Author's Note: This one's for StormShadow and Scamley Elliot, two of the most faithful, obsessive reviewers I can imagine. Thank you so much for being more patient and devoted than I ever expected, reviewing my other fics even though I knew you were both waiting on this one, and most of all, making me see that this fic had to be continued. Yep, I never mentioned it to anyone, but I really never expected to come back to this fic. I'd read it and SOH over a few times, and gotten frustrated with certain issues, like Flick and Secret's rather highly Mary-Sueish tendencies. So I was just going to abandon it. But when the references to it and pleas for an update just didn't stop, I finally decided that, just for you chicas, I'd try to write the next chapter. Well, turns out I'd forgotten something: Mary-Sue-ishness and all, I love those two newsgirls to death, and they are, and probably always will be, my absolute favorite characters to write about. :-) So...thankee muchly for reminding me of that. :-D Hope you enjoy this chapter, and all the chapters to come!
And since I hate to leave anyone out, I must also add that this chapter is most definitely for Tree, and anyone else who hasn't forgotten this story...Eire-chan? Runaway-chan? Sparks-san? And anyone else! :-) Love you all.
Flare
Same Night
Brooklyn
"Yeah, I came. So what?"
Secret kept her voice absolutely cool and neutral, desperately determined not to reveal a single one of the overpowering emotions that was attacking her soul. She locked her eyes firmly on the river, and locked her mind on the cool black night water; tricks like this, or like picturing a sheet of ice, often helped prevent her face from flushing, or a spark in her eyes that might betray something.
Spot's usual smirk appeared in response to her curtness. He didn't seem to care that there were newsboys running, jumping, and shouting all around them. At least the girls had tactfully drifted away, slipping one by one into the water. Secret watched Mulberry join the seldom-seen Broom, whose straw-colored hair hung in limp clumps down her back, and whose skin had a bare, scalded look without its protective layers of dust. Broom appeared skittish and uncertain in the midst of all this activity. She looked like she would have loved to be back sweeping under her bunk, and Secret suddenly felt that she wouldn't much mind that either.
"So," Spot was saying smugly, tapping his cane on the dock, "I'm guessin' ya came fer a reason." That insurpassable arrogance was growing so strong that it was mercifully threatening to overcome his stunning, god-like appearance.
"Reason?" Secret squeaked, voice growing higher with disbelief. "Ya invited me!" Well, that was one way to put it. "Requested" was the word Jack had used.
A dry laugh followed this exclamation. "Yeah...an' ya came."
Secret's heart froze. She could see where this was leading. "I came," she established stonily, "'cause Brooklyn's a nice place ta visit, an' I assumed from what Jack said dat I wasn't gonna get jumped da second I stepped off da bridge. It ain't got nuttin' ta do wit you."
At these words, a sudden and entirely unexpected sound caused Secret to nearly jump out of her skin: a soft, dry, and chillingly venomous cackle.
This laugh, so ominous a sound that it raised the hairs on Secret's arms, most certainly did not come from Spot. With a slight involuntary gasp, Secret whirled toward the shadows that cloaked the end of the dock. There stood a girl, about three years older than Secret and at least seven or eight inches taller. She was clad in a ragged shirt and pants of navy blue. Saturated from a recent swim, they clung tightly to every flawless curve of her body. A glory of red-gold hair tumbled down her back, offering a potential for great beauty...but her eyes were two hard, dark stones, opaque and emotionless in a sharp-featured face.
"Nothin' ta do wit him, huh?" The malice in the stranger's eyes was unmistakable, and so strong that it made Secret want to back right into the river to escape it. "Ain't I hoid dat one befoah!"
"Shuddup, Dagga," Spot growled with quiet fury. This was almost laughable, for Spot was about the same size as Secret, and the girl called Dagger towered over him as well. And indeed, she did not show the slightest shade of fear at his anger. Instead, a tiny, very grim, stone-cold smirk appeared on her face.
"S'madda, Conlon?" she asked in a harsh whisper, leaning slightly closer to Spot, who pushed her away in apparent disgust. "Ya plannin' ta pretend ta dis one dat ya neveh looked twice at anudda goil?" she continued snidely. "Like ya did ta, say, Brook? Or are ya gonna brag 'bout 'em, name each a'dem like dey was trophies ya'd won? I could help ya out dere, y'know. I t'ink I 'memba a few names youse long since f'gotten."
"Dagga," Spot spoke up in a voice so deadly it seemed the lower the temperature of the night, "if ya don't get away from heah right now, eidda I'se gonna break my record o' neveh hittin' a goil, or yeh'll hafta find yaself a new lodgin' house t'night."
The glare Dagger gave him could have crystalized honey, and the way her hand drifted toward her belt made Secret squint in the darkness and wonder nervously about the source of her nickname. But then she gave another low, poisonous chuckle, pivoted on her heels, and stalked back across the dock, putting Secret in mind of a lioness abandoning prey that wasn't worth her time.
Staring after her until she disappeared in the direction of the lodging house, Secret then reluctantly turned back to Spot. His pensive glare melted at once, and he flashed her another cocky smile. Dagger's words still hung in the air, however, and Secret shuddered slightly.
Ooh boy. What've I gotten myself inta?
"Don't pay no 'tention ta Dagga," Spot advised her smoothly, starting to stride across the dock in the opposite direction. Secret followed him without thinking, since he was still talking to her. "She's crazy. Been jealous eveh since I broke up wit 'er, an' dat was oveh a yeah ago."
Broke up wit 'er? Ya had ta do moah den dat...ya toined 'er inta a soipent!
"She's always been like dat, dough," he added, as if reading her mind. "Bittah, y'know...nasty. Real demon."
Secret eyed him thoughtfully as they walked, wondering if he was telling the truth. She had no reason to believe him, except that she found it hard to picture Dagger as being some sweet, innocent young girl even prior to whatever relationship she'd had with Spot.
Her mind spiraling off-topic, Secret found herself randomly wondering if Dagger had been shorter then. Picturing Spot donning shoes with eight-inch heels in order to kiss her, she decided that the "demon" had most certainly had a growth spurt in the past year. Then her eyes widened at the realization that she had just spent a good five seconds pondering that puzzle.
"So," Spot was saying, "ya gonna pull dat silent act fer da rest o' da night an' make me do all da tawkin'?"
Finally coming out of her reverie to take note of her surroundings, Secret yelped out loud and nearly fell over backwards. That would have been most unfortunate, for she would have fallen a most dizzying and deadly height, ending with a plunge into the East River.
"How da he did we get heah!?" she demanded shrilly, without the faintest trace of her old serenity and restraint. They were standing in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Spot's smirk grew wider than she had ever seen it. "I walked an' tawked. You followed an' listened," he replied gleefully.
Secret's heart raced. He had lured her here, flat-out lured her, away from the docks, away from the lodging house, away from her fellow Manhattan newsies as well as his own Brooklynites. It was even worse than falling for some thoroughly stupid age-old trick, like an appeal to help him look for some lost item. She had simply followed him as meekly as a loyal puppy!
And her alter ego would have to die right now, quickly and painlessly, once and for all, if she was ever going to make it out of here without finding herself in a situation she would sorely regret.
Cool. T'ink wadda. T'ink ice.
"Sorry," Secret told the Brooklyn leader in a voice that was ice. "Din't notice wheah we was headin'. I'll be goin' back now." She began to walk briskly back toward the Brooklyn side of the bridge.
"Hey!" Just as she had expected, Spot materialized in front of her and caught her arm. "Hang on, goil, I'se tryin' ta tawk ta ya."
"Ya been tawkin' ta me all evenin'," Secret snapped. "I guess it neveh occured ta ya dere might be odda people I'd radda tawk ta."
"Like who?" Spot released her but continued to stand in her path, and folded his arms, gazing levelly at her and revealing no emotion. "Blink, maybe? Mouth? Bumlets? Skitts? Or is it Mush ya got ya eye on? Yeah, dat's who it is, right? I hate ta tell ya dis, but he's awready got a goil."
Secret stared at him in wordless, nonplussed amazement. Besides Flick...who she was still determined not to think of, as she didn't even know where their friendship stood at the moment...Mush was her best friend in the world. She had never once thought of him in the way Spot was suggesting, and as Spot barely knew anything about her, his making any guesses about her feelings toward anyone seemed absurd.
"No?" There was a note of deep triumph in Spot's voice now. "No, ya don't like 'im, do ya? Nah...I can tell 'bout dese t'ings. An' he ain't fallen fer you. None of 'em has. I really can't believe dat." A long pause, for emphasis, it would seem. "Ya shoah are beautiful, y'know."
Wow. Huge score dere in da subtlty depahtment. So much fer small tawk. Nothin' like gettin' straight ta da point.
Secret may have aquired a second personality, but she was relieved to find that at least her original one still seemed to be alive and well.
I'se t'inkin' sense an' tawkin' calmly. Definitely good.
"So I'se been told," she answered flatly, turning away from Spot, leaning against the railing and gazing languidly down at the river, as if her eyes were not struggling to return to Spot's face like moths to a flame.
"Yeah?" Spot sauntered over to stand beside her at the railing, but it was not the water he stared at. "So who told ya dat?"
He tried to keep his voice casual, but Secret wasn't fooled. Something about the Brooklyn newsies seemed to make her compare them to various animals. If Dagger was a lioness or a serpent, Spot was a dog or wolf, an Alpha Male, sniffing around a female he fancied, trying to detect the scent of a rival suitor.
Disgustin'.
"Dat," she informed Spot, immensely comforted that she had reclaimed her ability to make her face the proverbial glacier, "is none o' ya biz'ness."
"No," Spot agreed softly, caressingly. "It ain't, is it?"
His hand darted out to gently cup her face and turn it toward his. She jerked away from him as fast as if he had slapped her, and instinctively wiped the sleeve of Mulberry's shirt across her cheek, to remove some invisible stinging poison.
I can fight! This was a huge revelation that hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. When on earth had she forgotten that fact? I can fight! I loined from da best fighta in New Yawk! Whadda I t'ink I am heah, some kinda helpless liddle doll who can't t'row a punch or aim a kick? I could be outta heah in five seconds flat!
This speculation was only a partial recovery of her reason, however, and the rest of it soon caught up. The idea might have been plausible with many other boys, but not with Spot Conlon. Even Flick herself probably couldn't beat him in a fight. Last time Secret had been angry with him, she had seized the opportunity to push him in the river; but the setting was different now; and, furious as she was at the moment, she didn't think the situation yet called for her to push him off a bridge.
The breeze picked up slightly, making the September chill all the more poignant. One raven lock of Secret's hair blew across her eyes, and Spot brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear in a gesture that sent horrible thrills shooting through her; horrible not in and of themselves, but because of how strongly the rational part of her mind and her very conscience objected to them.
She was too numb with shock and confusion to pull away this time, and the contradiction between this and her previous reaction produced a half-triumphant, half-bemused expression on Spot's face. "I can see why ya dey call ya Secret," he murmured. "No way ta tell what ya t'inkin' or feelin'."
That little key hung around his neck, glinting in the moonlight. And suddenly it was swinging, swinging forward, closer to Secret. She was looking at the key. That was what she would remember. Not his face, not his eyes, just the key and how bright it looked, and how strange and surreal, swinging through the air in slow motion like some sort of magic pendulum.
Then his arms were around her, he was pulling her to him, his lips were on hers, her mind exploded with the perfect and eerie silence of a supernova in the vaccuum of space, and of an uncertain stretch of time that seemed to be centuries contained within seconds, she remembered absolutely nothing.
The moment the door of the lodging house opened and several sets of footsteps padded into the lobby, Flick was out of bed, down the ladder, and at the bunkroom door in a flash. She wore the cotton shift that she slept in, but she had not enjoyed so much as a moment of light doze since returning from her frightening adventure in Queens. She was also perfectly aware that Race had remained as awake as she had, and that he was too scared of her current mood to emphasize that fact.
The door swung open, the Brooklyn visiting party entered, and Flick stood still as a statue and surveyed the scene in grim horror.
Secret froze near the doorway. Her familiar electric-blue eyes appeared to be seeing straight from that doorway to the moon, and missing everything in between. Her dress was on backwards, her face was flushed, and she was shaking...that was the worst part...shaking helplessly, like the victim of some terrible fever. Mush stood close beside her, clutching her hand, gazing at her with desperate concern, but she took no notice whatsoever of him. On her other side, Blink rested a tentative hand on her arm, looking nervous. Bumlets, Itey, and Skittery shot her worried, rather panicked glances, which they then exchanged among themselves, and wordlessly took to their bunks. Jack, however, remained, stepping in front of Secret and her two escorts and giving Flick a look she had never imagined coming from him; something like a terrified child begging for assistance from a parent.
If it was comfort he wanted, however, it was not forthcoming. Flick took one look at Secret and whirled on the one person present to whom she was used to applying blame.
"What da he happened?"
"I dunno!" Jack replied in a desperate whisper, since waking the other boys would only complicate things further. "She won't tell us! She won't say nothin'!"
The whispers did, however, reach the ears of those who were already awake, and at the distress in Flick and Cowboy's voices, Race appeared at Flick's side. For the moment, their quarrel was forgotten; Race took one gaping look at Secret, glanced at Flick, and pointedly cocked his head toward the door. She nodded, and Mush and Blink, interpreting these silent gestures, steered Secret back out into the lobby. Flick and Race followed closely. When Jack hesitated just inside the bunkroom, Flick raised her eyebrows at him and made an impatient gesture toward his bunk. For an instant, he looked like he might argue; then he nodded gravely and retreated, and Flick snapped the door quietly shut.
"What happened?" she repeated at once, eyes locked on Secret. Secret merely stared mutely, however, and it was Blink who finally answered.
"When we foist arrived in Brooklyn," he explained to Flick and Race, "one o' da goils, Mulberry, I t'ink, took 'er ta da lodgin' house ta get changed. Dey was gone a while, an' den dey came back, an' Secret was standin' by da rivah, tawkin' wit da goils. Mush an' me din't see any sign o' Spot, an' we figuahed she could take care o' ha'self, so no one was payin' much attention ta her afta dat."
"Us Manhattan boys was all mixed in wit da Brooklyn crowd," Mush took over softly, eyes never leaving Secret, "an' it was so crowded an' crazy, dere was no way ta keep track o' anyone. None o' us saw Secret again fer I dunno how long. But suddenly she was runnin' down da dock, comin' from da direction o' da bridge...God knows what she was doin' oveh dere. She was all...well, like she is now...all red an' shakin'...I got outta da wadda an' ran ovah ta her, an' she ast me if we could leave...I said o' course, an' ast 'er what happened, but she wouldn't answa...she jist ran ta da lodgin' house ta change back inta her dress, den we headed home, an' she ain't said a woid 'tween den an' now."
Flick, of course, had no patience with this information. She marched over to Secret, brushed Mush and Blink aside, placed her hands on her friend's shoulders, and as good as laser-beamed Secret's eyes with hers.
"Secret, tawk ta me dis instant or I sweah I'll soak ya."
Secret blinked, shook off Flick's hands, and took a step back, but her eyes seemed to come back into focus. She stopped shaking, and a shadow of a smile flickered around her lips. "Heya, Flick."
"Da," Blink commented, impressed, "why din't I t'ink o' dat?"
Flick smirked at him. "'Cause you couldn't really soak 'er, dat's why." She returned her attention to Secret. "A'right, goil, no moah o' dat 'in shock' act. What happened ta ya in Brooklyn? Conlon did sometin' ta ya, din't 'e? I sweah I'll kill da--"
Secret quickly held up a hand to silence Flick before she could question the legitimacy of Spot's birth. "Nothin'."
"What?" Flick and the Musketeers exchanged impatient, incredulous glances.
"Nothin'," Secret repeated, her voice firmer, although the high color was only just fading from her cheeks. "Nothin' happened."
"Right," Blink replied, his frustration clear. "Dat's why ya disappeahed fer so long, came back moah upset an' flusta'd den I'se eveh seen ya, ast us ta leave, an' shook like a leaf an' refused ta speak all da way back."
Secret's eyes flashed at him. "I was scared."
"Right!" Race agreed encouragingly. "An' what scared ya?"
Some sort of struggle seemed to be going on inside Secret; her face was slowly reddening again. At last she answered, slowly and haltingly. "I...saw...him."
"'Him'?" Mush prodded gently.
"Spot!" Secret snapped, whirling on him. "I saw Spot. An' I was scared."
Flick scoffed. "Ya really 'spect us ta believe dat ya had dat kinda reaction jist from seein' 'im?"
Although, consid'rin' how she's been actin' jist from heahin' da name o' his borough mentioned, I wouldn't be su'prised...
But Secret didn't answer. Her mouth set into a thin, hard line that Flick recognized, and that the boys were also familiar with. As Flick had mused only that morning, questioning Secret now would be like trying to pull teeth that were cemented in place. Fixing her eyes to the floor, the silent wraith swung around and placed a hand on the bunkroom door. Mush and Blink were still watching her anxiously, but Race observed as Flick's eyes deepened to cobalt, and he saw her next words coming.
"Fine." The dragon addressed the small, dark-haired girl in a low hiss. "Dat's jist fine. Go ta bed, don't tell us a t'ing, don't give us any way ta help ya, don't even give us any reason ta wanna help ya. Go ta bed an' dream 'bout Spot an' whateveh wondaful secret t'ings 'e said or did ta ya. Oh, an' ya can f'got what ya said ta me oylia t'day...but ya awready have, ain'cha?"
Now Secret turned, eyes not at all distant but sharply focused, and wide with horror. Clearly, Flick was entirely right; she had forgotten. Her hand rose to cover her mouth, as it had when her shocking words that afternoon had first been spoken. "F...Flick, I--"
"Get ta bed," Flick ordered curtly through clenched teeth.
The pain in Secret's face was evident and unnerving to each of the four witnesses, especially since they were used to that face showing no emotion at all. But, after one last pleading glance at Flick, she obeyed, tiptoeing into the bunkroom and making a beeline for the washroom to get changed and wash up. One look at Flick sent Blink and Mush in after her. The door closed once more, and only two of the infamous Five Musketeers remained in the lobby.
Race stood awkwardly across from Flick. Her lashing out at Secret had reminded him of the regrettable things he himself had said to her that night. No wonder she was in such a bad mood. All of her friends were turning traitor.
"I'se sorry," he finally offered in a small voice.
"Fer what?" she asked, in a softer and less hostile manner than he had expected.
"Ev'rytin'."
"Ev'rytin' wasn't ya fault."
"Well, fer da part dat was."
Flick regarded him for a long moment, then sighed and shrugged. "A'right. Whateveh. I jist happen ta be furious at Secret at da moment, an' if I try bein' mad at both o' youse at da same, I'll go crazy."
At da two people I care 'bout most, she added silently.
Race leaned wearily against the wall, absently lighting himself a cigar. "Flick, sometimes I t'ink ya don't need a motive ta go crazy."
Flick rolled her eyes. "It's jist...I ain't e'zactly had da best o' days, Race," she pointed out ruefully. "Foist my best friend says sometin' moah vicious den I eveh t'ought she was capable o' sayin', let alone ta me. Den you go an' start givin' me a hard time at da race, an' den--" She cut off abruptly, hand flying to her face, delicately fingering the fresh, dark bruise.
The others hadn't commented. Of course not. The situation with Secret had distracted them.
"Dey din't notice," she thought aloud, relieved. Race, however, frowned.
"I noticed." When she didn't respond, he hinted, "Well?"
"Well...I got in a fight."
"Yeah? An' heah I'd figuah'd ya tripped."
Flick snorted. When it became apparent that that was all she planned to say on the matter, Race stamped out his cigar in resignation. "A'right, have it yer way. Half-truths again. You an' Secret both. Jist like da week afta youse two foist came heah. Ain't eidda o' youse eveh gonna start trustin' us, Flick?"
"How can we?" Flick countered. "We can't even trust each odda."
Race just shook his head, staring at her black eye and the fiery anger that still blazed in her face. All at once, he grinned.
"Tell ya one t'ing...musta been one tough teppista ta land a punch on Flick O'Grady."
He was pleased to see her eyes lighten a shade; she seemed to possess some fascination with the foreign words that occasionally slipped into his speech.
"Translation, please?"
"Thug," Race replied simply.
"Ah." Flick smiled weakly. "Y'know, ya gotta teach me dat sometime."
"Teach ya Italian?" He actually laughed slightly at the sheer abruptness and irrelevance of the request, but stopped quickly at Flick's glare and held up his hands in surrender. "A'right, shoah! Why not? Italian lessons. We'll start tomorra."
"Yeah," Flick agreed firmly. "An' we'll tawk."
"Sounds good ta me," Race murmured as he finally opened the door, and the two of them padded toward their bunk beds, located next to each other. "We shoah got plenty ta tawk about."
Flick nodded grimly and climbed up into her bunk, not sparing so much as a glance for the girl in the bunk below. She flopped back onto her pillow, never guessing that by this time the next night, she and Racetrack would have even more to discuss.
Secret's eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. She did not tremble anymore, nor did she cry. Her body was numb, her mind barely functioning. She wanted to become nothing, a shadow, or a solid wall that would block out the world. All he had done was kiss her. She couldn't even remember that kiss. It was long, she was sure, and deep; she remembered a silent explosion. She hadn't liked it. She hadn't hated it. She hadn't felt anything at all.
He couldn't have known it was her first kiss ever. He couldn't have known how utterly lost she had been, as the person she had always been, and everything she had always known, seemed to shatter in that eerie supernova. He couldn't have known there was someone watching them, standing far away, on the Manhattan side of the bridge, his lips, in keeping with the terrible silence, speaking nothing aloud, but carefully mouthing her name.
A/N: And there you go. At last, an update for my beloved readers. :-) I don't have to beg you to review. You always review. And how very grateful I am for it. But do let me know what you think. Tell me if Secret's annoying you. (She's annoying me! ) Tell me what you think will happen with her and Spot. Tell me if anything will ever happen with Flick and Race. Tell me I ask too many questions...just tell! evil grin 'Cause the more you tell, the sooner I update...
Your Terrible Little Slacker,
Flare