take a shot (but how’s your aim?) ch. 6 - interlude: ceasefire
Also on Ao3. Chapter five here.
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Racetrack is still straddling the line between pissed off and goddamn furious by the time the gates open up, scuffing the toe of his boot against the cobblestones and cursing Jack’s name six ways from Sunday. Then he sees Davey making his way down the road, sees the look on his face, and his heart just about falls through his stomach.
“Aw, hell, Davey,” Racetrack exclaims, rushing over. “What the fuck did he do now?”
Davey’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to fake a smile but can’t quite manage it.
“It’s nothing,” he says, his eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. “I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are,” Racetrack says, linking his arm through one of Davey’s own and leading him away from the distribution line. “C’mon, we’s takin’ a day.”
“Race, I’m fine,” Davey protests.
“You are not fucking fine,” Race disagrees whole heartedly. “Your heart’s been gettin’ stomped on every which way ta Sunday—the last thing you need is ta spend the day out in the broiling’ sun sellin’ papes. We’re takin’ a day.”
“Race,” Davey tries again, but Racetrack just keeps pulling him along, undeterred.
“Hey, Al!” Racetrack shouts when he spots him on the other side of Newsies Square, waving him over. Albert jogs towards them, his expression twisting up with the same kinda worry that’s churning in Race’s gut when he gets a good look at Davey. “Me an’ Davey are takin’ a day. Can you mark us down in the ledger or whatever, when you get a chance?”
Davey sighs. “This isn’t really what the sick day funds are meant for,” he mutters under his breath.
“What’s the point of ‘em, then, if not ta use ‘em when ya need ‘em?” Race counters, squaring his shoulders.
“You should take a day, Davey,” Albert offers, eyes sweeping critically over Davey’s form. “It ain’t like ya don’t deserve one an’, frankly, you look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks,” Davey says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You sure know how to lift a guy’s spirits, Albert.”
“You know what I mean,” Albert says. “Why don’t ya stop tryin’ so hard ta be okay an’ power through and jus’ take it easy for once? It’s one day, Davey, it ain’t the end of the world. ‘S not like anyone would hold it against ya.”
“You heard the man,” Race chimes in, clapping Davey on the back. “You’re out voted—we’re takin’ a day.”
Davey heaves another sigh. “Fine.”
…
The Brooklyn Bridge is full of people at this time of day, everyone in a hurry to get to where they’re going. There’s something peaceful about the chaos, though, something soothing about just standing there, watching, as the rest of the world rushes past you.
Or at least, that’s what Racetrack hopes anyway, watching Davey out of the corner of his eye. God knows he could use a bit of soothing.
They stand there for a good long while, neither of them talking—not needing to talk—the mist blowing up from the water tickling at their faces. Eventually, however, Davey turns away, staring out over the East River with that far away look of his, his face drawn and pale.
Quietly, so quietly that Race can barely hear him over the wind, he says, “He’s in love with her, Racetrack.”
“Bullshit,” Race denies immediately, shaking his head. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
“You saw them, didn’t you?” Davey asks, picking at his fingernails. “The flowers he bought for her?”
“You mean the ones you helped him find?” Racetrack scowls. “Yeah, I saw ‘em. Just about knocked his teeth in when he told me he dragged you along to pick ‘em out. But, Davey, they’s jus’ flowers, they don’t mean nothin’—“
“He told me himself, Race,” Davey murmurs tonelessly. “He’s in love with her.”
“Then I guess he’s lost his damn mind,” Race says. “‘Cause he ain’t in love with her, he’s in love with you.” Davey scoffs, ducking his head. “He is, Davey. You… you don’t see the way he looks at ya, the way he talks about ya when you’re not around. I’m tellin’ ya, he’s in love with you.”
“He’s not,” Davey says, simple as that, and the fact that he’s so resigned about it only makes Race want to scream that much more.
“Well, you’re in love with him,” Race counters, because that one’s impossible to argue with.
“So?” Davey asks. “What does that matter?”
“Wha—?” Racetrack splutters. “Of course it fuckin’ matters! You’re in love with him!”
“And he’s happy with her,” Davey says. “Aren’t we supposed to be happy for him?”
“I’ll be happy for him when he stops actin’ like such an idiot,” Racetrack declares. “When he stops fuckin’ everythin’ up, when he stops makin’ you cry—“
“Race,” Davey says softly. “Jack hasn’t done anything wrong.”
And that takes the wind right out of his sails. He swallows hard. “Dave…”
“He hasn’t,” Davey insists. “He doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, okay? Not you, not me, none of us. Just because I’m…” He crosses his arms over his chest, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Well, that’s on me. That’s my problem. It’s not Jack’s fault that he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“But he does, Davey,” Racetrack says because he just can’t let that part go, even as guilt and hopelessness duke it out in his gut. “It’s… he does.”
Davey smiles at him then, and it’s just about the saddest thing he’s ever seen: paper thin and more brittle than glass.
“You’re a wonderful friend, Tony,” he says. “But it’s not up to you to fix this. There’s nothing to fix. It just… is.”
Racetrack can’t meet his eyes. They stare out at the water for a few more minutes, standing shoulder to shoulder.
“For what it’s worth, Dave,” Race eventually says. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all’a this.”
Davey lets out a long breath. “It would’ve happened eventually—if not now, with Maggie, then at some point down the line. I guess it’s better to go ahead and get it over with.”
He looks at Racetrack then, and carefully continues with, “And speaking of Maggie, you need to apologize to her.”
“…I know,” Racetrack admits, shamefaced. “I know it ain’t her fault, I do, but I jus’ look at her an’ all I can think about is how much she’s hurtin’ you.”
“It’d be easier if she was awful,” Davey muses. “If she was a terrible person and I could justify hating her, but she isn’t. She’s honestly really nice—I get what Jack sees in her. And you know, if you gave her a chance, you might end up liking her too. Maybe you’d even be friends.”
“You’re my friend,” Race bites out, and that’s a truth that lives deep in the heart of him, etched right into his bones. “I’m not gonna— You’re my friend, Dave. You.”
The sudden declaration leaves Davey speechless for a moment. “Alright,” he says hoarsely. “I… alright. But, you should still apologize.”
“I will,” Race swears. “We ain’t gonna be no bosom buddies but I’ll make things right with her. I owe her that much, at least.”
“Good,” Davey sighs. “And, lay off of Jack a little, yeah? He still doesn’t know about… everything… and he’s trying his best, okay?”
“I ain’t makin’ no promises,” Race grumbles. “I still think he’s actin’ like a fuckin’ moron—he deserves all’a this an’ more.”
“Just try, please?” Davey pleads. “If not for Jack, then for me?”
“Fine,” Race mutters. “I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Davey says. “I… seriously, Tones. Thank you. For everything.”
Race curls an arm around Davey’s shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t even mention it.”
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Chapter seven here
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