One roll of the dice, One flip of a knife
Epilogue one: Friendship
By: Ambrlupin
Rated: M
Summary: Race has gotten himself in way over his head on the wrong side of the bridge. Can Spot Conlon get him out of it? Or will Manhattan blood be shed on Brooklyn soil? (Friendship or slash, however you want to look at it)
Disclaimer: if I did own newsies would I settle for not making money of it? Nuff said.
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Banners filled out in the breeze, whipping as the smell of new dirt wafted through the air. Clean seats glittered in the morning sun, new paint stood out in sharp contrast to the tendrils and ribbon that decorated the entire stadium.
The Sheepshead racetrack was in its utmost glory, refurbished and redone, it looked brand-new, as it had once been under Arthur Higgins' care. For weeks the doors had been closed to everyone, and now, after so long, the first race was about to start.
In the boxes set high above the ground many wealthy men sat, smoking expensive cigars and speaking in high numbers as the horses were led to the gates and set inside. The common people literally flooded the seats, some of them even trying to mash their way in to sit on the floor, for they could only go so far down.
The last three rows to the railings were reserved.
For the newsies.
Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, it didn't matter. They were all there, all within the same boundaries, sitting next to one another, joking and laughing. Only one boy was missing, and that was the one boy who should have been there the most- The leader of Brooklyn himself.
Missing with a minute to go before the gates opened.
Jack leaned over the rail, bringing his fingers to his mouth. He gave a sharp whistle and Ace's head popped up on the far end. "Where's Spot?!"
"I dunno!" The other cried, a cap pulled on low so that the sun stayed out of his eyes. "His men are all here!"
Cowboy frowned, eyes searching for a flash of red hair. However, after scanning at least half the newsies he remembered that Red no longer HAD red hair and was forced to start again. Eventually he found him, and with a wave of his hand he motioned him over.
The elder leaned on the rail, strands of his ebony hair falling into his eyes. "I don't know where he is, either." He answered to the unspoken question. "He said he'd be here, and thats all I know."
"Yeah, but as for being late, this is-"
The gates slammed open on the buzzer, drowning out any and all conversation among the newsboys. Many of them had never seen a horse race before, and this one had them all glued to their seats, leaning forward with mouth's open.
A small stallion immediately sprinted to the front, so graceful in his movements that it seemed he was running on air rather than dirt. His coat was a flash of sepia, his mane slightly lighter in color. The other horses didn't even seem to give it a challenge.
The rider bent low over his neck, almost seeming to whisper to him as the gloved hands turned him this way and that with ease. They moved as one, like it was meant to be. No longer was there rider and ridden. There was just the thrill, the rush.
In no time at all he had crossed the finish line, pulling up at the winner's circle amidst cheering and whistling. The rider sat up tall and proud, pulling his cap off and laughing with complete and utter joy.
"RACE!!!" Mush cried, starting up a chant in which all of the newsies joined in. No discriminating between territories, no rivalries, just brotherhood, as it had been once long ago during the strike.
Race dismounted, stroking the stallion's neck lovingly. He couldn't have been happier than at that moment, standing around his friends after the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. He owned the track, he had won the opening race, it was just...wow.
But the smile died as he looked around.
He had expected him to be here, had been told he would be here. But there was no cinnamon-hair in sight, no sparkling silver-blue eyes anywhere to be found. Red, seeing his obvious pain, softly placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry too much about it." He tried to sound chipper and failed. He was going to kill Spot for doing this. Especially when he knew how much it meant to Racetrack. "Spot...Spot's sometimes...he probably had a very good reason for missing-"
"Who said I missed it?"
Race spun on his heel, eyes sparkling when he caught sight of the Brooklyn leader. Spot was standing just a few feet away, his hair combed back neatly and a smile on his face. A true smile, not a smirk, not a sneer, but a smile that lit up his eyes and made them glitter.
"Hey Race." He said softly, "Nice ridin dere."
Race grinned, hands on his hips. "Maybe one day you'll get over your fear and come ridin with me." He knew that Spot would never do that. He was so afraid of horses just being near one made him nervous.
But it was still fun to tease him.
"Oh, Spottie is afraid of the big-bad horsey?" Jack laughed, throwing his arm around the smaller teen's shoulder. "Now now, there's nuttin to be afraid of-"
"You have to the count of three, Jack Kelly." Spot snarled.
"Look, they cant hurt you- they eat grass!"
"One."
"Oh, I know! Its probably because of a tragic childhood moment, am I right?"
"Two."
Jack snapped his fingers, "I know what we can do! We can get you a pony! Race, do you have any ponies-"
"THREE!" Spot roared, turning on him and throwing them both to the ground, snarling and snapping like an animal.
Race laughed so hard it hurt, his side aching as he leaned weakly onto Red, who wasn't faring much better. The entire group of newsies were in tears or near enough to them. It was just so funny, imagining Spot on the back of a pony.
"Mister Higgins." Someone cleared his throat and the fighting boys calmed and brushed themselves off as they got to their feet. Apparently everyone had forgotten where they were.
The co-owner, Mr. Morreti; a nice man who did everything he could to make sure Race had the very best, stood there, a smile on his face. "They need you to ride up to the podium and get your trophy so the next race can start, sir."
Race blinked, "Oh...sorry!" He leapt up onto Stardust's back, turning so he could get through to the podium, when his eyes caught Spot. Silently, he held out his hand.
Silently, Spot took it.
It was a moment or so later that Race had Spot seated behind him, arms around his waist to keep from falling off. It was a rather long way to fall after all. The former grinned back at his friend, "You okay?"
"Yeah." Spot breathed, gulping as they started forward. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Dear God, he was going to die.
He was going to fall off and hit his head, or the horse was going to rear up and smash him into the dirt, or maybe...maybe it was going to eat him...!Yes, it was going to EAT HIM...
"Hey...I gotcha.." Race murmurred, patting his hand lightly. "I wont let anything happen to you, don't you know that?"
Yes, Spot knew that.
Just like he knew he would never, ever, let anything else happen to the spunky youth that sat just in front of him. He couldn't, wouldn't...Race didn't deserve it. He deserved a nice and happy life, far from the dangers of the streets, far from the dangers of being a newsie.
"Hey, Spot?" Race asked, clearing his throat a little. "Is it...all right if I stay here...In Brooklyn...?"
"Yes, Race. A million times yes."
Race smiled softly as he turned them toward the crowd, toward his trophy, and toward the future.
One answer, one story, one path they had to walk.
Together.
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What can I say? This one was harder to write then the other, because Im a slash freak. But here, for all you slash haters, this is the friendship ending for you all. -grin-
So, how was it? Not how you expected it to end? Tell me in a review. You all know how much I love those. Heh.