Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 100: Davey Gets Caught
The next day, Davey's voice still had not returned.
After walking Les to the distribution center so that he could continue his usual practice of hawking headlines on the weekend and leaving him in the care of the agreeable Race, Davey returned to the tenement. He wouldn't be any good as a newsboy that day, but he could still redeem the time by putting his efforts towards his other job.
Philip Becker was in his office when Davey stopped by with slate in hand to explain his situation, and after a slightly-awkward conversation due to the pauses necessary to scribble out answers to the landlord's questions, a list of projects was decided upon, and Davey was off to start the first of his jobs for the morning: sweeping up the debris that had blown onto the tenement grounds from the previous day's wind.
Thankfully, the gusty weather had abated, and that day there was only a mild breeze. The weather was sunny and pleasant, and it was refreshing to be outdoors with a relatively calmer task to accomplish than the usual high-stress job of selling The World. The solitary nature of the endeavor also gave Davey plenty of time to think, which he was grateful for.
The morning passed by quickly as he completed a number of items from the landlord's list with only a few short breaks to rest and rehydrate himself. His throat was beginning to feel a bit better, but when he tentatively tried to speak a few words, all he could manage was a whisper, and he found the tightness returning even after that short attempt, so he quickly resigned himself to remaining silent for the remainder of the day, for he did need to recover his voice as soon as possible.
He was used to working alongside Philip at the tenement; generally the landlord was around, engaged in a concurrent project or else instructing Davey as they tackled a task together, but that morning the former was busy with meetings and finishing the final preparations for his oldest daughter's impending visit, so Davey was left to his own devices. He was inwardly pleased to realize how much he was able to do independently at this point - he knew the supply closet like the back of his hand, could do almost all of the routine maintenance tasks by memory, and even managed to solve a few unexpected problems on his own without requiring the landlord's assistance.
When two o'clock hit, he felt as though he could keep working, but made himself stop to take a late lunch instead. The family apartment was quiet when he returned; his mother was at the lace factory, his father (who, after his second accident, had promised to be more compliant about resting) was taking a nap, and Les was still out selling, since he'd surprisingly finished all of his schoolwork and thus was free to spend his whole day with the newsies.
Taking advantage of his solitude, Davey got out the food that his mother had set aside for him and spent the next half hour reviewing the material for his competency exams while he ate his lunch. The tests would take place the following week, and he needed to prepare as much as possible.
After finishing his food and cleaning up the dishes, he left the apartment and headed to the rooftop for the next assignment on his list: restringing the clotheslines that had been blown off by the wind the day before. Upon arriving, he saw that there were quite a few that were damaged, so he procured a spool of cording and a pair of scissors from the landlord's office, then set about his task.
It was simple and mindless work, and he quickly lost himself in the repetitive motions, so much so that if he hadn't been facing towards the stairs, he would have completely missed seeing Sadie ascend them and step onto the rooftop with a small basket in hand.
"Good afternoon, Davey!" she said cheerfully. "Papa warned me about your condition and told me that you aren't to use your voice, so I shan't bother you with conversation, but I do hope that you'll be feeling better soon."
He smiled, happy to see her even if they couldn't chat as usual. He'd been meaning to catch her at some point to tell her how much he'd appreciated her kindness two days ago when she'd patiently listened to his anxious rambling, for it had done much to steady him in that moment and he'd only realized later how much that had meant, but it looked like he'd have to wait for another opportunity.
"It's a beautiful day," Sadie observed, turning her face upwards towards the sun's warmth and closing her eyes appreciatively. She wasn't wearing a hat, and the mid-afternoon light shone on her hair, giving it a soft, lucent quality for just a moment before she let out a little sigh of contentment and walked over to the corner of the rooftop where the Beckers kept their miniature garden. Kneeling down, she began to pick sprigs of herbs from the planter boxes, and Davey turned back to his own work...but instead of resuming the task of restringing the clotheslines, he found himself watching the landlord's daughter out of the corner of his eye.
He wasn't sure why his attention had been caught. Sadie didn't look any different - her hair was done up like usual, and she had on the same dress and apron that she usually wore when she was working at home. Furthermore, she wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary - he'd seen her gather produce from the garden multiple times before, so there was no reason for him to be so fascinated by the same routine today…
But, inexplicably, the fascination was there. Perhaps it was because there was no expectation to speak in that moment and his mind, now freed from the task of coming up with what to say, could fully observe her instead.
When he was younger, his mother had once taken him to visit the home of her friend who had married well and taken up residence in a mansion just off of Fifth Avenue. Davey had been only twelve at the time and hadn't been very enthusiastic about the visit, but it had made an impression on him for one particular reason: in the entryway, facing the door, there had been a large oil painting. It wasn't a depiction of the family who lived there, nor was it a memorialization of some long-since-deceased relative. It wasn't of a person at all, in fact.
It was a painting of the sun setting over the ocean.
Davey had seen the sun rise over the Atlantic before, shivering in the morning chill next to his father as the darkened sky took on the faintest hint of light before the sun finally peeked up from the horizon and illuminated everything in its glow. He'd thought it beautiful in its own way (though perhaps not worth rising so early for), but it hadn't made much of an impression on him.
For whatever reason, though, he'd been completely captivated by the sunset in that painting. The artist had rendered the colors so skillfully that the line between sea and sky was seamless, the ocean's deep cerulean blue melting into the sky's brilliant orange, all at once fiery and calm, dynamic and still, sea and sky together, distinct and yet so intimately melded that each reflected the other's depths in a wildly beautiful way.
And Davey had found himself imagining what it might have felt like to stand on some western shore, watching the sun set over the ocean until the last sliver of light slipped beneath the horizon and all that was left was the warmth of its glow. He wondered if he would be mesmerized by the waves as they came in and out, always the same, always changing, calm and comforting in their rhythm yet wild and majestic in their power, pulling him in a way that he couldn't understand and was powerless to stop, despite the fact that he'd been watching them over and over again for hours...
His mother had drawn him away from the painting, and its temporary hold on him had been broken, but a bit of the enchantment must have lingered, for Davey had found himself thinking of sea and sky often in the weeks that followed, and even after years had passed and the recollection of that visit had faded with time, the image remained clear in his mind - perhaps only less vivid than the memory of what it had felt like to be so utterly captivated by a sight that he couldn't bring himself to look away.
It was oddly similar to how he felt now as he observed Sadie. She was familiar, unassuming and ordinary, and he knew there was nothing new to see, yet he was mesmerized in that moment, drawn in by something that he didn't quite understand.
The landlord's daughter finished her task, and Davey watched as she set the now-full basket of herbs by the planter box before walking to the edge of the rooftop to look out over the city. The sunlight filtered through her hair as a soft breeze stirred the wisps around her face, and the realization suddenly dawned on him that he could have easily stood there watching her forever.
But, as it turned out, he looked for a bit too long.
Sadie turned around, and Davey, caught off guard, wasn't quick enough to avert his gaze before she caught him staring at her. For a moment, their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved…
...then Sadie's lips curved into a smile, and Davey felt himself blush to the tips of his ears as she took a step forward.
"Enjoying the view?" she asked playfully.
His heart began to pound as his mind raced frantically through the list of equally mortifying responses available. What should he say? What could he say? He couldn't tell her the truth - but he couldn't lie. But if he did tell her - what would she - what would she think?
Panic! Definitely, definitely time to panic!
Sadie closed the distance between them, her eyes mischievously bright. "I'm just teasing you, Davey," she murmured, placing a finger over his mouth. "No talking, remember?"
He expected her to turn away with that little grin she had whenever she'd flustered him successfully, but instead she lingered, looking into his eyes, and as she held him there, her smile gave way to a soft and thoughtful look, as though she was searching for something hidden in his panicked, wide-eyed gaze.
It was both thrilling and terrifying to be perused so closely, and the realization that she'd completely turned the tables on him only deepened his sense of helplessness. His breath was caught in his throat and his heart was racing, and despite the fact that all of his senses were suddenly heightened, he couldn't seem to form a single coherent thought.
Chare… he stammered silently. Chare, please, I -
He could see the colors in her eyes and the faint smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and the sensation of her finger pressing gently against his lips was making his composure unravel quicker than a ball of yarn in the paws of a curious kitten. She was standing so close to him, and she was riveting, and he couldn't speak, he couldn't move or breathe. He could only beg wordlessly for her to release him before she read the truth in his eyes…
...because the truth was that he had been enjoying the view. Very much so.
Panicking was definitely the only valid response at this point. But even as his thoughts were spinning out of control, he simultaneously found himself settling into the gentleness of her touch and the warmth of her smile, and he desperately wanted her to let him go, and yet he didn't, and - and -
And what in the world was wrong with him?
After what felt like an eternity (but couldn't have been longer than a second or two), Sadie finally dropped her hand and, with another little smile, turned away, walking over to pick up her basket of herbs and giving Davey a momentary chance to compose himself.
He took in a shuddering breath.
He could feel his heart still pounding, even as his mind tried to right his teetering emotions.
What - what had just happened?
This was Sadie Becker. Sadie Becker, the landlord's daughter. The one who had spilled paint on his favorite shirt. His classmate who didn't care at all for school, who would rather climb a tree than study. Sadie, who painted doors and hung laundry and ruined cookies - impulsive, cheeky, kind-hearted Sadie, with the sweetest, gentlest smile and eyes the color of -
Stop it, Davey told himself.
Hadn't he seen her smile before? Hadn't he looked into her eyes on multiple occasions without feeling the slightest bit of fascination? Hadn't she teased and flustered him from almost the very first moment of their acquaintance? He shouldn't have been caught off guard by any of those things, and yet here he was, shaken by the sudden onslaught of emotion that had completely overwhelmed his normally more than adequate equanimity.
There was, most definitely, something very wrong with him.
He had never felt as helpless as he had in that brief moment, and it deeply unsettled him. He'd always prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but clearly he wasn't as self-controlled as he'd thought, and now he was left with this puzzling conundrum of feelings that he couldn't even begin to make sense of. This wasn't something he could understand or reason through. It wasn't a problem to be solved or an assertion to weigh. It was just…just...
What even was it?
Interest? Intrigue? Some kind of strange panic reflex brought on by yet another social situation that he had absolutely no idea of how to respond to? He wasn't beginning to lose his mind, was he? Perhaps from all the worrying he'd done as of late?
Davey massaged the back of his neck unhappily.
The strange deluge of emotion felt uncannily similar to the mildly confusing feelings he'd experienced during the strike when he'd been talking with Sadie on the rooftop or walking through the streets of Manhattan by her side. He hadn't been able to put his finger on what they were then, but he had a better idea of what they were now, and one thing was certain: they were no longer mild.
Les' teasing remarks suddenly came back to him, pointed and taunting:
You said she has a pretty smile - that's something only a smitten person would say.
Why are you always talking about how smart she is? I already know she's smart; you don't have to keep bringing it up every other day.
Were you and Sadie canoodling? There's no way a tutoring lesson should have taken that long!
Davey felt himself blushing anew at the memory of the last comment. He should have known better than to listen to Les (even if it was just Les' voice in his head); there was no way his younger brother's conjectures would be helpful in finding a solution to this problem.
Still...were those remarks relevant at all? Was this something akin to what Les was suggesting? Fondness? Attraction? Infatuation? Davey knew these words; he'd applied them with methodological precision to others he'd observed on multiple occasions. But he'd always thought that if he ever had the occasion to feel any of those things, he would be a great deal more self-possessed about it.
Pride cometh before a fall, came the rueful, self-deprecating thought.
He wasn't sure if he was ready to concede the conclusion that his unexpected reaction was the result of (for lack of a better word) feelings, for surely he knew better than to let that kind of thing get the better of him.
But in the absence of any equally-likely culprit…
"Davey..." Sadie's voice suddenly broke the silence, and he turned to see that she was examining him closely, as though trying to read his thoughts. He acknowledged her with a little nod, but couldn't stop himself from ducking his head, hoping that she hadn't caught his troubled look. There was no way she could have known that she'd just turned his world upside down...right?
She must have sensed his consternation, for a look of dismay suddenly crossed her face.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now," she said hesitantly. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have teased you like that."
It was the first time she had ever shown the slightest hint of remorse for her cheekiness, and it caught him off guard.
"I think you know by now that I'm hopelessly impulsive," Sadie continued, "but it was completely improper of me...and I apologize." Her fingers were anchored in the fabric of her skirt as she looked up at him with the slightest hint of color in her cheeks. "I hope that you can forgive me for my foolishness this once. I promise, I'll do my best not to overstep again."
Davey wasn't sure if he was thankful or frustrated to be voiceless at that moment. It spared him the necessity of a reply, which he was grateful for. But he could see the distress in her eyes, and the thought that she was faulting herself for his own irrational reaction dismayed him. He didn't want her to assume that he'd been offended by her forwardness, when in reality it was his own ridiculousness that was to blame, and in any case, he ought to be the one apologizing - it was he who had been so impolitely staring at her in the first place, after all.
He'd left his slate downstairs, not expecting to have any company on the rooftop, so that method of communication was out of the question, and in the end, he settled for giving her a reassuring smile and a little shake of his head, hoping it somehow communicated that there were no hard feelings and that she didn't need to feel bad about it. She seemed relieved at his response, so he felt a little better...but he was also relieved when she left shortly after that and he could be alone with his thoughts.
He was still in a bit of a daze.
Applying himself to his task, he finished re-stringing the rest of the clotheslines, trying his hardest to reign in his scattered emotions and figure out exactly what kind of malady had seized him in the hopes that a diagnosis would aid him in disentangling himself from the unsettling effects of this troubling affliction...
...but by the time he left the rooftop, he had yet to reach a satisfactory conclusion, and still hadn't the foggiest idea of what he was going to do.
A/N: "Go and look it up..." ;)
