The Royal Flush

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Well, I updated sooner than I expected. I had such fun writing this chapter and Philip is swiftly becoming one of my favorite characters to use. Thanks to all who responded to my questions before. For me, I see Kevin Zegers, David Beckham (?), Orlando Bloom (??), and a whole bunch of people. I don't think I can ever pick on one so I'll probably not put up his picture or anything like that. Leave it up to your imaginations and whatnot.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Enjoy!

For a second, I could do nothing but stand and stare, stare, stare. He looked me over with a sweeping gaze and I was too astounded to notice that Stocky and Skinny was prodding me forward. He flicked them a look that stopped them on the spot. His eyes then landed on my bleeding chin. An almost stormy expression crossed his face and it snapped me out of my stunned state. I shivered and managed to splutter, "Philip…you…how?"

He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. He handed it to me and I took it automatically, feeling a weird sense of unreality. How many newsies carry handkerchiefs? Weren't sleeves good enough? I was grateful though, and nodded my thanks. He then drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable. He narrowed his eyes into a piercing, extremely dangerous stare at Stocky and Skinny. I had seen that look before when he confronted Fire. It was almost frightening, really, how murderous he looked. "Get out," he said coldly, "I'll deal with you later."

I rubbed my cut with the handkerchief, feeling somewhat self-conscious. Stocky and Skinny scuttled out of the room and Philip walked over to close the door. I stole a quick look around and realized I was in some sort of crude lounge. He turned around from the door and walked over to me, looking very concerned. "I'm sorry," he told me. "Are you very much in pain?"

I shook my head, still trying to gather my scattered wits. "I'm fine. But…why are you here?"

He smiled slightly and crossed his arms across his chest, "Well, I would ask the same of you. Spot usually sends Cat, doesn't he?"

It took me a second to understand what he meant. "No!" I protested wildly and then winced, touching my chin again. He immediately took my arm and firmly sat me down on a nearby chair. To my supreme surprise, he took his handkerchief from my hand. "Stay still," he told me and started dabbing at my cut with a gentle carefulness that rather shocked me all over again. "This should heal quickly; don't worry."

"Oh."

His eyes were concentrated on his task and he didn't pay any attention to me as I shifted nervously. His fingers grazed against my mouth slightly as he cleaned the cut with a deftness that surprised me. He hadn't changed at all since the last time I'd seen him. He still had that regal air around him and he was still ridiculously handsome, with those profound, intense eyes that were slightly darker than his hair. Then, all of a sudden, I realized that those very same eyes were looking at me quizzically. I turned beet red and looked away, embarrassed. He then straightened and said, "Alright. That's about all I can do."

His voice was a shade deeper than usual. I looked at him sharply, suspicious. He was as composed as ever, but his eyes and compressed lips betrayed the fact that he was obviously on the verge of laughter. I frowned at him and said, "Thanks," in a rather ungrateful tone. I then asked quickly, "How do you know about Cat?"

He shrugged, putting his handkerchief away. "Spy for Spot. Quite talented at it too."

In the silence that followed, I started sorting through my mind, trying to make some sense out of this whole mess. Spot had told me Philip was Queens' leader. And Philip was here. Which had to mean 'here' was Queens. I held my breath and then released it in a huge sigh, ignoring the way Philip glanced at me.

This explained why I had felt like this place was so strangely familiar. Before I got hauled off for the orphanages, I used to live in Queens with my brother. I learned most of the tricks of surviving on the streets here. Stealing, scraping, begging, and even some basics of street fighting. Still, I had been only nine or ten and my memory was never very good.

I looked down. This was even worse than I thought. I remembered some of the girls telling me that Brooklyn and Queens weren't really on very good terms because of they used to be embroiled in a newsie war. I went very still. Oh no. This was not good at all. If I was on the other side and a Brooklynite was found wandering around, it would seem mighty suspicious. I looked at Philip, who was watching me in an inscrutable manner. Did he think I was a spy? Did he think I had betrayed our strange, yet interesting friendship?

I felt perfectly awful.

"Now tell me," he said at length. "What were you doing here?"

Desperation surged through me and I gestured wildly with an arm. "I wasn't spying! I swear, swear, swear I wasn't!"

He caught my flailing arm by the wrist and said soothingly, "Okay, okay, Ace. I believe you. Let's hear your story."

I calmed down, so relieved at his trust in me that I didn't really notice that he was still holding my arm. "Well, I wanted to go exploring," I started and he let me go abruptly, looking startled.

"You…wanted to go exploring?"

I blushed. "I know it sounds stupid, but I was sorta looking around the alleyways and stuff like that…then I came here and I didn't know where I was and then I started panicking and then Skinny and Stocky came...," I trailed off when he started laughing.

"Skinny and Stocky?"

I felt my face grow warm again. Had I actually said that out loud? "I didn't know their names," I said lamely and he laughed again.

"I can just imagine you dashing off to take on the alleys without a thought," he told me, making my mouth drop in indignation. He winked, a sight that was so horribly charming that I swallowed whatever I was going to say. "Not a very plausible story."

I didn't understand. "Huh?"

He seemed more relaxed now and more…loose. He always seemed rather stiff and all polished up before. Not an uncomfortable, unconfident David kind of stiffness. But more of a polite, distant sort. Now it seemed as though part of his mask was off and I wondered why. Maybe the fact that he was in his own borough helped. After all, all the other times I met him, they were in Brooklyn or Manhattan.

He sighed. "You're not being very subtle. I suppose Spot must have had a hard time catching your attention."

I stared, not understanding. Then, all of a sudden, I did. I started spluttering again, astounded at his line of reasoning. He thought I'd come looking for him? That I'd come seeking him out? That I wanted to see him for intimate reasons? Did he think I purposely allowed myself to be caught, so I could…he thought that…I…I…

"No! Not that either!" I threw my hands up in the air, my face burning again, "What is wrong with you? I got lost. I didn't know where I was! I didn't know you were here, 'cos I didn't know where 'here' was. I wasn't looking for you."

His eyes twinkled appreciatively. "It was a joke, Ace."

I blinked. "A joke."

"Yes. Most people here wouldn't be able to understand it." He sounded almost happy. "I'm proud of you."

I scowled and muttered, "Well, it wasn't very funny."

He shrugged. "It all depends on your point of view."

"Can't you take anything at face value?"

At my last question, he surprised me by smiling bitterly. "Well, I'm afraid past experiences have robbed me of that ease."

I stopped and frowned at him again. "Don't think like that. That's just like digging a hole for yourself to crawl around in."

He continued to smile. "Trying to change my way of thinking, Ace?"

I bit my lip. "Well, people change."

He leaned back and eyed me, idly running a finger down the side of his face. With a start, I realized he was rubbing that faint, barely visible scar. "Is that really what you think?"

What a serious turn the conversation was taking. He looked very sober now and his odd, joking manner was gone. Hoping I wasn't going to make a fool out of myself in some unknown way, I replied cautiously, "Yes. People can change."

"Hmm," he hmm-ed.

"You don't think so?"

"I disagree, yes."

"Why?"

"Most people," he remarked, as though we were talking about the weather, or something equally trivial, "Tend to only try to change their ways. They succeed for a short time, if they have enough will to do so."

There was an awkward pause. I coughed and asked, "But?"

"But the human mind is ever fickle. Something else captures their attention and before they know it, they're the same as ever, reverting back to their old manner of living." He folded his hands over his head and stretched his long legs. "Of course, I'm generalizing."

"I know you are," I said, leaning forward. I was engrossed despite myself. "People do change. I know I have, in some ways."

"Ah?"

"Well," I said doggedly, "I used to loathe Spot."

Something in his face darkened. "That's not exactly what I'm talking about."

I sighed. "Alright, maybe I was being shallow. But I think it depends on everyone's way of thinking. If someone wants to change and if other people encourage him, sooner or later, he'll become the person he wants to be."

"What if," he murmured, his tone reflective, "One longs to amend a certain thing, but everyone else believes he cannot? Would other opinions determine the person's outcome? Or is it a purely personal decision?"

I thought for a moment and asked, "You mean…redemption?"

He smiled quietly, his manner still mild and thoughtful. "Perhaps I do. But then," he sent me an obscure glance, "Doesn't one decide himself on how to atone for one's sins?"

"N-o," I said carefully, sensing an undercurrent of something deeper than what he was asking. "Not really. It depends on the views and feelings of the person you've done something against."

He made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "It all depends on those two things?"

I thought furiously. "No," I said again and he arched an eyebrow at me. "If it's in the case of revenge and both of you've done something horrid, then you both need to come to terms with each other immediately."

To my immense surprise (it's all surprises for me today), his eyes flashed with a kind of cynical glint. His lips curved upward again, but they had a sarcastic edge to them. "Harsh words," he said, faintly sneering, "Easy to say, are they not, for one who has experienced so little?"

I said nothing.

Immediately, he was sorry. But not because of my lack of response or my silence. I think he regretted his words the moment he said them. "That was unfair of me. I can't judge you on things I know nothing about."

I shrugged to show I didn't mind, though I was a bit startled at how…Spot-like he had been just now. It was like a stage actor who messed up, like he had hopped out for a second from his gentlemanly act. But I could be exaggerating and imagining things, the way I always do. "That's alright," I said generously, "It's not a secret I'm rather ignorant."

He shook his head. "But you know it. To not know one's faults is true ignorance."

I smiled; glad he hadn't embarrassed me by declaring gallantly that I had no such imperfections. Then I decided he wasn't the only who could make vague questions. "And if you know it but won't do anything to change it?"

He said, "That's sheer obstinacy."

I grinned. "Well, so you think people's faults can change, but not themselves as a whole?" I shook my head mock-seriously. "Something's wrong there, Philip."

He actually grinned back. "Are you trying to find loopholes?"

I shook my head again, laughing. "Sorta. I was just teasing you."

He smiled and stood up. I automatically stood up as well, feeling my sore muscles stiffening. "I'll walk you back to Brooklyn. It was nice seeing you again."

I grinned up at him. (He practically towered above me.) "Thanks," I said earnestly. "Thanks for not being an awful prig about all this. I don't know what…I would have done."

I nearly said 'what Spot would have done.' But I'd learned the two of them had something against each other. You could tell in the way the two of them reacted when they heard about each other (through me). At first I had been insanely curious, but now, I'm despairing of ever finding out. It probably wasn't a big deal, anyhow. Spot was a bit of a jerk some times, especially to people he disliked, and he probably insulted Philip once before. Or something as trivial.

I think.

Oh well.

In a way, I thought, it was a good thing it was Philip here instead of some unknown guy. If I instigated trouble between Brooklyn and Queens…I was furious with myself. It would have been an utter disaster. Then I figured, how could I have known? It was all really an accident. It wasn't entirely my fault. Not that anyone would have seen it that way.

He opened the door for me and I ducked under his arm to pass, feeling his eyes on me. I stepped outside and then stopped. All the newsies (Queens, I told myself) turned their heads towards me and stopped whatever they were doing. Some even stood up, all menacing looks and glares. Still, the silence was thick and angry enough to make me take a defensive step backwards. I felt my back press up against Philip's chest and he put his hands on my shoulders in a reassuring way. "There's been a misunderstanding," he said calmly, his voice clear and cold in the quiet.

I caught sight of Stocky and Skinny and they both narrowed their eyes at me. The newsies shifted and murmured suspiciously. Without thinking, I stepped forward abruptly, shaking off Philip's hands. He murmured my name sharply and I ignored him.

"Look," I declared, taking another step forward, "I can't say I understand why you hate me."

They glowered.

"But I want you to know I meant absolutely no harm. I didn't even know I was in Queens until I met Philip. And for your information, I used to live here, years and years ago, before I came to Brooklyn. So it's half of a home for me. So don't think it has anything to do with my being a Brooklynite and you all being…erm, uh…," I faltered and stumbled.

They all just watched me critically and I stammered, "Queen...Queeners?" I promptly lost all my confidence, "Queenites?"

Which one was it?!

I heard Philip chuckle quietly behind me and supply, "Just Queens."

I flushed right up to my hairline and said, "Yeah. Queens."

I saw some boys struggle not to smile and I scowled, embarrassed at my tremendous mistake. And just when I was trying to smooth things over too. I coughed and continued, "Well, anyway, you may think I'm here on some diabolical plan thought up by Spot, but I'm not. It's not at all like that."

"Oh yeah?" demanded one boy I didn't know. "Then why did you come?"

I coughed again and shifted. I realized belatedly that I should have just kept quiet instead of speaking up. I should have let Philip do the talking. I felt a strong stab of shame. Why on earth did I have to come? To admit that I had lost my way seemed suddenly very foolish. It wasn't as if they'd believe me. I looked down and shuffled my feet, thinking furiously for something better to say.

A lie, you mean, quipped an annoying voice in my head.

I swallowed and looked up, straight at the boy. "I don't care if you don't believe me," I said, straightening my shoulders and my chin defiantly, "But I got lost."

Eyebrows shot up and some of the boys actually laughed out loud. But then I saw that most of them didn't seem very disbelieving or angry. In fact, the atmosphere seemed to lighten a little and no one was glaring at me. They were more, 'how stupid can this girl be?' instead of, 'down with the Brooklynite!' The former was slightly better than the latter. I bit my lip and the boy who had questioned me grinned. Then Philip went, "I'll be taking her back to Brooklyn."

Nods.

I glanced back up at Philip and the closest thing I've ever seen of a smirk played along his lips. "We can't let you get lost again," he said and everyone sniggered.

Then I was out of the room, out of the LH, and soon back in the streets. I was surprised at how dark it was already and surmised that I must have spent at least an hour in Queens. Would Spot be looking for me? Then I figured, no, not really. We both didn't really see each other much recently. In fact, there were days when we didn't see each other at all. Today had been an exception. I frowned and shook my head, for some reason irritated at my line of thought.

Philip said nothing while we walked in companionable silence together. Despite the darkening streets, there were still quite a few people passing by. Queens was quite a busy street. A tall girl was walking towards us, a maid of some sort, I think, dropped her basket. Courteously, Philip bent down and picked it up. I was suddenly reminded of the day I had first met him and he had picked my hat up. The girl stared for a long moment at Philip, her jaw practically hitting the floor. He gave the basket to her with a smile. She took it, went red, giggled, and finally curtsied her thanks before scuttling away.

Hmm. I wondered whether I act like that. Yuck.

We went on.

With growing awareness, I realized that every single person we passed, especially the ladies, gave him these…Glances. Some gawked outright and others (the young-ish girls) looked downright envious of me, which just about startled me. Did Philip notice all this? Does he notice all of this? Well, of course he does. But does he feel at all uncomfortable? What was it like to be admired simply by existing? If everyone watches you all the time, how can you truly be yourself?

"What are you thinking?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

"What's it really like to always be the best-looking person in the room? Do you have to pretend all the time and act the way they expect you to? Like a play?"

"Life is a play, isn't it?"

I sighed. Obviously, I wasn't about to get a real answer. "I suppose so. In some ways, for some people."

"In more ways, you mean, for some people."

"Um, I guess. Sometimes plays aren't very different from real life though."

"Plays are derived from life, just with immense exaggerations," he said cynically, "They are ridiculous in their simplicity."

"I take it you don't like watching plays."

He shrugged. "They don't entertain me. They're all very predictable and flat. Good is always good, bad is always bad. Books are so much better."

I frowned. "Aren't they?"

"What?"

"You don't think good is good and bad is bad?"

He laughed shortly. "How many good people do you actually know, Ace? Truly, wonderful people?"

"I know a couple."

"You believe him to be perfectly faultless?"

I was startled at his perceptiveness. "Him?"

He looked down his nose at me. "Aren't you thinking about Spot?"

I bit my lip. "Yes. I am. But…," I shook my head, "He's not perfect. Being good doesn't mean you're perfect. Of course he has his faults. But he's good."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed and stopped. I stopped as well and looked at him curiously. He just looked back seriously. "Ace, you do know Spot has a…reputation."

"I know," I said shortly. Of course I knew. It was one of the big issues that had given so much trouble for me before. And in a sense, it still did give trouble. You see, Spot and I aren't the typical couple. We are together, but not entirely. Honestly, with a person like Spot...I just couldn't trust him properly yet. But I'm waiting to do so. I suppose you could say I trusted that he would eventually gain my trust. Whatever that means.

Philip started walking again, with brisk, long, commanding strides. I followed closely and we soon entered the back streets. Every nasty-looking person we passed gave Philip one glance and then looked away, apparently giving up any idea of mugging us. I realized how lucky I was before. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to.

He spoke suddenly and not entirely answered my question, as if I had asked him about something else. "They do it in their heads, you know. The flirting. Like there's an unseen romance going on that I don't know about. They smile and bridle and think I mean things when I talk to them. It's always been like that."

I'm afraid I went off and said, "How very terrible for you. What an awful life you must lead."

He flicked a look at me. "Indeed."

I felt awful then, for asking and for answering in such a manner. But I couldn't find the words to apologize gracefully without sounding like I was trying to flatter him. After another moment of uncomfortable silence, I said, "I met Theodore Roosevelt, you know."

That quirk of the eyebrow! How does he do it? "Really, now?"

"Yeah. I even rode with him in his carriage."

"Did he have his stick with him?"

I thought. "I don't know. I didn't see it, at least. Does he carry it everywhere?"

"I'm not sure," he said, smiling. He probably thought I was such a child. So I shut up and trudged on. But the awkwardness between us was gone. He seemed more relaxed than ever and I decided I liked him better when he was like this. When he was all stiff and polite, it made me feel all stiff and polite and our conversations were just about pathetic. Today he was much more expressive, though it was still impossible to derive any meaning from his voice, which was always controlled and measured. Almost like it was trained for singing, but I couldn't imagine Philip singing.

Philip. Singing.

What a ghastly thought.

"How old are you?" I asked randomly, forgetting my resolve to keep quiet and dignified.

He cast me an amused look. "How trivial."

"Oh, come on. Humor me."

His lips twitched. "Nineteen."

"I thought you were in your twenties."

"Most people do. I'll be turning twenty in three months."

"Oh."

"You?" he looked me up and down, "Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Indignant, I tugged my cloak closer around my body and tried the best I could to look down my nose at him despite the colossal height difference. "How dare you."

"Surely not sixteen?"

"I'll be turning eighteen this weekend, you nitwit."

He laughed aloud at that; an attractive, clear laugh that was pleasant to hear. "My apologies. You do look young."

"Hmph."

"It's not a bad thing. Not at all a bad thing."

"Hmph," I said again, but I was secretly pleased.

We kept walking. Then, as suddenly as I had burst into Queens, we both burst into Brooklyn. Immediately we felt the change in the atmosphere, the change in the people's attitudes. I saw Philip's shoulders tense up slightly. A nudge of a thought bothered me. If he was so uncomfortable in Brooklyn, why was it that I saw him so many times here? Or was it just because Spot was leader here and he wasn't? Maybe it was. Yes. That had to be it. Leaders are uncomfortable in other boroughs where someone else has more authority that he does.

It made sense.

Then I wondered: If one of the Brooklynites saw him, what would they do? Would they act the same way Queens did to me? For some reason, the thought disturbed me. I've never heard any of the Brooklynites complain or badmouth Queens. Maybe it was a one-sided grudge? Queens had lost that war and Brooklyn had won.

Maybe that was why Philip had reacted so oddly that day when I told him I was a Brooklynite. But then, he hadn't exploded at me. Instead, he had seemed more curious than angry.

I peered around and immediately caught my bearings. I was nearly back where I started, that is, near Ray's. "I know my way back from here," I said, turning around to face him. It was too dark now to make out his features and I could only see the shape of his head as he nodded.

"Good." I heard the smile in his voice. "It was nice seeing you again, Ace."

"Yeah. Me too."

He bowed his head in that noble way that was so…so…him and I watched, noticing how he brushed back a few strands of hair from his face when he straightened. For a second, there was a pause, like he was considering something and was wondering whether he should say it. I started fiddling with my hat, trying to decide whether I should say thank you again or just leave with a polite bye. Unexpectedly, a brisk, autumn breeze blew the hat right out of my hands.

He caught with lightening reflexes and gave it back to me.

What is it with me and hats?

"Well," I said, taking it and searching for something suitable to say. "Well," I said again.

"'Till next time then," he said in an oddly distant voice. I nodded.

Then he was gone, melting back into the alley we had come out from with a grace that I envied.

I stared after him and he looked back once before he disappeared out of view. I stayed where I was for about three seconds before turning around and heading back for the LH. I felt suddenly very, very tired. I passed the marketplace without really noticing that I was, passed Ray's without noticing the loud yells of Artemis and Jackal arguing again, and entered the LH without really noticing that, as usual, I had to turn the door knob twice to get the door open. I went inside the girls' room and looked around.

"Hey," Milkshake said, glancing up. "You've been gone a while."

"I got lost."

"Spot says you'll be goin' to Manhattan tomorrow with him as soon as you finish sellin'."

"Oh." I remembered with a start about the dinner on Saturday. I'd forgotten. Can you imagine that? "Hoorah."

I found my bunk and fell onto it with a huge sigh that seemed to come from the very bottom of my toes. I couldn't sleep though and just lay there, staring at nothing in particular.

Philip Danford had given me a lot of think about.

Author's Note: Well, I'm not sure if this is too abrupt. So what did you think? I'm afraid I went off and borrowed some of the conversation from the short story 'Beauty', which is sort of a little sequel to the book "Crown Duel/Court Duel." I just love those books and a lot of my ideas and styles are influenced by them, as some might have noticed. If you haven't read them, I stroooongly recommend that you do! Excellent books. :D

Thank you again to those who reviewed! So few now though; where did everybody go?