Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.
A/N: Santa Fe. Are you there? Do you swear you won't forget me?
Warning: PG (sexual innuendo)
ix.)
his language is all canvas&chameleon
constantly embellished&ever changing
he'll say anything to get what he wants
(she'd do it before he asked)
the end of the earth isn't far in promises
but high mileage lessens value
They finally found Santa Fe (it's been four weeks and several stops since they left Colorado) and she thinks that maybe he has found the place he wants to be. The faded black cowboy hat that hangs prominently around his neck on his back (he stole it off of a drunk local in front of a neon saloon) looks like it has always been there. A dusty red bandana ties his collar (he stole that, too) and the mischievous wink in his eye glints dangerously whenever he looks at her (he'll manhandle her as soon as he gets the chance).
There are miles of concrete and chrome stretching out around them as they walk downtown, and it is familiar to her. He's telling her stories now about cowboys and Indians; sheriffs and outlaws; gold diggers and cheap whores (for once he tells her about the Then instead of the Now) but she isn't listening too closely. Every town has stories which he tells with great enthusiasm, but his words are growing more familiar than fascinating (his words may fail to impress but he never does).
Whenever they come to a new town his transitions are seamless (though that wink always hangs in his shadow) and sometimes she barely knows him (but she always loves him). She's lost track of how long they've been here, but it has been awhile. He writes here, pages and pages, and draws anything he thinks needs his mark (but she doesn't see any of it). For awhile she believes that maybe this is where they will make a home-stay (she just wants to know that she will stay with him) and she's even naïve enough to start dreaming about a future (he gives her just enough hope to make it plausible).
Today they're staying in the backroom of an abandoned warehouse in the bad part of town (he's stolen enough blankets and pillows from various motels to make a comfortable bed). It's the fourteenth (or was it fifteenth?) day they've shared a makeshift bed here in the windowless cage and she's making a list of everything they'd need to make some place a home (she doesn't write it down for fear that he'll disapprove). All she wants is a place where he'll stand still long enough for her to mother him (maybe for once she'll be able to tell him a story) but this isn't going to be the place where that dream comes true.When they wake the next night his mission isn't finding a new place to haunt or a new taste to achieve, instead they pack the possessions and affections into the trunk.
Like a child she takes a stoic seat next to him and she tries to remember exactly why she agreed to go with him to find his words. She may not remember where she had been or what had compelled her to agree (had she even said a word?) but she remembers that somewhere along this long line she had agreed to help him find the words she never sees (how can you find something when you don't know for what to look?). Maybe she's just as lost as his words are (and she has no idea where to start looking).
They fill up at a small station outside of town (he doesn't pay) and as they speed off into the darkness he leans over to suck her kiss. The taste is intriguing (there is nothing quite as sweet as freshly shattered innocence) and he pulls back just before he sends them crashing over the railing of a bridge. Hearts beat in unified exhilaration for completely different reasons (she's dying and he's never been more alive). Tonight the street signs are blurred when they flash past her vision (she's lost sight of everything) and wonders how long it will take before he actually does kill them both.
"Why didn't we stay in Santa Fe?"
"It didn't look enough like the post card." A hundred miles later.
She never tells him that she had no idea what he means by that (she doesn't remember the apartment in New York or the walls of post cards he had amassed). She never tells him that she has had doubts about this nomadic lifestyle (she has forgotten anything before it, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know what they could have. She never tells him that she'd built a life with him there (luckily she forgets all about it by the time they reach the state line).
A/N: Thanks to Newgirl Poet for reviewing. This sucker has six more chapters. They will all be up before Halloween if I have anything to say about it.