Author's Note: I do not own West Side Story
January
"Riff, are you fuckin' crazy? You called a truce with the PRs?"
Riff stood his ground, the rest of the Jets staring, some glaring at him with disappointed faces. He crossed his arms, standing tall, remembering who he was. And he would be happy to remind those who forgot.
"Not a truce, just an understanding," he clarified. "They get to expand their territory and they'll keep outta ours. For good, this time."
"I dunno, Riff," Ice replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "Sounds like bull to me. How do you know they're gonna stick to it?"
"They will. I know it."
Of course, Riff didn't know it. Not for certain. But all he had to go off was his gut, and the memory of the dark look in Bernardo's eyes. The desperation and regret. And for him, it was enough.
"What a bunch a shit," Action scoffed, kicking at the dirt.
"Easy there buddy boy," Riff scowled at him. "Don't forget, you'd be trampled into the dirt if it weren't for Bernardo savin' yer ass. Or did you already forget?"
Action went to speak, but decided against it. Perhaps the humiliation of having to be saved by a Shark was bad enough without further embarrassment from Riff. Besides, he knew it was true. They all did.
"Look, ain't this what we wanted in the first place? For them to keep off our terf?"
"We wanted them gone," Tiger jumped in.
"Well, you guys now as good as me that ain't gonna happen. Besides," Riff said, starting to move around the group of guys as he spoke. "What do you think's gonna happen when they go? Another group is just gonna go and move right on in their place. We've had it before. The Emeralds, Bishops, Egyptian Kings...they're all the same."
"Then weren't it all for nothin'?" Diesel asked, his voice flushed with frustration. "What happened to you, what happened to Tony...we just give up?"
"It ain't givin' up," Riff said firmly. "We get our streets. They just have a little patch of their own. And it's still little. Besides, what are we gonna go with a bunch of run-down Puerto Rican stores anyhow? These streets, right here..." He stomped his foot on the ground for emphasis. "...These are ours. Ain't it enough?"
The Jets grew silent. He watched them exchange glances.
"At the end a' the day, we shook on it," Riff added, his voice low and authoritative. "We owe him one on account of what he did for Action. If they ever step into our territory, then by all means, feel free to start somethin' with 'em. But nothin' until then. No crossing the line. If anyone disagrees, then come and show me."
He held his arms out in a gesture of challenge. He waited, but nothing happened. He knew nothing would. He was still the leader, and had earned their respect over years of gaining it. Through mistakes that eventually turned to good decisions, every time. From years of giving secret advice, from holding secrets. For showing that he was quick on his feet, good with a knife, and could hold his own, even against the bigger guys.
Especially now, when he had basically risen from the grave, none of them would dare touch him.
He let his arms fall. The air had shifted, and Ice looked at him, giving him a nod of affirmation, of support. The rest seemed to silently fall in line. All except for one:
"You're full of fuckin' shit, Riff."
Riff turned, seeing Baby John standing behind him. His face was set into a glare, his hands fisted and almost shaking at his side. It was such a strange image, that Riff was hardly sure if he was seeing things right. But he looked at the others, saw their confused faces, and realised they all saw the same thing.
"You got somethin' to say?" he asked quietly, stepping towards the younger Jet.
"Yeah," Baby John spat, raising his finger at Riff. "You're a coward."
"Easy, Baby J," Ice said, his voice low and laced with threat. Defence for his leader. "Don't talk to him like that."
"Nah, it's alright," Riff said, holding his hand up. "Let him speak."
"You're a goddamn coward. What he did to you..." Baby John shook his head. "...You're gonna let him get away with it. And what, let them expand their territory? Shit."
"You don't wanna fight the Sharks for the rest of your life, do you?" Riff asked. He approached Baby John, slowly.
"No, but you should."
"Listen, kid--"
Riff reached his arm out, but Baby John stepped back, away from him.
"I ain't a goddamn kid!" Baby John argued, his voice raised now. It carried throughout the torn down tenements and construction work like an angry echo.
"Alright, relax."
"Hey, ease up."
"Riff, you want us to get him outta here?"
"No." Riff watched Baby John carefully. There was something so very unsettled about him, so angry. Baby John was anxious at times, energetic and wild at others, but he'd never seen him like this before.
"I mean, come on!" Baby John yelled. "You just gonna roll over? Just like that?!"
"Hey," Riff reached forward and grabbed Baby John's shoulders, holding tightly when the other tried to wriggle away. He spoke softly, like he was reasoning with a child. "What's the matter? What's gotten into you?"
"I just don't understand why you're gonna let him get away with it!"
"Why's it eatin' you so bad? You ain't the one that he stabbed."
Baby John ripped himself from Riff's grasp. His eyes brimmed with tears.
"No, but I'm the one that threw you the knife!" he yelled.
Silence fell amongst the Jets like a weight. Riff stepped back, understanding then. His heart ached. All this time, he'd not seen it. Not seen the way Baby John was so attentive after he'd woken up from the rumble. So eager to please, trying to throw himself into everything they did. He was trying to make up for giving Riff the knife that started everything in the first place.
Riff had been so busy trying to make sense of it himself, that he hadn't seen someone else that was suffering because of it.
He turned to look back at Ice, who watched the scene with a solemn expression. The others either looked away, feeling witness to something that they shouldn't, or watched Baby John with the same kind of heartbreak that Riff was beginning to feel.
Riff turned back to Baby John, who was trying his hardest to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
"Hey..." Riff raised his hand to him, slowly. "...It's okay."
"No, it's not," Baby John countered, his voice hoarse. "It's not okay. Someone needs to pay for it all. It should be Bernardo."
"Listen." Riff searched for the words. "These things...they...it would have happened anyway. That's on me. Not you. And Bernardo...he--"
"Don't defend him," Baby John replied, laughing cruelly as he did. It didn't suit him. "Don't."
"I--"
Baby John turned on his feet and walked away. Riff heard feet behind him and saw Ice move towards the former, but he reached his hand out and pressed it against his chest.
"Let him go," Riff instructed. "He needs some air."
Together they watched the young Jet walk away from them, around the corner, and out of sight.
---
Vivienne stood by her sink, washing a coffee cup, high on the warmth and intimacy that she and Riff had shared the night before. Each day that passed, she loved him more. Everything about him that used to drive her crazy was now just something she wanted to see. Wanted to hear.
She knew him so well now. They knew each other's touch, each other's voice. The feeling of each other overwhelmed them both. If they stood in a crowded room, she was sure they could find each other instantly.
Her thoughts were broken when the front door swung wide. She spun around and saw Baby John storm in, his body tense and coiled. His face was scowled. It didn't take her long to realise he was in distress.
"Hey," she cooed, placing the cup down and moving to him. "What's the matter?"
"It's my fault," he croaked. Then, it was all over. He broke down into tears.
Vivienne threw her arms around him, not fully understanding why he was so devastated, but knowing he needed someone to hold him.
"Shh," she hushed. "What's your fault?"
"Riff. At the rumble...I'm the one that threw him the knife...Then Bernardo took his knife out and that's when it started. It's my fault."
Vivienne took in a breath. The young Jet shook underneath her, shuddering through his tears.
"It's not your fault," she mumbled. "...These things have a way of happening. Just because you threw him the knife doesn't mean it wouldn't have happened some other way. Besides, Riff's okay. He's here."
"Did he tell you? About him and Bernardo yesterday?"
"Yeah, he told me." Vivienne tried to sound diplomatic.
But even she couldn't help but feel relieved that the Jet-Shark war was winding down. But this didn't seem to be the answer Baby John wanted, so he stepped back from her and paced around the room wildly.
"It's bullshit. Bernardo should pay," he muttered.
Vivienne gripped the table under her hand. Seeing Baby John like this - speaking angry words of revenge - it horrified her. Just another reminder of what all the hatred breeds.
"Why does anybody have to pay?" she asked, moving around to stand in front of him. She took his arms in her hands. "Why can't you all just move on? Riff has? Bernardo will. Don't let this sit with you for the rest of your life."
"They think I'm a kid," Baby John said.
"You are a kid," she replied. "I'm sorry, but you are. But, they're not exactly men, either."
"Riff resents me for it. I know it. The way he holds me back, talks down to me..."
"Riff doesn't resent you!" she cried in frustration. "He loves you! He does all that because he wants you safe. He feels responsible for you. He's looking out for you!"
"Like I shoulda' been lookin' out for him, right? That night?"
She didn't have anything to say to that. She knew there was only so much she could do. The look of self-hatred in his eyes told her everything she needed to know, because it was something she had felt for herself for so long.
They stared at each other, lost for a moment, before Baby John tore his gaze away and looked down angrily at the ground.
"Someone's gotta do somethin'," he eventually said. He spoke more to himself than her.
"Hey," she snapped, holding his arms tighter. "Don't do something stupid. Don't be childish."
"Why not?" he asked, his voice loaded. He yanked his arms away from her. "After all, I'm a kid, ain't I?"
With that, he pushed past her, running towards the door and out of her sight. Stunted by her own shock, she quickly came to life and ran to the stairs, throwing herself against the bannister to call after him.
"Baby John, wait!" she shouted. "Hey! Wait!"
When he didn't answer, and she heard the tell-tale sound of the front door slamming, she whacked her hands heavily down on the wood, grunting in frustration.
"Shit," she hissed, before taking off down the stairs herself.