Jack drew in a weary breath as he shuffled through the hospital foyer. Race had mentioned that Spot was awake and had been asking about him. The others had apparently diverted any of the Brooklyn leader's questions, and simply stated that Jack would come to see him when he was ready. Jack, however, had every inclination to believe that Spot would have already figured out that his absence had something to do with Sarah. Spot had never been prone to ignorance.
He sighed as he dawdled in the waiting room, delaying the moment he would have to face his best mate. But could he even call him that anymore? Spot had gone behind his back and proved to be disloyal and deceiving. He had known how important Sarah was to Jack, and yet he had gone forward with her all the same. What hurt even worse was that Spot was living up to his reputation; the reputation of a womanizer that Jack had always denied and refuted. He had thought that Spot was better; that he cared.
Yet here they were.
Jack continued to drag his feet down the hall toward Spot's room. He was angry with Spot to say the least, but more than that he felt betrayed. He felt the sting of Sarah's rebuff and Spot's perfidy, and he also felt as if he were betraying himself by not hating them both. In all common sense he should be shunning Sarah and soaking Spot for all he was worth; he should be defending his honor and shaming them for their actions.
But he couldn't.
Jack wavered when he reached Spot's door, placing one hand on the frame, and leaning against it in indecision. He had always been the nice one. Too nice. Jack had a heart of gold and saw the good in everyone. He had ignored the fact that Sarah had been distant, chalking it up to nerves and his own misinterpretation. He had never believed the rumors about Spot's callousness and had instead adopted the other boy as his best friend and most trusted ally. He accepted people into his life with open arms and now it was all coming back to bite him in the ass.
Gathering his wits about him, Jack finally raised his fist to rap lightly on the door. When he heard no immediate reply, he thought he'd finally run into some luck, and Spot was asleep, prolonging the impending interaction between them. Alas, he wasn't so fortunate.
"Get your fine ass in here," he heard Spot's voice call facetiously from behind the door. Steeling his nerves once more, Jack pushed his way into the room.
As their eyes met, Spot's playful smirk vanished from his face, replaced with a remorseful expression. Jack stared back at him with a cold regard. For a moment they passively observed each other in uncertainty and penitence; two friends who had lost their way. Finally, Spot broke the uneasy silence.
"I, uh," Spot cleared the phlegm from his throat as his voice came out hoarse. "I tought yuh was de hot nurse." He began to laugh nervously, but his chuckles died in his throat as Jack's countenance remained stony.
"Look, Spot," he said firmly. "I's gonna cut right to de chase. I love Sarah." He steadied his breath before persisting. "And I thinks dat you do too."
Spot dropped his gaze. His silence spoke in massive waves. Jack felt any last shred of hope he had left vanish in an instant. Part of him had hoped that maybe Sarah just had a silly crush. That his best friend hadn't gone behind his back and completely broken his trust. But the reticence of the stoic Brooklyn leader revealed the truth.
Jack pushed back the urge to mourn for their fractured relationship and sighed resolutely. "She loves you too, yuh know." Spot shifted apprehensively, but otherwise gave no reply. "And I's gonna let yuh have huh."
Spot looked up at that, eyes wide, and eyebrows raised. His fingertips began to dance around the bed comforter as they twitched anxiously. He gulped and opened his mouth as if to speak but let his jaw hang there like a fish's gullet, rendered speechless.
"I ain't one tuh want tuh keep two people who loves each othuh apart," Jack continued grimly. Spot simply nodded in response, finally snapping his jaw shut as he masked his emotions with a solemn demeanor. Jack deliberately glanced around the room before turning back to the younger boy with a glare. Spot recoiled into himself, making him look small and vulnerable in the hospital bed. For a moment, Jack almost relented his stern expression, but instead he ground his teeth together in determination. This had to be said.
"But if yuh hurt huh," he said fiercely. "I's gonna personally hunt you down, Sean Patrick Conlon." Spot winced at his full name. He tried to respond, but Jack cut him off.
"Any partnership between Manhattan and Brooklyn will be ovuh, and I'll be sure tuh tell me boys dat we's at war." Jack took a step closer to Spot, neglecting to notice how his raised voice affected the boy. "Yuh may have half dis city terrified tuh even speak yuh name, Spot, but remember dis: I'm not afraid of you."
Jack sent Spot one final scowl before turning his back and beginning to march out of the room. He froze, however, when he heard a small, frantic plea. "Just say da word, Jack."
Jack tilted his head in confusion as he turned back. "What?"
"Jacky, you's me best friend." Spot continued, emphasizing the word best. "We's supposed to go trough dis life togethuh remembuh? So…" Spot swallowed tensely as he paused. "Just say da word… a-and I'll tell Sarah dat it ain't gonna woik. I'll end it wit' huh i-if dats what yuh want."
His last sentence ended with an anguished choking sound, and Jack felt all the anger in him rush out in one tremendous swoop. With it, a red haze that had been covering his vision dissipated, and Jack finally saw what his words had done to the defeated Brooklyn leader.
Spot's diminished form trembled beneath Jack's gaze. The dark circles beneath his eyes stood in stark contrast to his pallid complexion, and one could still perceive the faded bruises and cuts from his haunting ordeal at his own father's hands. Although the physical scars had begun to heal, the mental damages remained all too evident. The once fearless King of Brooklyn had been reduced to a scared young boy who had just been interrogated and threatened by his best friend.
Jack ran a weary hand through his hair. He should have known better. He should have known that even the most formidable and powerful of all men couldn't come out of something like what Spot endured without being traumatized and changed. And Spot was just a boy; barely sixteen years old. Jack was supposed to be his friend. He should have been here for Spot the moment he woke up, no matter the circumstance. Instead he had been sulking in Manhattan.
Jack slowly approached Spot's bed before taking a seat next to the younger newsie. Placing his hand on Spot's uninjured shoulder, Jack pulled him into a light embrace. Spot immediately tensed up at the friendly gesture but relaxed after only a moment of hesitation. When Jack pulled away he met Spot's gaze and saw a storm of confusion and uncertainty brewing in his blue eyes.
"Now look here, Spot Conlon," Jack said firmly, never once breaking eye-contact. "You ain't losin' me, okay? I's sawry I lost me temper, and I knows dat you and Sarah nevuh meant tuh hurt me. It might take some gettin' used tuh, but I'll come around, yuh here me? Yuh ain't losin' me, I promise."
Tears flooded Spot's eyes, but Jack was shocked to find that the usually stoic leader did not attempt to hide his emotions. Instead Spot held his head high as a tear slid down his cheek, and he nodded, accepting Jack's offer of friendship and solitude. Jack felt his lips turn up into a smile and was relieved to see that oh-so-familiar smirk in return.
Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Jack climbed to his feet. Lifting his right hand, he spit into his palm and offered it to the other boy. "Truce?" he posed with a knowing look in his eye.
Spot's smirk raised into a full-blown Cheshire cat grin. "Yeah, mate," he said as he spit into his own hand. "Truce."
As their hands met, they both knew that everything was going to be okay. The unbreakable bond between two friends was renewed with a handshake.
Spot sighed in contentment as he snuggled into the hospital pillows. Not only was it probably the most luxurious and comfortable bed he had ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, but he had also just patched things up with one of the most important people in the world to him, and his ravaged spirits soared with happiness.
Even so, he began to ponder their reconciliation. He couldn't take his mind off the moment he had offered to give Sarah up for Jack. Could he have gone through with it? In the moment he had been sure that losing Jack was the last thing he ever wanted, so he'd given a desperate plea, a frightening alternative. But now, as the moment had passed and Spot was left alone in peace, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the whole situation, and whether or not his offer had been sincere. Since when did his relationship with Sarah become so important? Become comparable to his relationship with Jack?
Spot had resigned to the fact that his feelings for the Manhattan girl were strong. In a moment of weakness, he had even dared to call them love. But how could he let that fall in between a friendship that had lasted years? Sure, he and Jack had grown considerably closer after the strike, but they had known each other for long before then, and had always viewed one another as allies. Neither of them had known Sarah, but for a few months. So of course he would choose Jack over her… right?
Groaning, Spot lifted his fingers to rub his temples as a headache threatened to form. As he did so, a light tap on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he grumbled out.
The door creaked open slowly, and that beautiful face of an angel peeked her way around the frame. Spot felt his lips tug unbidden up into a smile, and any previous misgivings about his sentiments for Sarah vanished in an instant.
"How are you feeling?" she hummed sweetly as she gingerly stepped into the room. Clasping her hands in front of her, she regarded Spot with a timid smile.
"I's alright," Spot replied with a yawn as he stretched. He grunted a bit as he jostled his shoulder wound but was pleased to hear satisfying cracks making their way up his back and spinal cord. One wouldn't believe how stiff the body gets while lying in bed all day. "Everythin's healing up nicely, and de doctuh said I should be able tuh get outta heah in a couple o' days."
"Oh, that's good!" Sarah said with an enthusiastic grin. She shuffled her feet slightly, but otherwise made no move to come closer. Spot raised an eyebrow at her as she simply stared back at him blankly, neither of them saying a word. Looking left and right, Spot cleared his throat to break the awkward silence.
"Uhhhh… Are yuh gonna come sit wit' me or just keep standin' dere all quiet-like, like dis is some kind o' library?"
That did the trick. Sarah's eyes widened immediately, and she stumbled over to his bedside, muttering apologies under her breath. Her cheeks were tinged a slight pink color and she seemed more than a little bit flustered. In an odd, unanticipated moment, she appeared to consider sitting down on his bed next to him, but eventually she turned instead to plop down onto a small wooden stool placed to his right. Spot smirked, still loving the way his teasing had such an effect on her.
"I guess yuh parents'll be happy tuh know me treament's almost up, yeah?" Spot said once she was settled.
Sarah rolled her eyes in response. "Ugh, Spot!" She said, exasperation clearly written across her face. "How many times do I have to tell you, they're only happy to help you out!"
Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs had taken it upon themselves to pay Spot's hospital bills. When he had found out he was adamant that they let him take care of them himself, but they had refused, claiming that not only was there no way he could afford them, but that they still felt indebted to him for what he had done to help Les. Spot had disagreed, saying that the magnitude of the two incidents was not the same, and that all he had done was get a few measly bottles of medicine, at no personal cost he might add, but they had still insisted the opposite.
Spot chuckled as he reached out to retrieve a stray strand of hair and tuck it securely behind her ear. "I loves it when yuh get all commandin' and feisty. You's cute when yuh angry."
Sarah scowled as she slapped his hand away. "Spot, I'm serious!" she said with a glare. "You need to drop the whole money thing, and let my parents deal with it. Even the King of Brooklyn needs help sometimes."
Spot's smirk disappeared from his lips as her words reminded him of his vulnerable state. Never before had he been forced to rely so heavily on others. Even just moments before, he had cowered before Jack, wanting, no needing the other boy's approval. He was hardly worried about the way Cowboy looked at him, but what about his boys? What would they think about their so-called fearless leader being brought to his knees by his own flesh and blood? How would they react to discovering that he was not, in fact, invincible or unstoppable? Would they still follow him or would their loyalty falter?
Sarah's forehead scrunched up in concern. "Spot, what is it? What's wrong?
"I's scared, Sarah," he whispered quietly. "How can I lead dem now?"
He hadn't noticed he was shaking until he felt Sarah place her hand over his to calm him. That was another thing that worried him: he couldn't seem to control these negative reactions to stress. For years he had ignored his own problems, placing others ahead of himself. What if all that time looking after everyone else was finally catching up to him? What if he was no longer capable of being the leader Brooklyn needed?
"Hey," Sarah said softly as she cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look up. His eyes had begun to well up with tears, another thing he couldn't seem to control lately, but as he looked upon her face all he saw was warmth, care, and concern. One tear managed to escape his grasp and slide slowly down his cheek.
Sarah frowned as she pulled him into a hug, cradling his head against her shoulder. He felt some of the uncertainties slip away as she held him, and he began to forget why he had been so upset. He murmured a few things in her ear, telling her his worries and doubts, all-the-while she soothingly rubbed circles on his back and reassured him that everything would be fine. After a while, he finally came to his senses, and he began to feel ashamed that he had burdened her with his problems. Clearing his throat deeply, Spot pulled away from her to rest against his pillows.
"I'm sorry, Sarah, it ain't fair o' me tuh be tellin' yuh things that don't concern you. I's just not been feelin' meself lately, I…"
"Shhhh," she interrupted him gently as she placed her finger on his lips. "Know that you can always tell me anything, Spot Conlon, and I mean that. You don't have to deal with everything alone." Suddenly her demeanor changed and she smirked at him cheekily. She stood up and began to adjust the pillows behind his head as she spoke softly. "Or did you already forget the sweet nothings we used to whisper into each other's ears when we met at the spot?"
Grinning widely, Spot felt something inside his chest bubble happily as the memories resurfaced. "How could I fohget how I finally managed to tame de mighty Princess of Manhattan only with my wit and charm?"
Sarah scoffed at him. "Oh yeah? Well how about the insolent git himself finally learning to use common human courtesy?"
She scowled at him playfully as she lightly pushed against his chest. Laughing lightheartedly, Spot wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. Giggling, she fell onto his torso, resting her hands on his chest, their faces just inches apart.
For a moment, her eyes widened in worry. "What about your injuries?!"
Spot laughed at her antics before reaching out to gently stroke her face. "Princess, I's fine," he said reassuringly. "De range of motion in me shoulder has been coming back foh days, me ribs'll heal up fine in a couple o' weeks, and de burns wasn't as bad as de doctuh originally thought."
She still didn't look entirely convinced as she raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. He once again mouthed the words 'I'm fine' before dramatically rolling his eyes. He was sure he could physically see some of the worry lines disappear from her face as she smiled in return. Leaning up toward his face, she lightly kissed him on the cheek.
"I'm glad," she said wistfully as she gazed into his eyes. Suddenly, before Spot could respond, she reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out a small box, tied with a bow. "I thought I'd wait to give you this once some of the excitement cooled down."
Dumbfounded, he moved his arms from around her slim body and covered her hands, box and all, with his own. "Sarah, I… Yuh didn't have tuh do dis, I… I don't know what tuh say."
She chuckled before pressing the box further into his hands. "Merry Christmas, Spot."
She maneuvered off of his body and to the side so he would have room to open the gift. Feeling a little guilty he had nothing for her in return, Spot slowly began to pull on the strings to untie the ribbon. As the lace was removed, Spot removed the lid to reveal a small pendant within. It was a simple charm: a translucent cylinder containing a small scrap of paper within, giving it the allure of a mini message in a bottle.
"It's a small piece of the note you left for me on your birthday," Sarah said from her place at his side. "It ripped off in my window so it's the only piece I have left since you threw the rest of it to the wind." She leaned her head on his shoulder as he continued to study the trinket. "I, um, thought that maybe you could, uh, you know, put it on that cord you always wear around your neck. Something to remember me by."
Spot turned to her with a quirked brow to find her blushing furiously as she attempted to hide her face in the crook of his neck. Chuckling, Spot leaned over to lightly plant a kiss on her forehead.
"Of course I will, Princess." he whispered in her ear. Shuddering she raised her eyes to meet his.
She then smiled as she reached out her hand. "Can I help you put it on?"
Spot nodded and placed the ornament in her palm as he rolled over so she could untie the knot in his necklace. He felt her delicate hands working the string and threading the new charm into its place. Shivers ran up his spine at her touch, and as he felt her finish the job and return the necklace to its place, he reached over to take her hand in his.
Spot stared into her eyes as he reached out and placed his other hand under her chin, tilting her head toward his own. She leaned into his touch and gently rested her eyelids against her cheeks. Spot felt her misty breath gently blowing the loose strands of hair away from his eyes and caressing his cheeks with a feathery touch. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers, gently at first, before pressing more firmly and urgently. She sighed into his mouth and began to kiss back, moving her lips against his in seamless harmony, as if they were the perfect mold.
In that moment nothing else mattered. Gone were his troubles about leading his boys and vanished were any misgivings about how his decisions would affect Jack. Spot was not in a hospital bed; he hadn't been tortured by his father. In that moment, Spot was not even on the same planet he had known his whole life. He was in a whole other world where the only two people in existence were him and her. A completely faultless world where the only thing he cared about were her lips on his and the incredible, indescribable sensation of the aura of love he held for her in his heart.
As Sarah pulled away a barely audible whimper emerged from his throat; he wanted nothing more than for that moment to never end. He moved his hand up to cup her cheek as her eyes lingered on his face. She smiled at him and he thought his heart might stop beating at her beauty. Smiling back, he leaned in for the second time, wanted to escape once again into the harmonious universe of their love where everything finally made sense.
Outside the hospital room where two lovers shared an intimate moment of shared feelings of love and affection, New York City continued to bustle with activity as a gentle snowfall began its descent.