Disclaimer: I mean, just so you know? I actually own the concept of fanfiction. So you all owe me royalties. Yeah. :)
For: Colm Wilkinson, Frances Ruffelle, and Judy Kuhn, for their Les Miserables recordings that fixed my frustration with this chapter.
—viennacantabile
fell the angels
fifteen : by that sin
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"That's the way we all begin," said Tom Platt. "The boys they make believe all the time till they've cheated 'emselves into bein' men, an' so till they die - pretendin' an' pretendin'."
—Rudyard Kipling, Captains Courageous
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You cannot save people, you can only love them.
— Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anaïs Nin, Volume Two (1934-1939)
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They don't make it three blocks before Graziella stops still in the middle of the sidewalk. Velma trades a fearful glance with Minnie before putting her arm around her best friend. "Graz?"
Graziella is silent for a moment before she sighs. "Riff never lets us hang around the Jets. Remember? 'You chicks cut out.' That's what he always says. We ain't any goddamn use to him."
Velma, disturbed by her best friend's lapse, doesn't know what to say. "Graz—"
"It don't feel real," she whispers, eyes unseeing. "I keep waitin' for him to come around an' tell me off for bein' so dumb or somethin'—"
Minnie takes a step forward, her heart-shaped face pale. "Graziella—"
The redhead chokes out a bitter laugh. "God. The hell am I sayin'?"
Velma bites her lip and wishes in silent desperation that she could figure out the right thing to say. She is the leader's girl now. She is supposed to know what to do. But more than that, she is Graziella's best friend. "Graz, I—"
"Don't," the redhead whispers. Her voice is flat, exhausted, and even though there is no malice behind the word, it stings all the same. "Don't you get it? You still got your guy. You're lucky. You don't understand. You don't want to. Don't."
Velma takes a deep, shuddering breath and glances at Minnie, who looks helplessly back. "I—"
"Don't," repeats Graziella, voice dead, and begins walking once more.
As they follow, Minnie reaches out and touches Velma's shoulder. "She doesn't mean it," she murmurs, wide eyes anxious. "She's just sad, that's all."
Velma nods. "I know," she says. But the problem, she thinks, feeling sick, is the idea that Graziella—heartbroken, devastated Graziella—is right. There is no way Velma can understand her best friend's pain, and as selfish as it feels to admit it, she doesn't want to have to. Not now, and not ever.
Even worse is that this Graziella—this hollow, dry-eyed ghost of her best friend—is not the girl who wailed in the alley outside the garage, begging for comfort, illusion, anything to help her believe that the truth could be a lie. Velma is not afraid that this Graziella will run, kicking and screaming and fighting against the sheer unfairness of it all. No, thinks Velma, eyes on her best friend's back, this Graziella is drained of all feeling and life and emotion and that is what scares her the most.
.
There is no one on the rain-soaked streets tonight. Not even the usual bums and drifters panhandling or dozing off a bender are out. Which, on the one hand, thinks Velma, is good because Minnie is with them, but on the other, it makes this starless night even eerier. It's as if they are the only ones still living in the world, the only ones left under the moon.
"Keep an eye out for cops," murmurs Velma, mindful of Ice's warning. "I think we could throw 'em off, but it'd be easier not to have to."
Minnie nods. Graziella just shrugs, face pinched. Velma, scanning her best friend's face yet again, bites her lip. Cops, at this point, are the least of her worries.
Something is bothering Velma, and she can't quite tell what it is. It's like she's missing something obvious, something she should know. Something important. And somewhere out there is a boy with a gun and no uncertainty at all.
She wishes she could see Ice, even if only for a moment. Just to make sure he's still all right.
"Where do you think Tony could be?" asks Minnie, voice tentative and scared.
Velma glances at Graziella. She doesn't know Tony all that well—by the time she met him almost a year ago, he was already distracted; maybe even already, she guesses now, planning on leaving the Jets. So Graziella—having known him for years—would probably have the best idea of where Tony might run. "I don't know. Graz?"
The redhead swallows hard, and Velma starts to worry before she shakes her head and sighs. "Doc's, maybe. Or the Park. I don't know."
"Gee-Tar has the Park," remembers Velma, "an' if Tony gets to the candy store Doc'll take care-a him. I bet the boys'll meet up there, anyway."
"Maybe we'll find him," offers Minnie, glancing around the dark streets. Velma wonders if she's ever been out this late before.
"Someone will," she promises, but what she doesn't say is that someone could very well be Chino.
.
They cover the streets in silence, eyes peering in every direction for a face that could be Tony's. Velma glances from Minnie to Graziella, worried about both. She almost wishes Minnie hadn't snuck out—it'd be all right on any other night, but tonight Velma has to agree with Officer Goddard. It is too dangerous for her here. And Graziella—well, Velma doesn't know if her best friend will ever be all right again. If it weren't for Tony, Velma would take her home, away from the streets and Sharks and every bit of the territory Riff once called his. But as it is, they don't have time if they want to save Riff's best friend.
Tony, Velma thinks, holding back a sigh. It's hard to imagine any of the Jets—even Action, really—as a murderer. From the little she'd seen of him, Tony had seemed like one of those guys who had everything, and made you believe you could, too. Even the Jets. And even their girls.
And then Velma, inhaling, figures that obvious little detail out. Their girls. "Wait," she says, trying to hide her anxiety and kicking herself for not figuring it out before. "Where's Bernice?"
Graziella, giving her a surprised look, shrugs, but Minnie's eyes widen. "I think—I think I heard her say she was going to go home," she says. "She was telling Big Deal after we left the garage."
"Oh," says Velma, relief flooding her. "That's good." It isn't so much that she'd been worried about her—she knows the Gambini twin can take care of herself—but Bernice is one of them, and Velma doesn't want anything happening to anyone else. No matter how much they haven't gotten along in the past. She remembers Bernice's arm around Minnie, and the look in her dark eyes, and exhales. She doesn't know. Everything is different now.
Is this what it's like to be Ice tonight? she wonders, biting her lip. Velma has never had to consider the problems of leadership before, and she doesn't quite like it. To feel like everyone is looking at you for answers and you can't say that you don't know any better than they do, you can't, because you are the one they are counting on?
Velma sighs. At any rate, she thinks, there is nothing she can do about it now, and it just makes her that much more determined to help the Jets and find their former captain. She glances at Graziella and Minnie. The redhead is staring down the street, but Minnie is watching Velma with hopeful, trusting eyes. And she can't let them down. "Let's go by Doc's an' see if anyone's found him, okay?"
Graziella just nods. "I bet he's fine. It's Tony," she says, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper as a shadow of a smile flits across her face. "No PR's gonna catch him."
Velma nods, encouraged by this sign of life. "A-course not, Graz," she agrees. "He's too smart for 'em."
"I hope he's there," murmurs Minnie as they near the candy store, her small voice earnest. "I hope we—"
And then they hear the gunshot, followed by the loudest silence she's ever heard.
Velma feels all the air go out of her in an instant as a desperate fear takes hold. "Graz—Minnie—"
The younger girl shakes her head, eyes huge. "Velma—that's not—that can't be—"
"'Course it is," Graziella says. "What else would it be?" Her bloodless face is closed over and her voice is lifeless but there is death walking the streets and Velma has no time to comfort her now. She has to stay calm, and she has to lead. And Velma, mind running over everything that was and is and could be right now, makes her decision.
She swings around to look at Minnie. "Minnie. Go around the back to Doc's," she commands breathlessly. "Wait there 'til we come get you. Stay there. Don't leave." Velma waits only to see the younger girl give a trembling nod before she turns back to Graziella, whose eyes are closed and lips are moving as she clutches the cross over her heart.
"Graz," she says. "Graz, we have to go."
Graziella opens her eyes. "Vel, if it's what—I can't—"
"Graz," Velma repeats, forcing her voice to stay gentle, slow, to mask her agony. All she can see are two pale blue eyes, a constellation of red, and a gun in the hands of a murderer. "We have to go."
Graziella is silent, then gives a shaky nod. "Okay."
Within seconds, a fast walk turns into a jog which turns into a run that covers the last street between them and the echo of the shot in minutes. And Velma, terrified, can't think anything else but oh God please not him please please please I'll do anything in a tiny, wailing voice in her mind. There is a Shark out there tonight who intends to kill, and if that bullet has found a target in Ice she doesn't know what she will do.
But as they pass through the open gates of the playground and skid to a stop, all she can see is the girl in the red dress, helpless over Tony's dying form, trying to mend what can't be mended, trying to seal the life in his body with her love.
Maria, she thinks, remembering a conversation that seems years ago. Her name is Maria.
She can't look away. Velma has never seen anyone die before, has never seen anyone so helpless and wounded and broken before, let alone someone so young and vivid as Tony. He is covered in sweat and dirt and tears and his weak feeble hands are grasping for the girl he loves but it is the sheer utter hopelessness of his once-bright voice that betrays the mortality that has caught up with him at last.
"I—I didn't believe hard enough."
"Loving is enough." Maria's voice is tender, insistent. She's not giving up, Velma realizes, she doesn't for one second accept that this could be happening. Maria still thinks she can save him. And Velma doesn't believe in miracles but she thinks she could, just this once, if it would help. Please, she thinks, seeing Maria hold the boy in her arms with all the strength in her soul, let it be true.
"Not here," Tony says, slowly shaking his head, and quiet as the words are, the strange and bitter sadness there makes Velma's heart ache. "They won't—let us be."
Maria brings her hand up to caress his face. "Then we'll get away!" she says, soft voice both pleading and resolute.
Tony is fighting for every breath, gasping for a few more precious moments, but still he hears her, and he answers. "Yeah—we can—"
"—yes—"
"—we will—"
"—yes—" And that sweet, pleading voice wavers as the girl in the red dress swallows a sob. "Somewhere so far they will never find us. Only you and me, together, forever." She grips Tony's palm tighter, always tighter. "Hold my hand—it is there, do you see it? That place out there—somewhere, just for us."
Velma can't see Tony's face, but even so, she understands it before Maria does. It's no use. Chino's bullet has ripped its way through Tony's body and stolen the life from him. Even now, he is straining to take his last shuddering breaths of air as Maria presses him closer, trying against all certainty to hold him with her on this side of the night.
"You see," she says, "we are halfway there already—because someday—someday is now—"
But Maria stops, because Tony's hand has relaxed in hers and his eyes are closed and he can't hear her anymore.
Maria doesn't move, just gazes at the slack hand in hers. It seems to take her hours before she turns her eyes to Tony's and faces the undeniable truth written there. And then…
Velma has never seen a heart break before, but as she watches Maria's life shatter into a thousand fractured pieces, she knows that is what is happening now. The expression on that beautiful face is so tender, so naked, so full of agony and sorrow and loss that Velma can't bear to look at the private grief etched there. She loves him, Velma thinks, heart thudding painfully in her chest as she forces her gaze to the rain-soaked pavement, she loved him, and this is what happened.
It's not until she hears slow footsteps and the Jets move into her vision that she looks up and sees Ice and every other gang member assembled there shifting forward, intent clear by the grim determination on their faces. Velma, heart already pounding, skitters back with Graziella, but—
"Stay back."
The red of Maria's dress glows even through the cluster of Jets between them, and as that slight figure gets to her feet and takes quick, measured steps forward, Velma sees no trace of the young girl in white from the dance anymore. She is gone, just as absent as Tony and Riff and Bernardo. Dead. Vanished, into the night.
Maria stands before her lover's murderer, holds her hand out. And Chino, boyish face uncertain and maybe even ashamed, places the barrel of the gun in her palm.
It's such a small thing, thinks Velma, almost amazed, to cause so much pain. So much hurt. She wants to run, fast and far, to get away from all of it, and Tony wasn't even hers, didn't even belong to her heart. Velma remembers Bernice's question and wonders the same thing now: how is Maria able to stand there, and not crumble and break under the weight of this staggering loss?
Maria, expression blank, turns the gun over in her hands and asks one simple question.
"How do you fire this gun, Chino?"
Velma frowns. Something about the way Maria asks the question sounds familiar, but she's not quite sure why.
Chino doesn't answer, but Maria's hands have already slid into place. "Just by pulling this little trigger?" As her voice rises, so, too, does her hand, and the boy in front of her scrambles back as the gun used to kill Tony is turned back on himself. "How many bullets are left, Chino?"
Velma's eyes widen as she understands. She recognizes that voice, she thinks, horrorstruck, because she has heard its flat numb exhaustion in Graziella's words tonight. It is the voice of someone who has seen her entire life swept away in one night, the voice of someone who wants the whole world to hurt just as much as she hurts. Someone, Velma thinks, the air catching in her throat, with nothing left to lose.
Maria wheels, points the gun on the tall, dark-skinned Shark Velma remembers as the lieutenant from the dance. Pepe. He, too, and every Puerto Rican around him retreats. "Enough for you?"
And then she swings around to Ice. "And you?" Velma barely has time for a silent gasp as he takes quick steps back before Maria goes on. "All of you!" she shouts in that terrible, ravaged voice, gesturing among the Jets with that sleek steel gun that promises no one will escape unscathed tonight. "You all killed him—and my brother—and Riff. Not with bullets and guns," she says, voice tinged with scorn and so raw Velma wants to block her ears from the sound that is tearing into her soul. "With hate. Well," she goes on, anger and heartbreak driving her voice louder, "l can kill, too—because now I have hate!"
And then she turns back, aims her gun at Ice. Velma realizes in an instant that this is not the idle threat of seconds before, that even if Ice is everything to her, Maria loses nothing if he falls now. And in that moment, every thought and emotion she's ever had, a thousand unintelligible feelings and phrases built up over seventeen years until this moment, runs through Velma's mind, disjointed and confused and incoherent and all adding up to one desperate word that burns with the clarity of a thousand suns in her heart: please.
Maria advances, gun pointed, but Ice stands his ground, doesn't move. No, of course he wouldn't, thinks Velma, heart beating wildly in her chest, he is not the kind to run and there's nowhere to go anyway, and oh, God, please, no, not Ice—
"How many can l kill, Chino?" Maria asks, anguished face marked by the glow of the red police lights. "How many—and still have one bullet left for me?"
Velma can't breathe. She can't move, because if she does, if she even takes one little step forward, it might happen. She might pull the trigger. There is no safety tonight. Please. All her being is concentrated in that desperate prayer as red light washes over Ice and she remembers the blood that has already been spilled this night. Please. Let him live.
And as Velma waits, dizzy from terror, she hears a dry sob. The silence is broken, the moment passes. Maria's face crumples as she stares at the gun in her hands with wide, uncomprehending eyes. And then she drops it—almost flings it away from her—and collapses to the concrete, racked with sobs and crushed by the full understanding of her loss.
Velma takes a deep, shuddering breath, released by the other girl's pain, before bringing her hand to her mouth and covering it to hide her relief and love. She has no right to intrude on this moment, no right to try and understand this sorrow. Instead she keeps her eyes fixed on Ice even as a police officer steps forward, concentrates on the blood still beating in his heart and the air still moving in his lungs. Every breath of his matches every one of hers; every second that passes proves he is alive. Safe. That is all that matters now.
But as Schrank passes Maria, the girl jerks up, scrambles over, and flings herself on Tony's body.
"Don't—you—touch him!"
And as Maria focuses her wild, determined gaze on the man with the badge, daring him to take one step closer to the boy she guards—the boy she loves—Schrank, the lines of his back weary, pauses. And incredibly, he retreats, takes several steps back. Even Schrank, it seems, has amends to make tonight.
Maria, the point won, glances at the Puerto Ricans. Her friends. Velma can see the question in her eyes. Please. For me.
But the Sharks avoid her gaze, look to the pavement. And Maria, the hope in her eyes wavering, turns to the Jets. This time, Velma can tell, there is one small difference. Please. If not for me—for your friend.
She doesn't know if they'll listen. Even if Tony loved Maria, she is still the sister of the boy who killed their captain, and only moments ago the Jets wanted their revenge. It all depends on the new captain, Velma supposes, which is not as reassuring as it should be. Velma never has trouble understanding Ice, but even she has no idea what he will do.
Please, she hopes, adding her silent support. For all of us.
It's the one person she never would have expected who takes that first step forward. It's Action, the boy who never saw the beauty in stillness, never saw the point in love, who crosses that vast small distance to Maria and waits, shoulders hunched, for the others to follow. Action, who stands ready to bear the man he once called a friend away.
If Action can do that, thinks Velma, stunned, as A-Rab and Tiger join him, then maybe…
In that silent moment, guarded by the three boys, Maria's last look, her final goodbye is her own. But in the quiet of the playground, her breathless whisper reaches them all.
"Te adoro, Anton."
The love in those three words pierces Velma's heart. It isn't fair, she thinks. She wants to cry, and scream, and hide from this heartbreaking reality. It just isn't fair.
And as Maria settles back, Action, A-Rab, and Tiger stoop to lift Tony's body from the ground. They are gang members, burly and used to depending on their muscles, but faced the the slack weight of a boy they once knew, their strength falters. Baby John, seeing Tony's body begin to fall, takes a step closer, ready to help—but it is Pepe and Indio who rush forward to give their support.
There is a uneasy pause as the five boys exchange wary glances. This is new and strange for all of them, and for a moment Velma wonders if it's even possible. If Jet and Shark can share this burden and move forward past this night, or if the wounds are too deep to ever be mended. She wonders.
And then slowly, carefully, they straighten. They work to balance the weight between them. They bear him away. Together, united now as they never could have been before. She wouldn't have believed it, thinks Velma, stunned, but Maria, by her love, has done what all the judges and psychiatrists and social workers of their world never could.
As the small procession moves out of the playground and into the street, Velma gazes at the tense line of Ice's back. He has not stirred since his brush with death. He is still staring at Maria, unmoving and silent. And Velma, though there is nothing more that she wants than to go to him, hesitates.
She needs him. She needs to feel his heart beating in his body, reassuring her that he is still alive and well. She needs to feel his arms around her telling her that everything is going to be okay—that he will be okay. That all of this is a nightmare that will go away come morning. Something. Anything to drive away the dull ache in her chest. Anything to keep back the night.
But when Velma looks at him, she doesn't see the boy she loves standing there. All she sees is a Jet, face blank and far away where she can't reach him. And this is what frightens her more than all the blades and bullets of the West Side.
Velma doesn't go to him. She can't. She is too afraid of what she might find. Instead, she passes him, follows the Jets and the Sharks out of the playground and past the twisted broken wires of the fence, and turns up the stairs into Doc's, where Minnie, her face white, is waiting.
"What happened?" she asks, rushing forward, her hand clutching at her heart. "Is Johnny okay?" She is too distraught to even blush about so direct a question.
Maria, Velma thinks. She can't get that face out of her mind. Maria looks about the same age as Minnie. And Velma, still trying to make sense of the past five minutes, nods. "It's Tony," she says dully. It's almost an afterthought, an asterisk to the memory of the tender sorrow and the raw pain in one girl's eyes. "He's—dead."
Minnie's eyes flood with tears even as Velma registers the faint, unconscious relief on her face. "Oh, Tony," she cries, "oh, Tony," and Velma puts her arms around the younger girl and holds her as Minnie weeps for Tony and Riff and Bernardo and for all the lost kids of the West Side whose numbers were called at midnight in the summer of their lives.
Yet again, Velma is confronted with her utter helplessness in the face of this tragedy. It's not fair, she thinks, doing her best to comfort her friend, that someone so young and innocent as Minnie should have to understand what death really means when her friends, who are supposed to be older and wiser, can't make sense of it either.
"It'll be okay," she says softly, even though she has no idea whether this is true or not. "Minnie, I—I promise. It'll be okay."
Minnie just nods, hot tears soaking into her Velma's shoulder. She doesn't say anything, and Velma is relieved, because it means she doesn't have to lie again. Even Minnie, she supposes, understands that there is no way to make this all right, no way to fix this. No way to pick up and carry on like nothing has happened, because Tony and Riff and Bernardo are gone and in their wake they leave two shaken gangs and three heartbroken girls and mothers and maybe even fathers and friends and anyone who ever loved them at all. No, she thinks, no way at all.
When Minnie's tears have slowed, Velma steps back. "C'mon," she says, heart aching. She can't look at her because she doesn't want to know if the knowledge of Tony's death really has destroyed Minnie's faith in the world. Please, she thinks, let her be all right. "Let's go home."
.
Even if she weren't waiting for him, Velma wouldn't be able to sleep.
She is sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest when Ice climbs through her window for the second time that night. Velma watches him as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it on a chair. He looks the same. Maybe a little more worn-out. It's still almost too much to believe that after everything that has happened tonight, he is here with her now.
"I just dropped Graz off. Where'd ya go?" he asks, coming forward to sit next to her with a tired sigh.
Though her eyes widen at the mention of her best friend, Velma doesn't answer, and pulls away when he reaches for her. "What are ya goin' to do, Ice?" she asks quietly instead.
He sighs, and by the slump of his shoulders she knows this is the last thing he wants to talk about right now. But it can't wait. "Vee," he says, his voice low, "not this. Not now."
"Look, I don't ever say it," she presses on, "I keep quiet. I don't ask questions. I wait for the right time, the perfect time, to bring it up. But—" and Tony's still face flashes in her mind— "I've been thinkin', an' don't ya see, Ice? There ain't never gonna be a perfect time to say you can't keep goin' like this. An' if I keep waitin' an' waitin' for it—" She takes a deep breath, and this time it is Maria that she sees. "It'll be too late."
Ice is silent for a moment. When he does speak, it's as if he hasn't heard her. "Before—when we was all lookin' for Tony—I went by his place," he says, voice quiet. "To see if that's where he ended up."
Velma gazes at him, brow furrowed. Three boys are dead, she wants to cry out, dead, because they thought they were invincible and that's something you can't ignore or undo, don't you get it? She knows this isn't the best time, but there is always going to be something there, something between them and if she can't get it out now there may be no hope. Something has to change.
But right now it's too easy to return to old habits, to keep quiet, to listen to everything he has to say like every other gang member's girl. And Ice, staring at the opposite wall, goes on.
"I saw his ma. Just for a second, but she was pokin' her head in his room, seein' if he was home yet." He pauses. "I stayed with Tony for a couple months, 'fore I met you. I ever tell ya that?"
Velma shakes her head. And in spite of her intentions, she can't help but soften. She loves him so much that sometimes she forgets that when it comes to home and family, he isn't just like her. And now she has a bad feeling that she knows why he was there. "No, you never said."
"God, his ma—she was the nicest one I ever met," Ice sighs. "Ain't a lotta mothers who'd check on their kids like that. But she did." He is silent for a moment. "She was happy. An' now I don' know how or when she's gonna find out that Tony…that he…"
Velma strokes his hand. She hesitates, because she understands now that tonight has shaken him to the bone, but she has to say it, in the barest of whispers. "Ice, you…you know your ma, she don't deserve that, either."
Ice stares, unseeing, out the window. "This ain't about her, though."
"Ain't it?" she asks quietly. "What you do, what all the Jets do—don't it hurt us, too? You saw Graz. You saw—Maria," she says, saying the Puerto Rican girl's name aloud for the first time. "Riff an' Tony're dead. Bernardo, too," she adds, remembering that theirs is not the only side shattered tonight. "It's always worse bein' the one left behind. Not knowin' if you're comin' back."
Ice's expression doesn't change. "What, ya—want me to stop bein' a Jet?" he asks tiredly, rubbing his temples. "'Cause even for you—I ain't sure if I can do that. 'Specially not right now, with everythin'—" He stops, sighs, and for once Velma can only guess at what he is thinking.
She shakes her head. "I ain't sayin' that," she disagrees, her voice low and passionate, even though she thinks that maybe that solution would be the easiest and simplest, and even though his words hurt worse than she could have ever imagined. "I don't want ya to stop hangin' around 'em, Ice, they're your pals. Even I don't think they're so bad. I just—" She pauses, biting her lip. "I just don't want to say goodbye one night an' never see ya again. Like Graz," she finishes quietly. Across the street, a mourning Graziella is probably crying herself to sleep right now, and Velma can only imagine how this—her own worst fear—feels.
"Ya won't," he says, but Velma can tell that he isn't so sure himself, anymore, that what has happened to his best friends will not happen to him. "Ya won't," he repeats, and it is even less convincing the second time.
Velma reaches out and rests her hand on his. "Ice, you're the best man the Jets have," she whispers. "But you've never been much of a liar."
Ice stares at their hands, shakes his head. He doesn't say a word.
Velma swallows hard. "Please—just think about it. All this hurting an' killing—she's right, Ice," she says, remembering the girl in the blood-red dress. "Maria's right. It has to stop."
Ice closes his eyes. "Vee—"
But she can't hear him out, can't let him talk her out of the one truth she knows tonight and for always. "I just don't want it to be you next time."
Ice opens his eyes, gazes straight down at her. "Look, Vee. I love you," he says, and his voice is so tired. "Ain't that enough right now?"
Velma doesn't look away. Riff, Graziella, Bernardo, his girl, Tony, and Maria—torn apart in the space of one awful night. There was love there, too. "I don't know," she says. Her voice is hardly a whisper. "Is it? Was it, for them?"
"I don't know," he murmurs, pressing his face into her hair. "I don't even know what I'm sayin'. I just don't know anymore. God, Riff. Tony—" He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know."
Velma has to hide her shock. She knows how much that admission has to cost. For Ice to say he doesn't know, for him to lie here visibly heartbroken and grieving…he is scared, and hurt, and sad, she realizes now. And no wonder. He has just watched two of his best friends die in one earth-shattering night, and in the morning, it will only get worse before it gets better.
"Ice, wait—I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling ashamed. He is right. Now is not the time, and she, of all people, should have known better because she is the one who knows him as well as her own soul. Velma slides her arms around him and leans her head on his chest. She knows he understands exactly what she means. "God, Ice, I'm so sorry."
The beat of his heart sounds quiet next to her ear, still here tonight, against all odds, as he rests his arms around her. "I need you," he murmurs. "I know that much."
Velma pulls him closer as she thinks of what was, what is, and what could have been. What could still be. "I need you, too," she whispers. The thought of any other outcome than the one that has given him to her now is unbearable. "More than anything. So stay with me. Please."
He nods his assent, doesn't let go as they lie quiet, surrounded by silence and the weight of this night. And Velma wonders if they are strong enough to survive what is to come, the recoil and kick of the fired gun. Because they have to live with what has been done tonight, and come morning, nothing will be the same.
She loves him. And because of this, she can't keep going like this, wondering if the next time she sees him he will be dead. They need to talk, about where he goes now and what it could mean. About the Jets, and about themselves. But tonight, she lets it be and concentrates on the solid presence beside her, hardly able to believe he is here. Tonight, she understands that all she can do is be there while he mourns the loss of two best friends who were like brothers to him. And tonight, she keeps still and quiet and holds him fast with all the love in her heart because if she has learned anything tonight it is that no one can know if it will be the last time.