two sides of the same coin - Part 3
| Javey & Sprace fic | Part 2 is here | Word count: 2, 289 | Read on AO3 |
The next morning brings a soft breeze through the city, like the world's let out a big sigh. It ruffles through the bits of hair Davey hasn't tucked under his hat, carrying the smell of salty ocean air and the promise of something good, and his shoulders fall as he takes in a breath, some of the tension easing out of him.
He's walking with Jack and Race, the former trying his best to convince Race to come with them, the latter looking like he wants absolutely nothing to do with it.
"C'mon, Racer," Jack says, "I know you got some friends in Brooklyn. No way you wouldn't be a little helpful over there."
Davey knows what's coming before it even happens. Jack's been trying the same line of questioning for the past five blocks, and it's gone nowhere.
"Drop it, Kelly," Racetrack says, sounding bored. He flicks the coin he's been carrying up into the air, watching it as it spins and easily catching it on the way down, the same thing he's been doing ever since they left the lodging house. "I'm not going."
He has been very adamant about it, and Davey has to wonder why he keeps walking with them if he plans on turning around before they even leave Manhattan. Some strained sense of duty, perhaps, or a curiosity to see how it all turns out.
Flick, goes the coin. Race catches it again.
Davey feels a little guilty knowing that he and Jack are planning on doing the opposite of what Race had advised them, but the two of them had stayed up late the night before figuring out what they wanted to say. In the dark cover of night, with hushed voices and the buzz of being close to Jack, it was easy to feel confident in their own plan.
Jack grumbles to himself, something about how Race has no loyalty to anyone anymore, and Race's mouth pulls just the barest bit down to the left. It smooths out again almost sooner than it comes, though, right as he tosses the coin up again.
As fast as it goes up, Jack's arm darts out to catch it, snatching it right out of the air.
"Would you stop doing that?" he snaps. "You're annoying both of us, right, Dave?"
Davey shrugs, noncommittal. Race's been keyed-up all morning—all of them have, really—and he understands that it's Race's way of stress-management. It's either tossing the coin or playing with the ring on the strand around his neck, which his hand immediately goes to in the absence of the former.
Agitatedly, Race runs it along the string.
"Give it back, would'ya?" he asks.
Jack looks down at the coin for a second, then he squints back up suspiciously. Davey's instantly transported to a couple of days ago, when Jack kept losing at cards and was convinced the others were all somehow ganging up on him. Davey, of course, had nothing to do with it—he was still trying to figure out how the game even worked—but it turned out Jack had been right, and he was being tricked.
Jack's wearing that same look now.
"This ain't that rigged coin of yours, is it?" he asks.
"It's not," Race shoots back immediately, but when Jack holds it up for Davey to see, it certainly looks familiar. Davey lost some perfectly good papers over that coin, among other things, and it's not like he's forgotten it easily.
"Doesn't it look like that rigged coin?" Jack asks him.
"Yeah," Davey says. Race shoots him an annoyed glance, and, wanting to escape his ire, Davey shrugs again. "It does, sorry."
Racetrack rolls his eyes, but he luckily doesn't seem too agitated. Davey's in the clear.
"Yeah, well, it's not rigged, okay?"
It's a blatant lie if Davey's ever heard one, and he has to turn his head to the side to hide a grin. Jack doesn't even try to hide his laughter, and it rings out of him loud and uninhibited.
Davey finds his own grin spreading to match. He doubts he could ever get tired of that noise.
"Yeah, right, then how d'you explain all the things you tricked out of poor Dave here?" As if to accentuate his point, Jack throws an arm around his shoulders and tucks him in close; he lets out a startled cough, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks.
Race gives him a look like he knows exactly what he's thinking. He feels his face flush even more at being caught out like that, turning more red even as Jack releases him.
"Maybe," he begins, smiling up at the sky, right where the first glimpses of the Brooklyn Bridge are starting to peek through the buildings, "I just know something you don't."
Jack, completely unaware of the effect he's had on Davey, scoffs.
"Pretty sure that's what rigged means, Racer."
The breeze cuts through the city once again, ruffling Jack's hair up as it goes, and Race raises his eyebrows as he catches Davey staring. Once again, he's forced to look away, embarrassed. Davey's been clumsy and much too obvious with the things he wants this morning, and it's not Race's fault for noticing, but he now has a bit more leverage over him than he would prefer.
He's not keen on the idea of his secrets being laid bare, especially in front of Jack. As it is, he's forced to come to Race's defense.
"Leave it, Jack," Davey says. "I doubt he's revealing his secrets anytime soon, so might as well just let him be."
Race nods like it's been settled, and Davey relaxes once more. He's safe now, he thinks.
With a sigh, Jack flicks the coin back over, faster than Race had been expecting, based on the way his hand flies from his necklace and to the coin, scrambling to catch it.
The sudden movement leaves the ring exposed against Race's shirt, and Davey doesn't miss the way Jack's eyes catch and stick on it.
"Speaking of Racer's secrets," he says, a wicked gleam in his eye, "I think there's something Dave and I haven't been told."
Race had been busy pocketing the coin, but at Jack's tone, he looks up sharply.
"What're you talking about?" He sounds wary.
Davey suddenly feels an acute sense of wrongness, like this isn't a place that Jack should be venturing. He wants to shake his head in warning, but then he'd be forced to explain himself, which he can't really find the right words to do. Instead, he does his best to swallow the feeling down.
"I can't help but notice that our dear Racetrack—" Jack reaches out a hand to muss up Race's hair, almost knocking his cap off and getting a yelp and a swat in return for his troubles— "has got a new piece of jewelry."
Race hits him on the chest once more for good measure, swiping his cap off and running a hand through his curls. It settles his hair down but doesn't do much about his pink cheeks or the scowl etched onto his face.
As he puts the hat back on, he mutters, "Shuddup."
Davey wants to tell him to stop pushing. The uneasy feeling hasn't gone away despite his best efforts, and not even the cool breeze and sunshine overhead can quell it.
"Aw, c'mon, don't be shy. Have you got yourself a special someone?"
Davey clears his throat to try and relieve the tension. Jack and Race cut him a sideways glance.
"What?" he asks, feeling defensive as they come to a stop at a crossing, waiting for a carriage to pass in the street in front of them. Race just shakes his head, but Jack raises his eyebrows like he's expecting him to go on. Davey shifts his weight on his feet.
"Maybe Race just—likes how it looks."
Jack barks out a surprised laugh. Race closes his eyes and mutters something underneath his breath.
"Sure, Dave," Jack says, and Davey would be annoyed by the fact that he's being laughed at, except Jack's looking at him like he personally made the sun rise this morning, like he's the best part of Jack's day.
Ever observant, Race notices. He shakes his head again, just at the both of them this time.
In the street, the carriage makes the turn.
Race is the first one to take a step out onto the cobbled stones after it's gone. Davey wonders if he isn't becoming more confident the closer they get to the bridge, because, after all, Race comes out here almost daily. He knows this part of Manhattan better than Davey or Jack.
"You've planned out what you're going to say, right?" Race asks them, a hint of worry in his voice.
Davey thinks back to the darkness of last night when they were planning everything, and he thinks of the way the sunrise had looked this morning when they'd gone over it again.
"Yeah, we've planned it out," he says, and Race lets out a breath.
"Good," he replies, and there's that prickle of guilt in Davey's stomach again for going against Race's advice.
It'll be fine. It has to be.
Race makes an unexpected turn into an alley that Davey would miss on even the best of days, leaving Davey and Jack to look at each other in confusion. Davey furrows his eyebrows, but Jack just responds with a shrug and follows after Race.
The alley is hardly wide enough for all of them to fit, and it's dark, too. Davey gets the feeling it doesn't get a lot of light, with the smell and all. He wrinkles his nose at the stench of rotting food.
Up ahead, Race leads the way around several trash cans. He skirts around them like he does it everyday, seemingly unbothered by the smell. Davey can't say the same as he passes the garbage, but thankfully it's not long before they're coming out on the other side.
The reason for the detour becomes obvious as soon as they're out of the alley.
"There she is," Race says, nodding to the mass expanse of cables and wood that stretches out over the water.
He'd led them right to the Brooklyn Bridge with his little route, getting them there about five minutes faster than the route Davey knew. A glance to his right tells him that Jack's just as surprised, but certainly pleased.
"Well how 'bout that!" Jack grins. He looks back over at Race, considering once more. "You sure you don't want to come with?"
Race's hand makes an aborted motion upwards. Davey's not big on gambling, but he would bet a hundred papes that he was reaching for that ring of his. He's starting to notice a theme, truth be told.
Race's voice is steady, but Davey can see in his eyes that he's debating something internally. It takes him back to that fire escape where he'd had the conversation with Race, when he'd first seen the ring.
This close to the sea, the air is salty, and Race takes a deep breath in like he's steeling himself against something.
Davey knows better than to press it, though.
To Jack, he says, "Are you ready?"
He thinks deep down that neither of them are. Jack is shifting his weight from foot to foot, but Davey is in no place to judge with the way a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. Jack's spent the last few days putting every part of this bridge down on paper, and most of Davey's dreams have featured it, but it's something else entirely to be facing it in person, especially knowing what's facing them on the other side.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he says.
Race breaks the tension by reaching into his pocket—the one not holding the trick coin—and pulling out a cigar and a lighter. The lighter's much too nice for him, which means he undoubtedly swiped it from someone. He puts the cigar in his mouth and turns on the lighter with a flick.
"Well, have fun, you two," he says around the cigar. He lets it catch, then drops the lighter back into his pocket and swipes the cigar out of his mouth in a practiced motion. He's already grinning as he starts to walk backwards, immediately transforming back into his regular jokester self, and calls out, "Just not too much fun, alright?"
He snickers to himself and turns around right about the same time as Davey's face flushes something fierce.
"What's he talking about?" Jack asks, sounding vaguely disgruntled.
Davey hopes he won't notice how red his face is.
"Nothing, just ignore him," he mutters, and turns back to face the bridge. He takes a breath of the salty air and wishes it gave him half as much resolve as it appeared to give Race, but no such luck. All he's left with is the sound of rickety wagon wheels on cobbled streets and the terrible feeling of having the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
Davey looks back over to Jack, who looks about as confident as he feels.
"Whatever, Jack mutters, "let's just get this over with."
He takes a step out, making his way towards the bridge with a sort of projected certainty to his steps, the kind that most of the newsies would be happy to fall for but Davey can tell is as fake as the headlines Jack usually yells out.
Still, Davey has no choice but to follow—and follow he does, all the way across the bridge and into Brooklyn.
