Bonded

Chapter 2: Five Or Six Years Later

"EVERYBODY UP! WE GOT PAPES TA SELL!"

There was a chorus of groans and a few mumbled curses from the room at large.

Finch, however, opened his eyes with no complaint, swinging his legs off of his bunk and picking up his trusty slingshot. He loaded a marble, took aim, and shot Race's cigar out of its tin can and onto the floor, watching as it rolled just under Race's bunk. He smirked silently, glancing around to make sure no one had seen — no one had — then carried on with his morning routine.

He pulled on his flannel and suspenders, bantering a bit with Henry. He fished around for two socks that he was pretty sure were his, hoping they at least sort of matched, then he took a minute to look at the words written on his wrist in a sharp scrawl.

His soulmark. One of them. The other was a little harder to ignore.

'Systems are cruel.' He reminded himself. 'Even the soulmate system.'

But he still stared at those two little words every morning for the five or six years since he turned 10. And those words concerned him a little.

'It's Race.' Scrawled on his wrist in the handwriting of someone who had clearly never learned to write very well.

His soulmate was probably a Newsie. Probably a boy. Possibly Race. Though that didn't seem likely.

It was more likely that something would happen to Race and his soulmate would tell him, but he didn't really get how that would be his soulmate breaking his heart. It did, however, make him constantly worried for Race's safety. With good reason too. The boy was only fourteen, but he caused trouble like it was his life's purpose.

But enough about Race — for now at least — this is about Finch.

Still very proud of his little prank, he did a happy little jig as he walked down the hall to the other bunk room, where Specs slept and went through his morning routine, and therefore where Romeo was if he had any say in the matter.

Romeo eyed his bright demeanor suspiciously. "You look happy."

Finch just grinned cockily.

"ALBERT DASILVA WHERE'S MY FUCKING CIGAR!?"

Specs groaned and tossed a towel over his head. "You didn't..."

Finch just grinned wider.

"Oh, he did..." Romeo laughed.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Albert's voice yelled.

"YOU TOOK IT AGAIN, DIDN'T YA?!" Race screamed back.

"I DIDN'T TAKE YOUR CIGAR, YA GREEN BANANA!" Albert responded.

Specs lifted the towel away from his eyes. "Aren't they in the same room?"

"Yup." Finch grinned.

Specs raised an eyebrow. "And they're still screaming at each other?"

"What else d'ya you expect from Al and Race?" Romeo snorted.

Specs just sighed, buttoning his shirt. "Some peace and quiet would be nice."

Finch stole Romeo's hat and put it on Specs' head as he passed. "Find a different lodging house then."

Specs grabbed them both, spinning them into a group hug. "Nah, I wouldn't trade this for the world."

Finch whacked him playfully. "I'd trade this for all of us to live in a giant mansion with as much food, water, and money as we need."

"Quit bein' logical." Romeo grumbled from the inside of the hug, where he was burrowed into Specs' chest.

Specs laughed, looking down at his friend with doe eyes, which Finch took as his cue to leave.

He made eye contact with Buttons before he left, the other boy mouthing, 'Idiots' at him. Finch just nodded in agreement, then closed the door behind him.

He met up with Albert and Race as he headed downstairs. Race with his cigar back, and Albert tossing a marble up and catching it repeatedly.

"Mornin' Al, Race." Finch greeted as they stood on the landing. "See you got your cigar back, Racer."

Race shrugged. "It just fell out of its can."

"And he still hasn't apologized to me yet." Albert grumbled.

Race waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. It's in the past."

"That's not how it works..." Finch started, but Race had already hopped onto the railing and was sliding down.

"This ain't oVER, YOU LITTLE JERK!" Albert yelled after him, shaking his fist. Finch laughed and the other boy turned to him. "Y'know, I think I found something o' yours."

Finch tucked his hands in his pockets. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Albert said cockily, tossing the marble one more time before holding it up between them. "Found this near Race's cigar. You wouldn't happen ta know anything about that, wouldja?"

Finch plucked it out of Albert's hands. "Huh. What a crazy coincidence. I wonder how it got there."

"Finch-"

But Finch didn't hear the rest of the threat, as he was already sliding down the railing.

*-_-*-•-*-_-*

Ten minutes later they were walking to the distribution center in a giant group.

Finch ended up walking with Albert. They never really planned to walk together, and they rarely sought each other out, but they just kept ending up either next to each other. It was odd.

Anyway, back to the present.

Albert had a crease in his forehead. One of those worry lines that Jack had pretty constantly.

He wasn't completely sure what was causing Albert's now, but he had a pretty good guess. Albert was one of the few Newsies to have a family: a father and two brothers. Finch had had the displeasure of meeting one of his brothers outside of a bar, drunk as a skunk and yelling about how he'd be president one day, and he knew his father wasn't much better, especially after Albert's mother died.

He didn't know specifics — Albert didn't talk about it much, or ever — but from what he'd observed, Albert had never really gotten over her death, he'd just shoved down his grief and forced it out as anger instead. Finch blamed Albert's father for that. It wasn't something kids learned to do on their own. They were raised that way. Conditioned that wa-

"What're you worryin' about?" Albert asked suddenly, flicking him in the face. "You've got one o' those worry lines Jack's always got."

Finch almost laughed. Almost. "You, actually. I'm worryin' about the worry line you've got."

"Feels like we're goin' in circles here." Albert noted, ignoring Finch's subtle question.

It didn't go unnoticed, and Finch addressed him concernedly. "Albert..."

"Fin," Albert's voice hardened, "I'm fine. Just leave it."

That was the end of that. Once Albert clammed up, there was no getting information out of him. "Alright. Just know if you ever need somethin'..."

"Yeah," Albert's eyes were still on the ground, but he seemed a little... softer, "thanks, Finchy."

Finch slid an arm around his shoulders, playfully swatting at the back of Albert's head. "Anytime."