(A/N Musical Spot and Race
Sorry, I have writer's block, I have no idea what this is.
Set in canon era, a few years after the strike)
"Tell me somethin' Spotty."
Spot Conlon turned from his current position, leaning against a wall next to the window in his bedroom, to face the Manhattan Newsie who was sprawled across his bed.
"Somethin'."
Racetrack Higgins lazily lifted his head to shoot an unamused glance to the boy across the room.
"Har har, very funny Spotty."
The blond smirked and crossed the room to flop down next to his friend, arms under his head, legs crossed at the ankle. "I try."
The gambler rolled onto his side to look the Brooklyn leader in the eyes, a question evident on his face.
Spot shifted slightly to see his friend better. "What's on ya mind, Racer?"
Race frowned and flopped back down, sticking his cigar back in his mouth. "Nothin'."
"C'mon," Spot groaned and rolled onto his side. "I know when ya bluffin' Higgins. Ya can't lie ta me. So what's on ya mind?"
When the brunet still didn't meet his eyes, Spot let out a huff of annoyance and sat up, grabbing the other boy's cigar.
"'Ey!" Race protested. "My cigar!"
"Nah," Spot replied cooly. "Think it's mine now. Least till ya tell me what ya was gonna say."
Race whined and sat up, reaching for his cigar.
Spot dodged easily. "Dat's cheatin', Racer."
"Give it back, Spotty!" Race dived for it again, this time ending up knocking both of them off the bed onto the floor, landing with him sprawled across Spot's chest.
The shorter lost his breath, for more than one reason, and the taller just groaned and buried his head in Spot's shoulder, the shorter instinctively moving his hand to tenderly cup the back of the other's head.
"Racer." Spot's voice was a bit faint, but the other didn't notice.
The Manhattan Newsie raised his head slightly. "Hm?"
"Get off." Spot ordered.
Race just burrowed further into the shorter boy. "No."
Spot sighed, secretly savoring the feeling of the other boy in his arms, and grabbed Race's shoulders, flipping them over, so that he was directly over Race, supported by his hands and knees.
"'Ey!" Race pouted, looking off to the side in a childish act of defiance.
"Just ask ya question already." Spot said exasperatedly.
Race suddenly moved to grab the cigar from Spot's hand. "Gimme my cigar!"
The shorter boy quickly put his arm behind his back and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his friend. "Told ya Racer." Spot chided. "Cheatin' won' do ya no good. Ask ya question and I'll give it back."
When Race finally met his gaze, Spot could almost feel his insides melting. The Manhattan Newsie had curiosity written all over his face, big blue eyes swimming with a million unasked questions, eyebrows knit together and mouth forming a slight frown.
In short, the gambler was absolutely adorable.
Actually, 'innocent' was the first word that came to his mind. Along with 'precious'. And 'perfect'. It took all of Spot's self-control not to reach out and thread a hand through Race's hair, or stroke his cheek, or lean down and kiss his forehead.
Once he snapped out of his stupor, the Brooklyn Newsie cleared his throat in a, hopefully, not awkward way, and brought the cigar up next to his face, into Race's line of sight. "Ya want it back, don't ya?"
Race folded his arms and glared at his friend, trying to look intimidating, but only succeeding in reminding Spot of an angry chipmunk. "Fine. I'se just wonderin' how ya gotcha name."
"My name?" Spot questioned, one eyebrow raised again.
The gambler punched him in the arm. "Ya Newsie name."
"Really?" The Brooklyn Newsie chuckled. "Dat's what you made such a big deal about?"
Race stuck his tongue out at him.
"Well," Spot started. "If you really wanna know, it's because when I firs' became a Newsie, I happened ta have a black eye, an' one o' the older boys, guy named Fisher, said I reminded him of a dog 'e used ta have, wit' a spot around its eye. Afta' that, it jus' stuck."
Race snorted. "That's a terrible story."
"'Ey, you asked for it." Spot said defensively.
The Manhattan Newsie glared again. "Can I 'ave my cigar back now?"
Spot smirked. "Sure."
The taller reached for it, only to have it yanked away. He gasped dramatically and turned back to see his friend suppressing a grin.
"Spottyyyy..." Race whined pitifully, pulling out his puppy dog eyes.
"Raaaaace..." Spot mocked instinctively, before sticking the cigar behind his ear like a pencil.
At that point, the Manhattan Newsie pulled out his greatest weapon, at least in Spot's opinion: an expression that was somehow a mix between confused, concerned, and an angry chipmunk. That face made it almost impossible for the Brooklyn boy to deny whatever his friend wanted.
''E's got no idea, does 'e?' Spot suddenly realized. ''E's got no idea how much control 'e has ovah me. 'E could ask me for anythin' in the world an' I'd give it to 'im. An' 'e don't 'ave a clue...'
His internal monologue came to a sudden stop when he felt a hand gently poke the side of his face.
"Spot?"
The Brooklyn leader looked down into the concerned face of his best friend.
Race moved his other hand up to brush away a few of Spot's stray hairs. "What's wrong?"
The shorter avoided meeting his friend's eyes. "Nothin'."
"I know when ya bluffin', Conlon." The gambler quoted in a whisper, cupping the Brooklyn boy's face with both hands. "Ya can't lie ta me. So what's on ya mind?"
'You.' Spot thought desperately. 'Always is.'
He shook his head lightly in an attempt to clear it, only succeeding in slightly dislodging his friend's hands.
"I'm fine, Racer." Spot pulled himself off of the Manhattan Newsie, instead sitting cross-legged on the floor, back braced against the wall.
Race quickly followed suit, sitting on his knees in front of the shorter boy. "No, ya not."
"Jus'," Spot sighed and turned away, looking at anything but the boy in front of him. "Jus' leave it, Race."
There were a few seconds of quiet, in which Spot simultaneously panicked internally, fearing that he upset his friend, and wondered if he'd actually managed to make the noisiest being he had ever met fall silent, before the Manhattan boy let out a chuckle.
"I think I know whatcha thinkin' about, Spotty Boy." Race announced with a grin. "Ya thinkin' about someone."
"No 'm not." Spot grumbled.
"Oh yes you are, buddy-boy!" Race said delightedly. "So... who is she? Or he?"
"'S no one." The Brooklyn boy muttered, pushing himself off the floor to pace. "Leave it alone, Race."
"Aw! Come on, Spotty!" Race whined, standing up and taking his friend's spot against the wall. "I've been ya best friend fo' five years! Ya can tell me anythin'! Includin' this-"
"I SAID LEAVE IT, RACETRACK." The Brooklyn Newsie raised his voice, cutting off the other boy's speech.
They stood in silence for a moment, Spot standing there with his fists clenched tightly while Race watched him calmly.
The taller's gaze slid down to take in his friend's stance, hands tightly curled into fists, feet shoulder width apart, and back stiff as a board. If it was anyone else in Race's place, they would have bolted, but Race knew two things about Spot Conlon that many others didn't.
First was that his friend reverted to that defensive, intimidating stance when he felt nervous or threatened. It didn't mean he was mad, just scared.
And second was that Spot physically could not hurt Race. He'd tried once, they were in a bad argument and Spot drew back his fist to punch Race, but he couldn't do it. He just stood there like an idiot, with one hand drawn back and shaking and the other tightly grasping the front of his friend's shirt.
To make a long story short, Race wasn't afraid of Spot Conlon, and he knew he'd just pushed too far and scared his friend.
"Spot?" The gambler asked quietly, pushing himself off the wall to be closer to the other boy. "'M sorry, I shouldn'ta pressed it."
The Brooklyn boy looked his friend dead in the eye with an intensity that made Race think he might really get punched.
Instead, Spot took them both by surprise and almost tackled Race in a desperate hug. The momentum made the taller stumble backwards a few steps before he could return the embrace.
"Oh, Spotty..." The Manhattan Newsie breathed out pityingly.
"Shouldn'ta snapped at ya." Spot's voice was muffled from burrowing into his friend. "'M sorry, Racer. Ya don't deserve that."
"Neither, do you Spot." Race whispered as he tucked the shorter boy closer to him, cupping the back of his friend's neck and resting his head on the other boy's. "Can I ask what's wrong?"
The Brooklyn boy took a few deep breaths while the other Newsie lightly rubbed circles on his back.
"Y-you-..." Spot shakily tried to form words.
Race hummed, quietly encouraging his friend to continue.
"You mean so much to me, Racer." Spot's whisper seemed to cut through the air. "If you wasn't 'ere... I don't know if I'd even still be alive." The words seemed to settle in the silence. "Ya gimme a reason ta- ta keep goin', ta get outa bed in the mornin'. An' I don't think you realize that."
With a jolt, the Brooklyn boy realized that all of the taller's actions had come to a stop and for a terrifying moment Spot feared he might have said too much. That is, until he focused on the way Race's chest was shaking from his breathing and the feeling of something wet on his forehead.
He pulled back slightly to get a better look at the taller boy's face. A steady stream of tears was making its way down Race's face. It was only when said boy reached out a wiped away Spot's own tears did he realize that he had been crying as well.
Spot fitted his head back against Race's chest and gripped the taller tightly. "I- I jus' want ta grab holda ya... an'- an' nevah let go. Jus' want ta protect ya, keep ya safe from everythin' out there."
"I don't know what I did ta deserve you, Spotty." Race whispered in a choked voice into the other's hair. "'Cause I ain't never done nothin' good enough in my whole life to deserve someone like you."
The Brooklyn boy sobbed quietly and burrowed impossibly further into his friend. Race seemed to absorb him, lowering them both to the floor and setting the shorter on his lap so their faces would be level. The taller threaded a hand through Spot's hair and, after a moment, gently tugged on it, signaling to the shorter to lift his head.
"Spotty," He started, eyes narrowing in confusion. "What was that about it bein' hard ta get up in da mornin'?"
Spot heavily lifted his head up. "Jus' somethin' I been dealin' with fo' a long time."
Race tenderly adjusted his grip on the shorter boy. "Can you try to tell me about it?"
"It's..." Spot trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain. "It's like there's this pain deep inside me, an'... an' it wants to swallow me whole. An' sometimes it's not too bad, then other times... it's like it's already won."
Race was silent for a few moments, gazing at the opposite wall, before turning back to his friend and quietly asking, "Is there anythin' I can do ta help?"
Spot faintly smiled, but shook his head. "Nothin' more than what you've already done."
"Well, if there's evah anythin' else I can do," Race stated firmly. "You let me know. Alright?"
"Deal." The Brooklyn Boy agreed. "Could ya- could ya jus' stay here wit' me, fer a bit?"
"'Course, Spotty."
They stayed in that position for a long time. Until the Sun started to reach down for the water, and the sky began to sprout more vibrant colors.
Race lifted his head off of Spot's, where it had been resting, and gently shook the other boy awake.
"If I'm goin' back ta 'Hattan, then I gotta get goin' Spotty."
"A'right." Spot shakily stood up, surprised at how light he felt.
The Manhattan Newsie turned to his friend. "You doin' better?"
"Yeah." Spot answered honestly. "That pain's... I dunno, gone. Fo' now, at least."
"Well, dat's somethin'." Race pointed out. "A win's a win, right?"
"Yeah... Thank you, Racer, for everythin'." Spot ran a hand through his hair. "It, uh... it means a lot."
"'Course, Spotty." Race smiled softly at him. "What are friends for?"
The Manhattan boy grinned as he left, waving goodbye as he turned out of sight.
'Friends...'
The word echoed in Spot's mind.
'Friends...'
And a little bit of that pain came back.
Like I said, writer's block. There will be a part two (sorta).
Also, completely unrelated, but, has anyone seen the new West Side Story? I went to see it with some friends the other day and it was amazing! Plus Ben Cook and Mike Faist were in it, so that just made it even better. Also, I cried like six times, mostly because of Anita... and Riff... My brain is very full at the moment. Heh heh heh. Heh. Heh...
C'ya
-Julie