ever heard."

Velma smiles. "How about that girl?" she says, deciding to change the subject. "The one Tony danced with. Ice said she was Bernardo's sister."

Graziella stops dead and gapes at her. "You're kiddin'."

Velma shakes her head, still hardly able to believe it herself. "Nope."

"Well, damn," says Graziella, planting indignant hands on her hips. "Y'know, I spent all those years tryin' to get Tony's attention an' got nothin'. An' now one dance with a Spic girl—Bernardo's sister—an' he's dead gone on her? That ain't right, Vel."

"It sure is funny," sighs Velma, remembering that dark-haired girl, so different from the rest of them. "I mean, I know sometimes ya can't help who it is, but—Tony?"

"Damn," Graziella repeats, full lips pointed downward. "Well, it ain't gonna go nowhere," she predicts confidently, beginning to move again. "Riff won't let his best buddy get with a Shark girl, no way."

Velma glances at her best friend. "Ya really think that'll stop him?"

Graziella gives a firm nod. "A-course! I mean, you wouldn't let me get with one-a those dirty Sharks, would ya?" she asks with a shudder.

"No, 'course not," Velma says automatically, though she wonders. If it was what Graziella really wanted… Then she glances at the redhead, whose mouth is still turned down in a pout. Well, in any case, it would never happen. Not with Graziella. "But Tony ain't been around the Jets for awhile, right?"

"Well, yeah," admits the redhead, "but it's like Riff's always tellin' me—Jets stay Jets for life." She sighs dreamily. "That's why we love 'em so much, y'know?"

"Right," agrees Velma with a small smile. "We do."

"Vel, listen," says Graziella as they reach their block, dropping her voice, "I got a feelin' Riff's thinkin' about settlin' down. You know. The M word."

Velma's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yeah," Graziella says, a smug smile on her face. "I kept talkin' to him about it the other day when he was playin' cards with the boys, an' y'know what? He never said no. That's proof if I ever saw it, Vel!"

"Oh," says Velma, at a loss for words. She has a hard time believing Riff is seriously considering proposing to Graziella—he just doesn't seem the type to do it before he absolutely has to—but her best friend looks so excited she doesn't have the heart to say anything. "That's great, Graz!"

"I can't wait," beams her friend. "I got the dress an' the cake an' the church picked out already! You'll be my maid of honor, right?"

Velma smiles. "Sure, Graz. An'—" She hesitates, biting her lip. "You'll do the same for me, right? Whenever that is?"

Graziella smirks. "Know somethin', do we?"

Velma is annoyed to feel herself blushing for no reason at all. "No, I just—"

"Well, Ice's just crazy about ya," Graziella cuts in happily. "I bet he's gonna be namin' the date real soon, Vel!"

Velma, eyes on the pavement in front of them, doesn't say anything. Marrying Ice is one of the things she tries not to let herself dwell on too much—there's no point, after all. She very much doubts any of the boys are thinking about that kind of thing right now, and Velma doesn't want to get her hopes up like Graziella. The more you expect, the bigger the disappointment can be, and this is something that doesn't just depend on herself. Which is probably why she doesn't ever bring up the future with him. Discussing that kind of thing just makes it harder to enjoy the present they have.

The truth is, though, if she allows herself to consider it, is that Velma has never felt about anyone the way she feels about Ice. Unlike Pauline and Bernice, Velma is a one-guy kind of girl, and if she's ever going to marry anyone, she knows who she wants it to be. It's that same question about the distant future all over again. No one knows what it will be, least of all a just-turned seventeen year-old girl in love with a boy who has yet to become a man. All she can do is wait to find out what it holds. But all the same…

Velma tips her head back to look up at the midnight sky. "Yeah," she murmurs, with a wistful sigh. The warm air is still and the stars are bright and unmoving. "That'd be nice."

.

They make plans to meet tomorrow and say goodbye in the middle of the street, and afterward, Velma watches Graziella flounce over to her side and dart into her apartment building. She's probably waiting up for Riff, just like Velma is waiting for Ice, and Velma hopes her best friend won't be disappointed in her boyfriend, now, or ever. Riff's a good guy, and Graziella is happy. Really, truly happy. Velma is no expert on life but how many times does that happen? Not often, that's for sure, and if they are lucky it will last. All of it.

Just as she lets herself into the Andersen apartment, Velma looks up to see her mother fast asleep on the sofa and smiles. "Mamma," she says, crossing over and putting a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder, "I'm home."

Mrs. Andersen's blue eyes flutter open to focus, after a moment, on her daughter's face. "Did you have a nice time?"

Velma smiles slightly at her mother's sleep-softened Swedish. "Yeah, I did. Where's Dad?"

Mrs. Andersen slowly sits up and smoothes a hand over Velma's hair. "Still at the hospital. You look very pretty."

"Thanks, Mamma," Velma murmurs. "Are the boys back yet?"

Covering a yawn, her mother nods. "Peter came home an hour ago. Chris is spending the night at Fred's."

Velma laughs. She can only imagine how Graziella is going to feel about having both her own brother and an extra teenage boy in her apartment, especially with Riff on the way over. "Well, it's late, Mamma. You should go to bed."

Mrs. Andersen yawns again. "That's a good idea," she admits, before hesitating. "Your father still isn't home from the hospital, though."

"Dad wouldn't want you to wait up for him when you're so tired," Velma says firmly. "C'mon, Mamma."

Her mother relents with a sigh. "Well, all right." Getting up with, she glances at her daughter. "If he comes home and you're still up, tell him his dinner is in the oven."

"I will," Velma nods. As her mother wearily makes her way to her room, though, Velma frowns. In all likelihood, Ice will be here and she will be a little…occupied…when her father gets home. She'll write a note, Velma decides, and hurries to the kitchen.

She stops short, though, at the sight of her fifteen year-old brother holding a gigantic slice of cake and happily chomping away. His blue eyes bug out at her approach.

"Hi, Peter," Velma says with a giggle.

Peter swallows with a very audible gulp and switches on a winning grin. "Hi, Vel."

"So, I didn't see ya at the dance tonight," Velma says with an innocent smile. "Where were ya?"

"I was there the whole time!" protests Peter, wiping the crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. "I just—um—"

Velma regards him with some amusement. "Yeah?"

"Well," says Peter with a sheepish chuckle, "Clarissa—you know, my date—"

"Clarissa Clausen, yeah," Velma fills in with a smirk. "Minnie told me."

Peter's face turns the slightest bit red. "Yeah, her. She was real happy to be there, an' she kept kissin' me every time I said somethin', an' finally we just, er—"

Velma's lips twitch. "Went out back an' started makin' out?"

"Maybe," Peter admits, scratching his head in embarrassment. "She wouldn't let up."

"Oh, I see," Velma says with a very straight face. She loves her little brother, she really does, but sometimes she can't resist teasing him. Especially about girls.

"Ya ain't gonna tell Mamma or Dad, are ya?" asks Peter anxiously. "I swear that was it."

Velma smirks. "Ya weren't out joinin' a gang or gettin' into trouble, were ya?"

"Me?" asks Peter, wide-eyed. "No way, Dad'd kill me!" Then he gives her a funny look. "Wait, but ain't Ice—"

"Just 'cause my boyfriend's a Jet don't mean I want you to be," Velma tells him seriously. She laughs a little. "Actually, that's prob'ly why I don't want ya to be one. I know exactly what they get up to."

"Johnny Kowalski's a Jet," says Peter cautiously. "An' Minnie Goddard says all the Jets're nice."

"Baby John gets into a lot of trouble I don't want you anywhere near," Velma says, remembering the cut on the boy's face and feeling every inch the protective older sister she is. Peter is in the same grade as Baby John and Minnie and at least one Jet's little brother at school, so it's not surprising he knows more about the Jets than Velma has told him. "An' you know Minnie thinks everyone's nice, Peter."

"She sure does," Peter agrees, nodding once, twice, three times. There's a strange look in his blue eyes as her brother hesitantly goes on. "It's prob'ly 'cause she's so nice herself."

"She is," agrees Velma, giving him a keen glance. From what she's heard, Peter is pretty popular with the girls at school. But he hasn't really had a serious girlfriend yet, and now Velma is starting to wonder if a certain friend of hers has anything to do with it. "Y'know…Minnie asked if you were gonna be there."

Peter clears his throat. "She did?"

"Yeah," nods Velma. "When we were gettin' ready."

"Oh," says Peter, taking another bite of his cake and gulping it down. "She's—yeah, she's real nice."

Velma eyes him for another moment, then figures that his business is his business and even if he does like Minnie, there's nothing she can do about it but wait for him to tell his older sister. "Anyway, look, I just don't want ya gettin' caught up in gang stuff, okay?"

"Not a chance," says Peter, and Velma is surprised to hear a note of frustration in his voice. "That Annie girl who dresses like a guy an' that Aaron kid—goes by A-Rab, I think—wouldn't let me anywhere near the Jets, even if I wanted to be one. So I'm stickin' to soccer as my after-school fun."

Velma exhales. "Good," she says, with a half smile. "I don't wanna have to worry about you, too."

Peter glances at her. "Ice can take care-a himself, sis," he offers, beginning to munch on his cake again.

"I know," she says. She's said it so many times that it feels rote, automatic. She might know, Velma thinks with a sigh, but it sure isn't helping. Taking a scrap of paper off the counter, she scribbles the message for her father. "Anyway, don't eat too much cake or they'll notice. I'm goin' to bed."

Peter watches her anxiously. "An' ya won't say anything?"

Velma stops and smiles at him. "What've I got to tell?"

.

When she reaches her doorway, Velma leaves the ceiling light off and heads to her closet, flipping the switches on a few of the paper and blown-glass lamps clustered around the room on the way. As Ice has noted before, they are fragile and don't give off that much light, but Velma likes them anyway. It's like falling asleep next to the moon and the stars in the soft glow of evening dimness, and for someone who spends most of her nights out and about with the Jets and their girls, Velma loves that suggestion of brightness.

It takes longer than usual for her to strip off her dress and hang it up over her shoes in her closet. She's slow, sluggish, limbs worn out from the hours of dancing, and as she sits down on her bed in just her corselette and makeup, Velma wonders how the war council is going.

She's not—worried, precisely; after all, even gangs have their own code of honor, and tonight is just talking. Theoretically, at least. Discounting the possibility of double-crossing Sharks and one of the nastier police officers showing up. Which is the problem: Velma has never been good about trusting factors outside of her control, least of all when it comes to someone she loves.

But as Graziella has told her over and over again, she needs to lighten up. Ice will be back at any time now, she knows, and Velma doesn't want to bother him when it really is just a war council, after all, and they've got better things to do. With a sigh she gets to her feet and moves to the window that is always left half-open, parting the curtains. He might be walking up the street already.

"HI, VELMA!"

Velma lets out a muffled shriek and dives for a robe. "Mouthpiece?"

"That's me," beams the Jet, who is perched on the railing of the fire escape landing outside. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the darkness outside, Velma can see that he's got his paw-like hand over his eyes. "Don't worry," he adds, as if to emphasize this. "I wouldn' ever look 'less ya wanted me to, Velma! I'm a gentleman."

Velma lets out a weak laugh, her heart thudding crazily. "Gee," she says, nevertheless wrapping the robe tightly around her body as she approaches the window again, "thanks."

"Welcome," Mouthpiece returns affably, plopping down onto the floor of the fire escape.

"What're ya doin' here?" asks Velma, flabbergasted. She leans carefully over the windowsill. "Shouldn't you be at the war council?"

"Nah, I left 'fore you did," grins Mouthpiece. "Action said there wasn't enough room inside, so I hadda leave." He thinks about this for a moment. "So I did."

"That's nice," says Velma faintly. "So…why'd ya come here, then?"

"Well," says Mouthpiece happily, "I thought I'd make sure ya made it home okay 'fore I go see Bernice." Another pause. "Can I look yet?"

Velma rolls her eyes. "I guess."

Mouthpiece carefully peeks between his fingers and removes his hand after assuring himself that she is adequately covered. "Ya look real pretty. An' I like your room all lit up like that."

Velma smiles in spite of herself, still bemused. "Thanks, Mouthpiece. Look," she says, trying not to begrudge him the fact that he is not Ice. The Jet is kind of lovable in his own way, after all. Like an overgrown puppy. "Why're ya here?"

Mouthpiece blinks. "Like I told ya, I thought I'd make sure ya made it home okay 'fore I go see—"

"Bernice, right," Velma fills in, raising an eyebrow at the thought of Bernice entertaining Mouthpiece not too long from now. "I get that. But—" She stops. "Mouthpiece, y'know Ice is comin' over after the war council, right?"

"Yup," confirms a cheery Mouthpiece.

"So—why would ya come here?" Velma goes on, a little frustrated at his inability to get what she is driving at. "You know he ain't gonna be happy seein' another Jet here. Least of all you."

Mouthpiece appears to think about this. "Gee, you're smart, Velma."

Velma takes a deep breath. "Mouthpiece. So why are you here?"

Mouthpiece gives her as serious of a look as she has ever seen from him. "It's 'cause I—"

Say it, she wills. Say it, so I can tell you that you're sweet, but you're not Ice. And if you're not Ice, you're not the one I want. I'm sorry. That's all. Say it.

But Mouthpiece, as always, just grins. "'Cause I'm lookin' out for my buddy's girl!" he finishes brightly.

Velma sighs, defeated. "Thanks, Mouthpiece."

"Welcome," Mouthpiece returns again, a broad grin across his face. "So whaddaya wanna talk about now? I could tell ya all about the train I'm gonna have when I'm grown up. Or hippogorgeouses. I love hippogorgeouses."

Velma closes her eyes. She doesn't want to talk about trains, or hippopotamuses, or anything else his brain can come up with. "Look, Mouthpiece," she says, opening her eyes again and rubbing at her temples, "I appreciate it, I really do, but the war council ain't gonna take that long, an' I really don't think Ice's gonna like it if you're sittin' out there when he gets here."

Mouthpiece perks up. "I could come inside!"

Velma, resisting the urge to bang her head against the wall, sighs. "I don't think that's a good idea, either. You know Ice. He might—well, hurt ya. If ya don't leave, ya might end up in the hospital, see?"

"Gee, Velma," Mouthpiece breathes, "thanks. You're awful nice."

Velma cringes. "Thanks, I guess. But—"

"Say, how d'ya think that war-council's goin', anyhow?" Mouthpiece asks comfortably, leaning back against the railing. "Think Riff an' them're takin' the mickey outta them Sharks?"

Velma narrows her eyes. "What?"

"You know," Mouthpiece goes on, "them PRs at the dance!"

"Yeah," Velma says with a frown, "but it's just a war-council. Nobody's going to be fightin' tonight." She sighs. "Just talkin' about fightin'. Right?"

"Oh, right," Mouthpiece says happily. "Just talkin'."

Velma watches him closely for a moment, then exhales. Like Ice, Mouthpiece has been a Jet for more than a few years, and there are things he could tell her that few others could. She supposes that if she weren't feeling so unsettled tonight, she wouldn't mention it, but Mouthpiece, of all the Jets, is the least likely to remember this later. "Look," she says, biting her lip. "Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"I'll tell ya anythin'," returns Mouthpiece with a wide grin. "Just ask."

Velma sighs. "Mouthpiece, I'm serious."

"No, really," says the blond Jet, scooting forward a few inches. His blue eyes are wide and earnest and Velma, glancing in surprise at him, hesitates.

"An' ya won't tell anyone?"

"Yeah," confirms Mouthpiece, nodding. "Ask me anythin' ya want, Velma."

Velma takes a deep breath. Anything she wants. She knows what she'd like to ask: what happened tonight, and what he thinks will happen tomorrow. It's not that she thinks Ice would lie to her, or leave things out, but if she is to understand why he isn't here right now, another perspective will help. Even if it is Mouthpiece's. But what comes out of her mouth is a surprise even to her.

"Do you think it's worth it? Being a Jet?"

Mouthpiece furrows his brow. "Whaddaya mean?"

Velma shrugs, already a little embarrassed, but not wanting him to see. "I mean—you could get hurt, right? An' I bet your ma don't like it much, either. Is it worth all the trouble ya get from bein' a Jet, to be a Jet?"

Mouthpiece's frown grows deeper. "I don't get it."

Velma's mouth quirks up. Mouthpiece, if nothing else, is nice. Simple. Different from the other Jets in that he doesn't always seem to have something gnawing, biting at him, a reason for him to be unhappy. Which makes it even more confusing that he is one of them. "I guess I'm askin'—why be a Jet? What's in it for you?"

Mouthpiece's broad grin splits his face. "Jets is family," he says. It's as if he has known the question all along. "'S what Tony told me when I joined up."

The answer comes as easily as it probably would from Ice, but Velma still doesn't understand. She has a family, and she's always been told that no friends will ever compare to the blood ties created at birth. And even if all of the Jets don't have that kind of home life—most of them still have parents, right? Even Ice, who's told her enough about his dead father to know that it's a good thing Mr. Callahan isn't around anymore, has a mother. One who loves him more than anything. Velma doesn't know much about Mouthpiece, but she supposes someone has to have been feeding him for the boy to get that tall. "Don't ya already have a family, though?"

Mouthpiece shrugs. "My dad ran off when I was a baby, but yeah, I got my mom."

"Oh," says Velma, feeling very strange. In the year that she's lived and been friends with the Jets, she's met more parentless kids than she ever did her whole life back in her old neighborhood, where if there were problems you never heard about them and the one or two kids who had divorced parents were always held at arms-length, as if they had some kind of disease no one wanted to catch. Certainly no one ever talked about it as matter-of-factly as Mouthpiece. "No brothers or sisters?"

"Nope," Mouthpiece says cheerfully. "Just me."

"Oh," Velma says again. Even though Astrid and Katrina have been married for over a year now, the house is still plenty full and she can't imagine life without at least one sibling around. She props her chin on her hands and hazards a guess. "I guess ya get awful lonely sometimes?

Mouthpiece shrugs again. "Sometimes I used to wish I had a little brother or sister. But not since I started bein' a Jet."

"So they're like your brothers, then," Velma says slowly, trying to understand. She is close to Graziella, Clarice, and Minnie, though it's a different sort of relationship than the ones she has with her sisters. But, she supposes, if you never knew anything else, how would you know the difference?

Mouthpiece appears to think about this. "I guess so, yeah."

"So when ya say Jets is family, that's what you mean?" asks Velma, leaning forward on the windowsill.

Mouthpiece grins. "Yup."

Velma thinks about this, and wonders if this is how Ice feels. "Well," she says after a moment, "thanks."

"Welcome," he says, nodding his head cheerfully. "Anythin' else ya wanna ask?"

Velma half-smiles. "Nah, that's it. Look," she says, glancing back into her room, "it's been nice talkin' to ya, but it's gettin' late, an' Ice'll be here soon. An' Bernice is waitin', y'know."

Mouthpiece brightens. "Oh, yeah, I better go—g'night, Velma!" He waves at her, then hops off his perch and begins to clamber down the stairs.

Just as he's almost out of sight, Velma remembers something and leans out the window. "Oh—Mouthpiece?"

He looks up, placid face eager. "Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone I asked, okay?" she reminds him. It isn't that she thinks the question was so embarrassing, but Velma doesn't like the idea of everyone knowing she's unsure about anything, even something like this. She hesitates. "Not even Ice."

"'Course not," the big Jet says reproachfully. "I ain't that kinda guy, Velma!"

Velma smiles in spite of herself. He really is sweet. "No, I know you're not."

Mouthpiece glances at her, and she is startled to see a serious look on his face, for once. "An' don't worry, Velma," he says, a glimmer of understanding passing through his wide blue eyes. "Jets is like brothers, remember? So I'll look out for Ice, an' he'll look out for me, an' everythin'll be okay."

Velma stares at him, a little bit amazed that he's managed to figure out that much. Then Mouthpiece waves one last time and clatters down the fire escape and into the streets. Velma gazes after him for a long time, turning his words over in her mind. For someone who isn't the sharpest crayon in the box, Mouthpiece certainly has managed to make her think. About Ice, about herself, and even about him.

The night air is still warm from the heat of the day. Slipping her robe off, Velma leaves the window and moves around her bed to sit down at her vanity. Picking up her hairbrush, she runs it through her hair. Family. Does Ice, who is so very different from Mouthpiece, really want the same thing in the end? Do all of them? It's something Velma's never quite considered, because she's always had her own. And now she wonders what it would be like without Astrid and Katrina, and Peter and Chris, and her mother and father. What her whole life would have been like, without that surety. Is that absence part of what makes the Jets who they are?

Well, thinks Velma, meeting her own gaze in the mirror, if that's true, and if what Ice needs is that kind of love, then it's her job to let him know that he has it. That he is not alone, now or ever. And that he does have a family—if he wants it—in hers.