Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. Any original characters featured are the intellectual property of their creators.

Five

April 17, 1905

David and Spot were walking down Park Row in companionable silence—or, at least, it was companionable enough until David realized that this was the longest he'd been alone with Spot since Sarah died. Then it was just awkward.

Spot hadn't said another word since he asked about the money and its hiding place and David wondered if that meant that Spot wanted to head towards Duane Street, maybe look around the old brick wall a few days early. They had both said they hadn't gone back there since that night five years ago—though, David thought guiltily, he'd been lying—and he worried that Spot would go that way first before following David to the apartment he shared with Vanessa. But when the turn came that would take them on to Duane and Spot ignored it, David felt a little more relaxed than he had. Not much, but enough.

Without the brick wall and what lay hidden behind it left to worry about, David felt the strange silence coming off his companion gnaw at him, begging for his attention. He tried to ignore it, choosing to stay quiet, until he couldn't help himself any longer. He liked words, he liked to talk, and if he could get Spot to open up, it might be easier to forget that the strong bond that had once brought them together—namely Sarah, David's sister and Spot's wife—was no longer there.

David cleared his throat in order to get Spot's attention and said almost conversationally, "I remember you were working at a factory. Are you still there?"

It was a safe enough question but the pause that followed it was a chilly pause and suddenly David knew that he had said the wrong thing—and he had. Spot sneered and spit on the ground. "Your memory is shit, Dave," he said icily, "if ya don't remember those bums tossed me out when Sarah got sick."

David very nearly kicked himself for bringing up the past like that, so callously, so unknowingly; it had been the only thing he could think of to say, to begin a conversation and get Spot talking. But now he felt foolish. Of course he remembered. It was only a few months ago, after all. When Sarah took ill and Spot devoted as much time as he could—and more, felt his supervisor down at the factory—tending to her at her bedside, he was replaced at his machine almost immediately. Not the Spot minded; the twelve hour shift in front of his machine, doing the same, repetitive, boring action over and over again was enough to drive any man mad.

Swallowing back the apologies that threatened to escape, David said nothing. Spot wasn't the sort to believe him, anyway.

But if there was one thing David's question accomplished it was this: it got Spot talking. He went a couple steps forward before saying suddenly, "The docks, Dave."

David gave a little start. He had no idea what that meant. "The docks?"

"Yeah. I'm a dockworker now, workin' when they need me, if that's what you wanted to know. No matter how bad business is or how often I go without a job, hell, I'll never work in a factory again."

There was an edge to his voice that warned David about saying anything more. But when had David ever heeded a warning? "Which docks?" he asked.

And, despite himself, Spot smirked. "East River, where else?"

"Brooklyn?" David was genuinely surprised. As far as he knew, Spot had been living on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge, in this borough, ever since Sarah refused to move to Brooklyn. "Did you move back?"

"No."

The question was on the tip of his tongue: Then why work there? But before David asked it, he realized he already knew the answer. Brooklyn used to be Spot's home and she'd always been good to him. She still offered him pay when he needed it, and David could just see Spot as a dockworker, walking the wooden boards the same way he used to lord over them when he was Spot Conlon, the most feared newsie in New York. But it wasn't his home now. Despite having buried Sarah at the end of last year, Manhattan was his home. And, stubborn or not, he wouldn't leave.

David closed his mouth then, determined not to say another word or give himself a chance to stick his foot in it until Spot had sobered up. He had his suspicions that maybe Spot wasn't as drunk as he pretended—or maybe he was so far gone that he was coming back a teetotaler—but it was a safer bet to wait and bring up Sarah when whiskey wasn't clouding his senses, bringing out emotions in the Irishman he'd never dare exhibit in a sober state.

But just because he was done with the conversation, that didn't mean Spot was.

"So, have ya heard from Jack yet, seen him around?"

He changed the subject so abruptly that David had to admit that it wasn't that he was changing it at all. It was true that he'd been avoiding Spot for the last few months because it hurt to watch him grieve for his sister, but now the two of them were brought back together for the same reason: the bag of money they'd had a part in finding five years ago.

Jack… that was a name he hadn't heard in awhile. And, yes, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought Jack would have arrived in town by now. Ever since Jack took off so suddenly like he had, David expected his return to be just as sudden—but he never came back. Not when Kloppman died two years ago, not when Sarah and Spot were wed, not even when he married Vanessa last year. He tried sending Jack an invitation to the last address Jack was known to be at—some place in Connecticut that he didn't need an education to know was nowhere near Santa Fe—but it had been returned to sender; Jack never showed. After that he gave up on him. Why not? Jack gave up on them.

Not that he could tell Spot all that. He simply said, "No, I haven't. Have you?"

"Nope. Strange, huh? You'd think he'd be here already. Hell, it was his idea." Spot huffed, but there was something in the way he'd mentioned Jack that made David think that there was more to it than that. It was too accepting, too nonchalant. That wasn't Spot Conlon's style at all. However, before David could point that out, Spot continued, "Okay, so no Jack. How about Delancey?"

This time David just shook his head.

"Yeah, me neither. But I've seen Race around."

That caught his attention. He hadn't seen Racetrack Higgins in ages—in fact, not since he showed up at the small wedding party last year with a wrapped bottle of gin in one hand, a cigar in the other and deck of marked cards sticking out of the back of his trousers. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. All the time. He's been after me lately to visit him at his place. He's like you, David, pityin' me now 'cause Sarah's gone," he explained, his blunt words bringing a hint of color to David's face and an urge to defend himself that he couldn't follow through on since, well, he did pity Spot in a way. "But maybe now I will… 'cept I say I when I know it's gonna have to be a we."

"We?" David parroted back.

"You came to find me. I ain't got half an idea where to find Delancey and if Jack wants his share, he'll be there. But I know where to find Race. I don't see why we can't stop by his place and just, ya know, remind him. You and me, we can go together."

"That's a great idea, Spot. So you're going to go with me then, too? At midnight?"

"Don't act so surprised. And why not? I don't want it but I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't need it." Spot shrugged and it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he straightened up; he was still shorter than David but without him hunching over slightly, it wasn't so noticeable. "'Sides, you was right. Sarah would've been ashamed by the way I'm actin'."

Then, before David could answer to that, Spot pointed up at the building in front of them. Without him realizing it, Spot had taken over the lead and brought him right to David's place. "That your window?" he asked. "The one with the candle in it?"

David glanced up at the facade of the building. Quite a few of the windows were lit, even a couple with candles like Vanessa was in the habit of using, but his eyes were drawn to the pinprick of a flame on the fifth floor. There was a candle in the window, a light meant for him. He nodded. "Yes. Vanessa must be waiting; she always lights a candle for me."

Spot sighed. When he spoke, there was no guilt or bitterness in his tone, only sadness. "You're a lucky man, Davey," he muttered. "She must really love ya."

And David, the tiny flame reflected in his blue eyes, swallowed a small grin and refused to say anything. He agreed with Spot, and he knew Vanessa loved him, but there wasn't enough money in the world to get him to boast and brag with his sister's widower by his side.

He didn't know when their friendship turned into something more. All David knew was that rarely did a day go by when he didn't find some excuse to visit with Vanessa, if only to just spend a few stolen moments with her and remind himself she was real, that she really existed. He wasn't sure what they shared between them now, whether it was as serious as he imagined it to be or if their courtship would abruptly end the way Sarah and Jack's had, but he was enjoying it while he lasted. He was willing to sacrifice everything he had for her—he just couldn't be sure if she felt the same way.

Whatever it was, the day had come when David finally brought her home to meet his family. His heart swelled at the memory: his brother offering his prized marbles out to the girl, Sarah showing her a stitch she'd only managed to master herself, his mother's accepting smile, his father's proud nod. It had been one of the best days he'd ever spent and now, standing alongside her on the fire escape outside that window to his apartment, he couldn't keep his eyes from glancing at her profile as discretely as he could.

Or, at least he thought he was glancing discretely...

"What?" Vanessa asked suddenly, turning to look at him. She raised her hand to her face and wiped at her cheek. "Is there a smudge there or something?"

"No, no, no," he answered quickly, feeling the heat rising in his face. He hadn't meant to be caught staring. "There's nothing… you're beautiful, Vanessa."

"Beautiful?" she asked with a coy smile. He noticed she glanced behind her to check and see if anyone was hovering near the window. They were alone, and she said just as coyly, "Do you really think so?" And he realized that, for the first time ever, he'd actually said to her exactly what he was thinking.

Which, of course meant that, in response to her question, the most he was able to get out was a mixture of embarrassed pauses and all the wrong words. David was glad no one else was around to hear him make such a fool of himself. "I was just… I mean, you know I care for you, Vanessa, and… you see—"

Vanessa laughed, a loud laugh that pierced the night air and set the butterflies in David's stomach flapping. "What is it, David? Spit it out already." She shook her head. "For such an educated boy, you sure do stumble over your words sometimes."

And so he blurted out: "I love you."

Her laughter ceased, her mouth opened slightly as she unblinkingly met his earnest stare. The flush in his cheeks intensified, flaring up like a lit match, and he started to talk, started to take back what it was that he said. But Vanessa stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"I… I think I feel the same," she said then, the words tumbling out quickly as if she thought that she should say them now or she'd never say them at all. She dared a glance straight into his eyes, even held his gaze for a few seconds before she looked down over the railing, staring down at the streets far below.

And though David's heart started to beat so loud he could hear the rhythm pounding in his ears, and a boyish grin split across his face at hearing her speak in such a way, there was no doubt in his mind that Vanessa was only saying what she knew he wanted to hear. There was no doubt that she didn't mean it—or, at least, not the way David meant it—but that didn't mean that she never would.

He was going to do everything he could to make sure she did.

The door was unlocked when they arrived at it. David exhaled in relief as the knob turned under his hand. The instant Spot had spied the candle burning in the window, he thought that Vanessa might have given up on him and gone to bed without waiting to see him. It wasn't as late as he expected it to be—a quick look at his watch revealed it was just past eight—but it was much later than he usually arrived. Whatever it was, he couldn't say he was anxious for her reaction.

The sound of the door creaking slowly open must've caught Vanessa's attention because no sooner had David pushed the door inward and taken one step over the threshold, she came rushing out of their bedroom. She held a wooden spoon out like a weapon, brandishing it the same way Les used to play-fight with his old wood-hewn sword. When she saw that it was her husband, she lowered the hand gripping the spoon, clasping its twin over her chest.

"Oh, David, it's you! I thought…" Vanessa began but then she shook her head as if it didn't matter what she had thought. "Where have you been? I was so worried... dinner was ready over an hour ago. I've been waiting for you and, goodness, I should put the stew back on so that it's hot."

Vanessa started to turn around and move towards the kitchen but David caught her lightly by the wrist. She tensed under his touch and he took that to mean she was angrier about his tardiness than she let on, covering up her upset with an anxiousness that both reminded him of his mother and made him wonder if, perhaps, Vanessa was spending too much time alone.

She looked back up at him curiously and he took the opportunity to kiss her gently on her forehead, hoping to calm her and, if he was lucky, sidestep her questions before she remembered later that she asked him any at all. One of the main reasons why David stayed away from saloons like the one he found Spot in was because he didn't think his wife would approve; the last thing he wanted to do when she was already acting so queerly was give her more fuel when her long-buried temper finally rose to the surface.

"You know how Mr. Wagner can be," he said evenly, going with the working class's long-held habit of blaming his employer first, "and then I had to go ahead and make a short stop after he finally closed up for the night. See, I've brought you some chocolates—"

"One of them's from me, Dave, don't forget to tell her that."

"—and I've even brought you a guest," he finished, suddenly second guessing the brilliance of bringing Spot back with him to his home. It had seemed the right thing to do, watching Spot cradle his empty whiskey glass in the dark, smoky saloon; now, standing under the brighter lights in his apartment, he wondered if he would've been better off reminding Spot about the date like he meant to and leaving the young Irishman to his vices and his drink.

But he couldn't do that. Deep down he knew Vanessa would understand. He grinned sheepishly as he held the two packages of bon-bons out to her. They were both a gift and a bribe. From the way her hazel eyes lit up when she spied the box, he figured it had been a smart choice. "Spot's right," he said, moving aside so that Spot could follow him in and shut the door behind them. "It was his idea to buy a spare."

Vanessa's lips went from the downturn of a worried frown to a pursed expression as she wordlessly questioned her husband's actions. David shrugged and she nodded, finally allowing herself a small smile. She accepted the bon-bons from David. "Thank you, David. And you, Spot… it's good to see you. Have you been well?"

He eyed her intently, taking in her slim form, her pale complexion and the absently nervous way she kept pulling at the folds of her skirt. "Better than you, I'm sure," he answered shortly, before sniffing the air. "Dave said something about dinner. What're we having?"

His words caused a little color to flood her cheeks but Vanessa managed to control her emotions. Spot had had it rough and if David was willing to give him another chance, invite him in and try to make something of the man, then who was she to say anything against it? It was the least she could do. Bolstered by David's encouraging nod behind Spot, Vanessa led the way into the kitchen and gestured to the pot on the stove. "Beef stew," she said, "and there's plenty for everyone."

The stew had long been finished and after a quick simmer, she ladled out three bowls. David was already sitting in his chair, Spot sitting beside him in the one that Jack Kelly had occupied mere hours before. With her husband at the table, Vanessa resumed her regular seat. After a quick bowing of their heads and thanks, the three of them started to eat.

While Spot wolfed his stew down and Vanessa twirled her spoon around the broth aimlessly, David got up from the table and went to the breadbox. Knowing it was the perfect addition to the meal, he took out the plate that had the day-old bread resting on it. There was less than there had been after last night's supper and he was glad. At least that meant that Vanessa must've had a hearty lunch that afternoon. Because of that, he chose not to say anything about the way she played with her stew more than she ate any of it.

Spot's appetite was limitless and he finished off three bowls before David had finished his first; Vanessa's remained barely touched. As David spooned himself out another helping, his hunger was limited by his rising concerns over Vanessa. He'd thought she'd been acting strange lately but this… the not eating, the quietness, the way she was even more worried about his absence than he thought she'd be… she wasn't just acting strange. She was acting like a stranger.

He couldn't understand what had happened in the hours since he last sat with her at the breakfast table; she'd been off-color but nowhere near as timid as she was now, watching him anxiously, throwing annoyed glances across the table and in Spot's direction when she didn't think David was looking. When had the change occurred? While he worked, Vanessa tended to the household duties like any wife should. She rarely left the apartment without him by her side—and what inside the apartment could make her withdraw like this?

It had to be Spot, David decided. She tried to put on a good face, act the part of the gracious hostess, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it. And he just didn't know why.

Maybe he shouldn't have gone after Spot after the office closed. If he hadn't bought the newspaper last night, and if he hadn't seen the date this morning, would he have even remembered that the 21st of April was closing up on him? Probably, and he would've done the same exact thing: look for Spot and make sure that he got his fair share. Vanessa would understand why in the end. She may feel put out having a guest thrust upon her so unexpectedly, but the money he claimed in five days time may bring the old Vanessa back.

At least, he hoped it would.

So focused on his thoughts, David forgot all about his second helping of stew. It wasn't until his spoon slipped out from his lax fingers, dinging against the bowl and sending spatters of the dark broth onto the table that he remembered where he was, what he was doing and who he was sitting at the table with. He jerked, immediately reached for the dishcloth Vanessa brought with her to the table, and started to mop up where the stew spilt.

"Well, I think that's all for me. Thank you, Vanessa, and you, Dave. I think I'm goin' to hit the hay," Spot announced suddenly then, grabbing his hat from the table where he'd tossed it and sticking it under his arm. A quiet man himself, the silence from both David and his wife was enough to make even him uncomfortable; it was even worse when the Walking Mouth got all twitchy like that. "Ya got a tub, Dave?"

Thoughts all muddled and his concerned gaze locked on Vanessa's profile and the way she hardly responded to Spot's announcement, David just couldn't keep the small grin from curling his lip. "It's not porcelain," he said, tearing his attention away from his wife so that he could face Spot, "but it's a tub."

"Boilin' water?"

"As hot as you'd like."

For the first time that evening, Spot shared a genuine grin. It was slightly crooked, lopsided as the last of the drink showed up on his expression, but it was a grin and David was glad to see it. He'd been hard-pressed to see anything from guilt, shame and bitterness crossing Spot's face—and that was when he was sober, a rarity at that—ever since Sarah died; to see Spot so delighted over the prospect of a hot bath, David was willing to boil up some water himself.

But before he could offer to stoke a fire, Spot yawned and nodded curtly at him and Vanessa. "For now I'm beat. I'll take ya up on your offer of a tub tomorrow, if the lady of the house doesn't mind, that is."

Vanessa had been staring down at her bowl, using her spoon to play with the skim on the surface. When she realized that Spot had addressed her, she glanced up, that touch of color back to her cheeks. She blinked, gave her head a small, clearing shake, and adopted the prim smile she usually reserved for dinner at David's parents' home. "Of course, Spot. Whatever you'd like."

Spot's eyebrows raised but he didn't say anything as he shot a look in David's direction. But David was just as flabbergasted as he was. Something was obviously wrong with Vanessa—there had to be, if even Spot had noticed.

Vanessa Sawyer's parent had both died before she was thirteen years old and without anyone to support her, she moved from the slum in Five Points that she lived in from her childhood over to the Elizabeth Boardinghouse for Young Ladies. It was a marked improvement from the ash-filled cellars and the overcrowding in the Five Points, but the lodging fare enticed her to find some means to support herself.

David never asked her what she did to earn money, though she often spoke of long hours in a factory that left her hands still rough and callused. But she did nothing but sewing—which left her fingers tender and raw—when he met her, piecework and tatting so similar to the work Sarah took in to help the Jacobs' family. It was enough for her to get by on, but without a strict shift, it left plenty of time for him to try to see her.

Because Vanessa was an orphan with no family that neither he nor she knew of, it was much easier for him to do this. She didn't have a father for him to ask permission of first, or an eagle-eyed mother or aunt to chaperone their meetings and make sure that nothing David did was considered improper. He was free to call on her at her lodgings with her leave and later, she came to spend much of her free time at the Jacobs' family apartment. She was a saving grace when it came to Sarah's wedding to Spot, and in the years he'd been courting her, she was already accepted as part of his family. Therefore, it only made sense that a proposal would follow.

It had taken him weeks to work up the nerve to do this; the steady weight of the ring in his pocket did nothing to calm him as he rang for Vanessa to come down. It had taken him months before he scraped up enough in Mr. Wagner's employ to afford one that was worthy of Vanessa. He just hoped he'd done enough in the last few years to make sure her answer would be yes...

After David showed Spot to the spare bedroom, and Spot closed the door behind him in order to allow the Jacobses a touch of privacy, Vanessa immediately rose to clear the supper dishes from the table. David stayed seated in his chair, watching his wife bustle from the table to the kitchen and back. He waited until the table was empty and Vanessa was busying herself with her back to him—he waited until it was so obvious that she was ignoring him—before tapping the tips of his fingers against the tabletop in a play to get her attention.

"Vanessa… Ness," he said softly, and the pleading in his voice caused her to turn around, "I'm sorry. I never meant to be so late and I definitely didn't mean to bring Spot back with me. It just... it happened, and I'm sorry. I couldn't leave him there. Sarah, she—"

He stopped at the mention of his sister's name, unsure how to continue—and vaguely uneasy about whether or not Spot could hear them in the other room; it was the perfect moment for Vanessa to cut him off. Shaking her head, looking everywhere and anywhere but directly in her husband's searching gaze, she said just as quietly, "Don't be sorry. You did what you thought was best and I trust you. Spot's family, and we'll always stand by family."

David nodded but her words did little to assuage his ever-growing worries. "Then what is it? If not Spot, what's got you acting like this? And please don't tell me it's nothing. I know you, something's wrong and I can't figure out what it is. Is something on your mind? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I'll do what I can to fix it."

The pleading in his voice almost pained her. Vanessa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared past him, her gaze fixated on the wall behind him. "You didn't do anything wrong, David," she said at last. "Why must you worry so?"

"Because my wife won't look me in the eye. Isn't that cause to worry?"

"It's nothing," she insisted, forcing herself to look at him. She even chanced a small smile. "Honestly. It's a bit silly, really."

But David wasn't giving up just yet. "Tell me, please."

"It's just that… I've been thinking…"

"Yes?" he said encouragingly. "You know you can tell me anything."

Vanessa exhaled then and her words came out in a rush: "It's the spare room. I've been thinking about it lately and how we hardly ever use it. Why don't we take in a boarder?"

She looked so serious that he couldn't help but let out a short laugh in relief. All along he'd been worried that she was ill, or upset with him, or something… and all she was thinking about was the spare room in the apartment. What a silly thing to worry about! His wage covered their rent, and their rent included a fourth room. What did it matter if it went empty?

Then he noticed that she really meant it and he wished he could take back his laughter. She was watching him with a curious expression, earnestly waiting his response. "A boarder?" he repeated, trying to keep his voice neutral. "You mean, like Spot?"

Her eyes flitted down the hall and she frowned. "No… no, I didn't mean Spot."

"Then who?"

"I didn't have anyone in mind, David," she lied, lowering her eyes in the hopes he couldn't tell, "but wouldn't it be nice to have a little more money? I could do the washing and prepare meals for a boarder, David. It would be a whole other wage for a room that's been empty for too long."

It hit David then. The reason she was so listless lately, how pale she'd become, how desperate she was to be the perfect wife, and it was this: the two of them were married a year ago, on a beautiful March evening in 1904. Though he never dared mention it, he'd often thought they would have started their family by now. He knew Vanessa wanted children—when they first got married, she spoke of nothing else—and it was for that reason they chose to rent a four room apartment over the smaller, less expensive ones with only three rooms.

But a year had passed and she had yet to be with child. Up until recently, within the last month or so, it had been all she ever thought about. She stopped right around the time of their first anniversary; when the subject was dropped, David let it go. She would bring it up again when she was ready. And he would be there for her when she was.

"Is that what this is about? That the room… it's still empty? Because we haven't been married that long and we still have time. Plenty of time."

Vanessa's mouth dropped in obvious surprise. "It's… it's not that, David," she said and he had to believe her. But what was it then? He was about to go ahead and ask her that but, before he had, she shook her head and said, in a dismissing sort of voice, "Forget I said anything. Like I said, it was a silly idea. I won't mention it again."

And she was true to her word. Despite David's murmured apologies and attempts to get her to open up and talk to him, Vanessa finished clearing the table and headed towards the washroom, never saying another word to him at all.

David ran the side of his finger along the chipped mortar. If he hadn't seen Jack hack and saw at this very brick almost four years ago, he never would've thought anything of the jagged edge; instead, it looked like the others, the wornness just a touch from time. Indistinguishable. Indiscernible. There was no sign the large brick had ever once been disturbed since it was first laid down. To be honest, he was a little impressed—and just a touch concerned that he might have come to the wrong spot.

At any rate, He shouldn't be there. He knew that he shouldn't have come. It had only been three and a half years since that fateful night which meant that there was still a year and a half before he was due to be standing in this same spot. But he was there, and it was an act of a scared and worried young man that brought him to Duane Street that night.

It had been on a romantic whim, a foolish desire to follow in Spot Conlon's footsteps and take a young lady he loved to be his wife. After watching how happy Spot made his sister, David used the money he'd been saving to buy Vanessa a ring that she accepted with a sincerity he couldn't find it in him to doubt. She loved him, he believed her when she said so, and she wanted to become Mrs. David Jacobs.

But weddings were expensive. Renting a room together as a young married couple was expensive. He still lived with his parents and Les, but he would leave once he was wed to Vanessa... if he had the money. His wage was fair, and Mr. Wagner said there was always room for growth for an enterprising clerk, yet he couldn't deny that he wasn't confident that he could afford this new life on his salary.

And that was why, after the office closed for the night, David found himself skulking down Duane Street, knowing he shouldn't be there and wondering what damage would be done if he borrowed just enough money to make sure he could afford to give Vanessa the life he felt she deserved. She'd grown up in a tenement, scrapping for bread to survive. She promised herself she would never go back to that and David promised her that he wouldn't let her.

Only a little, he thought. He still remembered how much money was stuffed inside, how the coins and paper money spilled out of the sack when it was opened. No one would miss it, no one would ever have to know, and he could even replace it in time if his guilt got the better of him. His hand reached out again, his finger poised to grip the corner of the brick, before he suddenly felt the guilt rise up against him. He dropped his arm back to his side.

It wasn't right. Just like he thought all those years ago, it was stealing—and, this time, it was stealing from four other young men who trusted him with this secret. Besides, there was only a little time left. He could wait. Besides, Vanessa wasn't marrying him because he was in on the secret of a stash of money hidden away behind a brick wall. She was marrying him because she loved him—

David had never been able to deny Vanessa anything she wanted, not when they first met, not when she accepted his proposal, not even since they'd been married. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't sure what it was that she did want. Was it a child? Really a boarder? Or was money the only thing she desired? He didn't know, and he couldn't explain her behavior anymore than he could understand it.

They were both young, and there was more than enough time for them to expand their little family. If renting out their room to a boarder gave her something to do with her days until the room was needed made her happy, he was willing to go along with her suggestions. And if all that mattered was the money, well, all she had to do was wait five more days and there would be plenty of that.

For just a moment he wondered if he should give in and tell Vanessa about the money. It was the one secret—the one secret—he'd ever kept from his wife. He'd given his word, he'd even spit-shook over it, and David had kept the secret for close to five years. He could wait five more days. Vanessa would understand. She always did.

That thought in mind, David headed towards their bedroom, removing his tie as he walked slowly inside. Vanessa had already finished washing up and had changed into her nightdress, ready to go to sleep. She was in the middle of turning down the bed when David slipped in and, with a gentle overlaying of his hand on hers, she stopped, the quilt slipping from her fingers.

He didn't know what to say, or how to put his thoughts into the right words. That was unusual for him but, then again, this was an usual situation.

David wanted to ask to see her smile and tell her not to worry, things were only going to get better for them. He wanted to apologize for bringing Spot home with him but he knew he shouldn't; whatever was bothering her, it had been bothering her before Spot reappeared in their lives. He wanted to assume his role as the man of the house and demand that she be honest with him, tell the truth and not keep it all to herself.

But he didn't. He couldn't. So he just sighed and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I love you, Vanessa."

"And I… I love you, too." She gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You know I do."

It struck him then, almost like a shot to the chest, that there was something about the way she said that, something that seemed achingly familiar—but not in a good way. Though she smiled and, reaching over with her free hand, patted the top of his comfortingly, he couldn't help but think that, for the first time in years, maybe she wasn't telling him the truth.

She was only telling him what she thought should be true.

—wasn't she?

End Note: Bet you didn't think I was going to get this up by tonight, huh? That's okay, I wasn't entirely too sure myself. This was the final part of the first of three arcs in this story and I wanted to end it at just the right part. The first arc really sets up the whole David/Vanessa/Jack triangle, as well as throwing in a couple of clues as to what happened between Spot and Sarah (one of my favorite ships in the fandom - even if only a handful of people actually write it). The second arc will start with the next chapter and, wow, it's a doozy. Remember all those warnings from the first chapter? Yeah... we don't want to forget about that, do we?

Thank you to Pegasus M for reviewing the last chapter, and of course to everyone who had read/reviewed/enjoyed in any way that chapter and the previous ones. I know it took quite a bit to get us to this point but, well, in my opinion... the story is really beginning to start getting more complicated now. (And, yes, I hear you... more complicated? Trust me. It's complicated.) I hope to see you guys stick it out. It's certainly gonna be one wild ride!

- stress, 07.10.10