+What the Brown Eyes Saw+

Skittery poked his head into the common room and peered around at the mess of boys cluttering up the small space. He made a face when he didn't see who he was looking for and turned to leave, but he had been spotted.

"What's happen', Skittery?" asked Specs, looking over the top of his book.

"Nothing," he mumbled, spinning back around. "Just lookin' for Tumbler. Any of you guys seen him?"

Most of the boys shook their heads, but Boots offered what he knew.

"Yeah, I think he's upstairs."

"Thanks," Skittery replied. He hurried back down the hallway and darted up the stairs.

Entering the bunk room, he immediately crossed to Tumbler's bunk, but found it was empty. Skittery scratched the back of his head, wondering where the kid might have gone. His concern must have been evident in his expression because Jake looked over from his bed and said,

"You lookin' for Tumbler, Skitts?" Skittery nodded. "He's been sittin' out on the fire escape since he got back."

This time without a reply, Skittery walked over to the window. He could just make out the dark outline of the small boy curled up in the corner with his knees tucked under his chin. Pulling himself through the frame, Skittery joined him on the landing of the rickety fire escape.

"Tumbler!" Skittery said with a sigh, relieved to see the boy safe. "Where ya been, huh? I been lookin' everywhere for ya. What happened? You were supposed to meet me at Tibby's."

The little newsie looked up at him with big doleful brown eyes, shrugged, and then shifted his gaze back out across the alley at the neighboring building and heaved a small sigh. Skittery frowned and studied his little friend for a moment, something was definitely wrong; usually this situation was reversed and Tumbler was the one trying to cheer him up. Fishing in his pocket, Skittery pulled out a cigarette and then sat down against the building so that he was facing the little boy.

He struck a match on the iron surface, lit his cigarette, and then sent the match plummeting to the earth below, watching it extinguish before bouncing off the ground. Taking a long drag, Skittery continued to watch him, concerned with the uncharacteristic quiet that surrounded them; usually Tumbler had a story to tell, which then turned into ten stories. It was very unsettling.

"What's the matter, kid?" Skittery asked, nudging him gently in the shoulder. "Somebody give ya a hard time today?"

Tumbler shook his head, still looking distantly down the alley.

"Rotten luck sellin'?"

He shook his head again.

"You thinkin' about yer folks?"

Tumbler shook his head a third time. Skittery sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. He was starting to get annoyed.

"It ain't like ya to be so quiet, Tumbler. Ya gotta tell me what's botherin' ya, so maybe I can help."

The kid shook his head one more time, bringing his eyes to rest on the older newsboy; from the light that escaped the bunk room, Skittery could see the glistening tears.

"I can't. Yer gonna be so mad..."

Skittery's eyebrows rose. He wondered what Tumbler could have possibly done to be that upset. "Why would I be mad, Tumbler?"

The little newsie sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve before replying, "It's just...I walked down by Riverside -- I know ya said I shouldn't go over there, but I did and..." His voice faded and he looked down at his knees guiltily.

"Ah, geez, kid. Is that it? It ain't nothin' to be upset about," Skittery replied, shrugging it off. It wasn't until Tumbler looked back up, over his knees, that Skittery knew he hadn't heard the worst of it. He leaned closer to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What is Tumbler? Tell me."

Tumbler drew in a few shaky breaths. "Don't get mad, alright? Promise ya won't get mad?"

Frowning, Skittery agreed as best he could. "Sure, kid."

The little newsie swallowed nervously, not really wanting to tell his best friend what he had to tell him. "I'se over there -- by Riverside -- and I seen -- Mush and Tug..."

Tumbler's voice faded away. Skittery tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder and held his breath; the look in Tumbler's eyes told Skittery that he was not going to like what followed. In a hushed voice, barely above a whisper, Tumbler revealed what he had witnessed on that street corner by Riverside.

"They was -- kissin'."

Numbed by those words, Skittery didn't react; he couldn't react. All he could do was watch the tears fall down Tumbler's face. After what seemed like an eternity, he licked his dry lips uncertainly and stammered, "Wh-What?"

Tumbler nodded miserably. "I seen 'em from across the street."

No longer numb, the impact of what he had been told was unbearable. It felt like someone had ripped his heart from his chest, lit it on fire, and then drove a stake into the open wound. He clutched at his chest and felt his heart beating rapidly beneath his shirt. With wide eyes, Skittery grabbed the boy by both arms and looked at him square in the face.

"Yer lyin'," he said angrily. "I ain't true. Ya didn't see 'em right. It coulda been anybody. Yer lyin..."

But he knew deep down in the dark crevices of his broken heart that the kid was not lying--he would never play such a cruel joke--Tumbler was one of the few people who knew how much Skittery actually cared for Tug, which accounted for his peculiar behavior. Skittery stopped and simply stared for a moment; silently pleading with the small boy to take back his story, but he knew that was impossible. He could feel the truth radiating from every fiber in Tumbler's being, because he was certain of what he had seen and somehow, he just knew it had been wrong.

"It can't be true..." Skittery breathed shakily.

He let go of Tumbler and slumped back against the brick wall. He buried his face in his hands and was surprised to find his face was wet. Had he been crying? Through the whirl of emotions, he hadn't even noticed. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he tried to keep the tears barricaded and the stabbing images from flashing through his mind. None of it made sense; none of it seemed right.

"Skittery," Tumbler said quietly, inching toward his friend. "Are ya mad?"

Mad. Hurt. Confused. Sad. Heartbroken. Disappointed. Shocked. He couldn't pick just one. He just felt empty, but it wasn't something he could explain to an eight year old. Skittery looked over at Tumbler, who was watching him tentatively with his big sorrowful eyes.

"I ain't mad at you, kid."

"Are ya mad at Tug?"

Skittery didn't answer; he couldn't answer. They sat in silence for a while, looking across the alley at the neighboring building. It was comforting to be near such a dark place; he felt like he was looking into his own soul, black now because his heart had been ripped out. When the shadows were no longer a comfort, he left without saying a word to anybody, hoping to find a way to ease the pain -- and he knew just where to look.

A/N: Please let me know what you thought by reviewing. I appreciate any and all constructive feedback! Thanks!

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