Fridays were Spots favourite, and not just because it was the day before the weekend, Friday was date night. Friday was the day that he got Races full undivided attention. Friday was the day that he longed for during a long week of work, thinking about Races gorgeous eyes looking at him doe-fully from the other end of the table, throwing out jokes that just might make him smile and getting to just hear him talk. That gentle yet loud voice that seemed to be able to talk its way out of all spots problems for him. No homework, no annoying co-workers, and no stress.
Yeah. Friday was going to be perfect. No problems, just the two of them.
Unfortunately for Spot, it wasn't Friday, it was Thursday.
"Race, could you pass me the remote?" Spot asked.
Race remained silent, chewing on the end of his pen, staring down at some sheets of paper, like he had been, for the last two hours.
"Race?" Spot asked again, this time waving a hand infront of his unfixed eyes.
"Huh?" Race blinked back into focus, starting a bit. Spot smiled.
"I said can you pass me the remote." Spot repeated softly.
"Oh yeah! .... sorry." Race quickly picked up the remote and handed it over, however, Spot didn't move to turn on the TV, instead, as if he had turned on a movie - his favourite movie - he began to analyse Races face and quick squirrel-like movements.
"Are you okay?" He asked gently, placing a hand on his leg.
"Yeah!" Answered Race slightly too quickly.
"Come on, talk to me." Spot lightly pulled Race back so that Races back was slumped on his chest and his head tiredly resting on his shoulder.
"I knew that college was hard but I didn't think it would be this hard." Race whined, looking up at Spot.
"I know...you'll get it, you always do." Spot reassured, wrapping his arms around him.
"And I feel so guilty." Race carried on.
"About what?" Spot gently kissed the side of his head.
"You."
"Me?"
"I'm always either at college, or doing homework and I feel like I don't make enough time for you." Race mumbled into Spots shoulder.
"No Race don't you worry about that, focus on school it's way more important...and although I'd love to have you all to myself every day of the week...I'll settle for Friday."
Race smiled and tilted his head upwards,"Yeah, Friday."
From where they were sat, they both heard the rings of Races phone disregarded on the sofa near them. Race scrambled over Spot to get it.
"Hello?"
"Oh shit really?"
"I'd sue personally."
"Mega mega fuming."
"Uh yeah I guess you can!"
"Italian, the one near my college."
"This Friday yeah."
As if a puppy being wound up by the word walk, Spot turned his head comedically slow and blinked in disbelief.
"See you then, bye."
Race turned back around and audibly laughed at Spots shocked face.
"What did you just do." Spots voice was weirdly deep.
"That was Davey, he said that his date reservations were cancelled and asked if they could join us." Race replied, almost laughing again.
"No."
"Too late." Race smiled
"I am not going on a date with fuck ass Jack." Spot said angrily.
"You wouldn't be on a date WITH Jack you'd be on a date with me, and Jack would just be there too." Race soothed.
"There's no way." Spot said blankly.
" Come on, a double date will be fun!...and I've already said yes." Race beamed.
Dramatically, Spot let out a load groan, covering his face with his hands and sliding further down the sofa until he lay face down on the floor.
"Get a grip mate." Race joked, walking right on top of Spots back to get to the kitchen.
Friday came faster than it ever had before for Spot, the one time he dreaded it.
"Oh hey guys." Race smiled as he approached the door of the restaurant at the same time Jack and Davey arrived.
"Hiya!" Davey said happily, clearly very exited.
"Is that new?" Spot indicated to Jack's coat, not even greeting him.
"Yeah and what of it?" Jack said defensively.
"Nothing...." Spot dragged out the last silobol as if it were a question, trying to find eye contact with Race to test the waters.
"You look like princess Diana." Race said flatly.
Spot laughed loudly, davey hid a smirk and Jack stood there looking as though he was trying to use his mind to make Race explode.
"How the hell do I look like princess Diana?" Jack snapped.
"I didn't mean anything by it....it just makes you look very....." Race trailed off, trying not to giggle at Jack's face.
"Feminine." Spot finished.
"Shut up!" Jack yelled.
"Not in a mean way! We just mean you look very snatched... very uhh..." Race smiled like the sun.
"Dainty." Spot finished again.
"That's it, I'll take both of you right now! See whose dainty then you little-" Jack growled, before Davey put a hand on his arm.
"Jackie you look fine, you don't look dainty and you don't look like a princess." Davey whispered to him, instantly feeling his arm- de-tense.
"Yeah...okay." Jack finally agreed, "let's go Inside I'm cold."
"Lead the way your highness." Davey smirked and felt Jack gasp and smack him whilst Spot and Race burst into giggles.
Twenty minutes later, they were still waiting in the dimly lit restaurant buzzing with happy couples and families.
"Can I help you?" One of the waitors finally asked.
"Hello, were here for a reservation for four under the name Higgins." Race gladly replied.
"Let me just check....oh." the waitor made an awkward face. They all froze in dread.
"Looks like we had you double booked..."
"Looks like you're about to be double right hooked-" Race said Instantly before Spot pulled him away and stood infront of him.
"Is there anything you can do?" Spot asked wairely.
"I'm afraid not sir."
They all groaned and shuffled out of the door.
"So what now?" Jack huffed, crossing his arms.
"Uhhh...suicide pact?" Race offered with a straight face.
"Or...we could go get maccies?" Davey suggested sounding a little bit scared. They all agreed and began walking.
The walk was brisk but beautiful, Davey and Jack walked infront, both couples holding hands and gently talking, looking up at the stars freckled in the navy sky. Jack snd Spot walked by the road because it was the "gentlemanly thing to do" until Spot kept purposefully stepping on the back of Jack's shoes and had to swap with Race. Seeing Races tired yet happy face painted with moonlight almost made up for the way the night was turning out, almost.
"Were hereeee." Davey said cheerfully and began to drag Jack by his hand as if a dog on a leash. Soon enough they were Stood around the ordering screen.
"Four big macs?" Spot announced, "no wonder you're so horizontally challenged.
"At least I'm not vertically challenged." Jack smirked back.
" You're both gonna be sexually challenged if you don't shut up." Davey interjected, both he and Race cackled at their shocked faces.
"Now out of my way I want my maccies." Davey shoved Jack to the side, he stumbled slightly. Spot and Race made eye contact and held back laughter. A few minutes later, they were all sat around a table.
" Davey can I have a fry please?" Jack asked nicely.
"No." Davey responded.
"Why not?" Jack smiled slightly, for some reason he found this adorable.
"Mine." Davey said, repressing a smile of his own.
"I'm starting to think that you love those fries more than me." Jack joked and then his face dropped when instead of disagreeing, Davey went silent and side-eyes him. He then burst into laughter and began to subconsciously hit Jack.
"First you starve me now you abuse me." Jack sighed, playfulness laced in his voice.
"Sorry you know I hit things when I laugh..." davey giggled and wiped his eyes after the intense laughter, of course Jack knew. "And I'm joking Jackie, you know I love you more."
"There's my sweet boy." Jack said softly before pecking Davey on the forehead and then his lips, again and again and again. Lips meeting teeth as he smiled uncontrollably at the boy infront of him, wanting to never stop touching him.
"Right get a room you two." Spot Snarled.
"I cant help it if he loves my taste." Jack sneered.
"Yeah you taste like fries!" Davey chirped
"You and these damn fries why don't you snog the fries if you-." Jack was cut off by soft lips meeting his again, more deep and intimate this time, a tongue flicking along his inner-bottom lip.
Spot went to say something when he suddenly heard:
"Spot do you think I could fit this whole burger in my mouth?"
"Race no!"
For the next ten minutes, Jack and Davey tangled themselves up in eachother as Jack greedily stocked up on kisses like you would food for a zombie apocalypse. Whilst, Race choaked and Spot patted his back, almost in tears.
Soon enough, they were back at Spot and Races apartment, Davey had his head rested on Jack's lap, who was staring down at Davey whilst he talked, eyes full to the brim with with mental intimacy and warmth, there had been a time it had over filled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, he hoped Davey didn't remember than as he ran a hand through his hair. They had just watched a movie and were winding down for the night, wrappers and an empty bottle of wine lay around then.
On the other side of the sofa, Spot was sitting contently on the sofa, with Races legs bend over his and his side rested against Spots chest.
"I'm sorry tonight wasn't quite like how you pictured." Race whispered.
"It's fine." Spot whispered back, placing a kiss into his hair.
"No its not...you were so exited for this and it all got ruined." Race sighed
"Nothing was ruined, the only thing that could have ruined my night is you not being there baby." He laced their fingers together. Race went pink.
"Even though it was a double date?" Race asked.
"Even with fuck ass Jack here, it was great." Spot reassured.
"You're lying to make me feel better, I ruined it by being boring and school-centred ." Race said sadly.
"Baby...you shoved a whole burger down your throat and told a waitor you were gonna right-hook him, you are the last thing from boring." Spot chucked, finally getting Race to look up at him.
"so same time next Friday?" Race grinned, "maybe next time just us."
"I've never loved you more than I do right now."
With that, their lips didn't part for the rest of the night.
so I know it's like 3 months until strike week but this will be my second year in the Newsies fandom and I have a goal and way too many ideas
So basically I want to write 1 whole story that I will post during strike week (that's why I'm doing this poll now, I'm a slow writer)
what story should I do for strike week?? (Additional Info below poll)
Direct Message (javid online dating au [first chapter is oneshot rn])
Pretty List Au (idea from 98unicorns on wattpad)
Bumswiftery highschool au (Bumlets&Swifty r already dating&skits jealous
Orange Street (Javid canon times historical gang au (is au if historical?)
Newsies soulmate au rewrite (I somehow have a full plan but no clue what mark)
Newsies experiment au (crutchie/race friendship chapter posted as oneshot)
Newsies Soulmate highschool au (will have multiple main ships
Small and Scary (story of Spot Conlons life, likely sprace but maybe other)
Hunger Games Au (basically Crimson Rivers ifyk)
Hyper psych murder story (idk what ships or who I just want to write Abt murder)
Outsiders x Newsies (first part already posted but it's mainly abt Dally winston
Finish Rewrite and write a oneshot daily (honestly might happen anyway)
Voting ended onMay 5
I have more 🫣 but that's the max amount of options a poll can have so here's some more explaining for some of them and if you want to know more about any idea just ask :)
Direct Message: Jack Kelly is a famous college football player and David is your average student trying to survive so what happens when David receives a DM from an unknown account complimenting him? Would he end up as an add on a milk carton or in a sweet relationship? Only time will tell. But yeah an online dating au!
Pretty List: I GOT PERMISSION FROM 98UNICORNS ON WATTPAD :) Every year people young and slightly older sign up for the pretty list competition where the world votes on their looks. Ever since Jack was 9 his dad has been putting him in the competition and it's been atleast 7 years since he hasn't been number 1. This year, though, a new competitor is trying to ruin his streak.
Bumswiftery HS AU: Skittery is an anxious introvert. Not friendless but not popular. Bumlets is the hottest guy is theatre and Swifty is a Mid on the soccer team. If you haven't figured it out, they gay mess that is Skittery has a crush on BOTH. Unfortunately for him a rumor starts and the teachers are out to make him suffer. (Idk it's your average high school au )
Orange Street: Jack Kelly, brother of the leader of The 5 Points gang, had been returning late from the Bowery when he heard shouts coming from a nearby alley. He peers around the wall and sees a boy his age getting beaten up. It's clear the boy doesn't know how to fight and blood is oozing and trickling from several parts of his body. He stumbles trying to get away using the wall to guide and support him but the wall betrays the boy as he is slammed against it before being turned to face his attackers. They start to grab and rip at the boy's clothes as he screams for them to stop. And all Jack Kelly could do was watch. (Historical base of The 5 Points gang and the musical)
Newsie Experiment Au: The Newsies are victims, experiments, but they don't know that. They think they're lucky, that Pulitzers school saved them. They get education, free food, a roof over their heads, friends, and a warm bed. For a lot of them it was better than their previous arrangements. (Um idk how to do a summary without revealing too much but I guess X-men ish(not really))
Small and Scary: the life story of Spot Conlon from Birth till (at least) strike
Hunger Games Au: every year each of the twelve districts must submit 2 children to fight to the death to repay for their revolution 250 years ago. The Jacobs wait anxiously in the crowd of hundreds robed in grey, knowing that at least one of their friends are going into the games but they are prepared for this year's rule change.
Pschology fun murder story: Idk anything yet besides murderer Newsies and someone's teen angst bullshit having a body count (not going to be a heathers au (likely))
Uhhhhh .... Yeah.... that's like all the ones that I think I need to explain but ask if you want to know more Abt any of the story ideas :)
"I mean, is he… alright?" Hotshot asks, voice quiet.
Spot looks back at the door that separates his tiny bedroom from the hallway. He itches to leave it open so he can see inside to the sole occupant, but Hotshot had wanted some privacy for this conversation, and he'll try to give that to her.
"I don't know," Spot answers her honestly. Race doesn't look well, two shades paler than he should be, pulse weak when Spot went to feel it. More than that, he's never seen Race collapse like he had earlier, knees giving out right outside the Brooklyn lodging house. Spot had just barely caught him in time, then carried him up here. He hasn't woken up yet, and no one really knows what to do.
"D'you think Jack will be mad?" Hotshot worries at her bottom lip, and Spot understands why she wanted to be out of earshot for this conversation. It seems heartless to be discussing politics while Race is lying unconscious in Spot's bed, but the question has to be asked—especially when Spot's not capable of asking it himself.
"It's not uncommon for Race to spend the night here," he says, looking back at the door again, "but if he's not up by tomorrow…"
He doesn't want to think about it.
Hotshot must see that in his eyes, or maybe she hears it in his tone. Either way, she clasps his shoulder, and her voice is softer than he deserves as she says, "I'll figure it out."
Spot nods. He's thankful for her, truly—thankful that she can see the things that he can't say, can read in-between the lines and realize how Spot's feeling about all this.
He looks at the door again.
"Go," she says, pushing him a little. "I'll take care of things."
"Thank you," he responds, knowing it doesn't fully encompass everything he means, and slips inside.
—
Him and Race are not anything. Not officially. They're just friends who sell together at the races sometimes. Race crosses half a city and an entire bridge to come here, Spot tries his best to clear his busy schedule to see him, and it doesn't really mean anything at all.
It feels like the lie that it is sitting here, next to Race's side, hoping he'll open his eyes.
Spot doesn't know what to do. Race is quick to crack a joke and quicker to place a bet, but he's tough despite the jokester mask he puts on. He wouldn't be like this unless something was really wrong, and this is uncharted territory for the two of them.
One of Race's curls has fallen onto his forehead. Spot reaches out a hand to smooth it away, and he has a harder time than he cares to admit pulling it back. He settles on intertwining his fingers with Race's instead.
The minutes pass like that, Spot staring at Race's pale face and squeezing his hand tighter than strictly necessary, and after a while, Spot thinks he sees some of the color coming back to him.
It's probably just wishful thinking.
He's proven wrong when Race's eyelashes start to flutter, then open, revealing that familiar sky blue.
"Hey," Race croaks, voice scraping from how dry his mouth undoubtedly is.
"Hey," Spot responds.
Spot isn't sure if he should go get anything, maybe a glass of water or something, and he starts to turn before Race's voice draws him back.
"My head," Race tells him, "is killing me."
The idiot is smiling up at him like it's funny.
Spot tells him, "Would've been worse if I hadn't caught you."
The memory of Race folding like that and becoming a dead weight in Spot's arms resurfaces suddenly, vicious. He squeezes Race's hand almost without realizing it, just to have the reminder that Race is okay and that he is here beneath Spot's hand, awake and talking.
Race is still smiling as his gaze travels to where their hands are joined, and then—his face snaps shut, and he jerks his hand away as if Spot's touch had burned him.
Spot's heart lurches in his chest.
"Race—" he tries, but he's cut off.
"Sorry," Race says, and the expression on his face would look almost sheepish to anyone who didn't know any better. Spot narrows his eyes. "It's just that I'm a bit warm. It's hot in here. Do you feel hot?"
He starts babbling about open windows and sunny skies and about how he's heard that heat rises, so it makes sense that Spot's attic room is warm, but Spot's not listening to any of it. He's only paying attention to the way that Race has slipped his hand underneath the thin blanket, a curious thing to do for someone who's feeling overheated.
"Racetrack," he interrupts, "is your hand okay?"
Race flushes a brilliant pink.
"No—I mean, yes, I'm fine. Really."
He's not nearly as convincing as he thinks. Spot begins to reach out, and Race protests, saying, "I'm fine, Spot, don't worry, it's not anything to do with my hand—" but there's only so far away he can move while in bed.
Spot captures his wrist and pulls it towards him. He ignores Race's feeble protests as he looks at the back of his hand, then turns it over to his palm. There's nothing there, so he begins to reach for Race's sleeve so he can push it up, but Race's protests grow.
"No, Spot, there's really nothing wrong," he says, and tries to pull his arm away, but his face turns white when Spot squeezes with only the slightest bit of pressure.
He'd thought so.
Spot slips his fingers underneath Race's sleeve. Race, for his part, uses his other arm to cover his eyes, almost like he's hiding, as Spot pushes the sleeve up.
He almost doesn't notice it at first. He was expecting some sort of cut or gouge, not the thin, red line that circles Race's wrist.
Spot stops breathing. He stops doing anything but staring at Race's wrist, where a very obvious soulmate mark sits.
Race peeks out from under his elbow.
"Please say something," he squeaks out, only slightly muffled by his arm. He sounds scared, although Spot can't really figure out why.
"You have a soulmate," Spot says. It's too flat and sharp, all horribly wrong, but he can't help it—Race has a soulmate. Someone his soul matches perfectly with.
Race's condition makes a lot of sense, suddenly. It's clear that for whatever reason, he hasn't had the chance to talk to whoever has the matching red mark around their wrist, and everyone knows that a lack of communication and actual physical contact between two new soulmates is punished by the universe. A fail safe, in a way, one that resulted in Race's knees buckling and him losing consciousness. And naturally, Spot was the one to catch him.
Spot wants to scream.
Race makes an impatient sort of noise.
"D'you have to drag everything out?" he whines, which would annoy him more if he didn't know that Race uses that tone when nervous. "What do you think?"
Spot can't figure out why Race is so anxious about it.
He drops Race's wrist.
"I don't know what you want me to say. You have a soulmate. Congratulations." He sounds anything but congratulatory, and he knows it, but it's more than a lot of people would manage, given the circumstances.
"Do you know who…?" Spot begins to ask, but can't finish the sentence. He doesn't really want to know.
Race squints at him.
"You can't be serious," he says, face doing something complicated. He actually laughs a little, a light, breathy thing, and Spot wants to—he doesn't know. He just doesn't see what's so funny, is all.
"Spot," Race says. "Look at your wrist."
"What?"
"Just trust me," Race tells him. The nervous edge in his voice makes a reappearance, and Spot feels something a lot like it fluttering in his stomach as he looks down.
He almost doesn't see anything. His skin is a lot darker than Race's, so the red line that surrounds his wrist is much easier to miss.
Well, he's not missing it now.
His mouth goes dry as he stares, trying to comprehend the situation. He only looks back up when Race slides his own hand down to intertwine their fingers, making the red string line up like an infinity symbol. It's maybe the most beautiful thing Spot's seen in his entire life.
"What do you think?" Race asks quietly.
Race is in Spot's bed, looking rumpled and soft. His curls are flat on one side from where he was laying on Spot's pillow, his shirt is all creased from being unconscious, and color's only just starting to return to his cheeks.
Spot thinks he was wrong before. Race is the most beautiful thing he's seen in his entire life.
His stomach flips inside him, trying to catch up from the complicated reverse in emotions.
"I think," Spot says, bringing their hands to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to Race's knuckles, "that I'm the luckiest person in the world right now. And," he continues with a small grin, "that you're stupid for not telling me. You would really prefer collapsing on the street rather than letting me know?"
His teasing tone makes Race flush. Spot's glad to see that he's slowly getting better and better, no doubt helped along by the way their hands are still clasped together. If only Race would've told him in the first place, they could've avoided this altogether, but he supposes that Race has always had a flair for the dramatics.
Race groans. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad. I just—I wasn't sure how you would react, and then there's the fact that I'm from Manhattan, and Jack would kill me, and I —"
He abruptly cuts off when Spot interrupts his rambling with a kiss. Race makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but then relaxes into it, grabbing the back of Spot's neck with his free hand and pulling him closer, both of them having trouble kissing each other around the shape of their smiles.
"Shuddup, would you?" Spot murmurs against his lips. Race laughs and Spot gives the corner of his mouth a small peck before pulling back, if only to give him enough space to climb into bed right next to him. Spot makes sure their legs are pressed together under the covers and they have as much contact as possible, knowing that Race'll need it after having gone so long after getting his soulmark without actually telling his soulmate.
Soulmate.
Spot likes the sound of that.
Race's eyes twinkle when he looks at Spot, mischievous.
"Hey, d'you think you could kiss me again?" he asks. "Doctor's orders, I think."
Spot laughs, but he obliges, because of course he does. He thinks he probably has a lifetime of obliging Race ahead of him, and he's looking forward to it.
”We’re not supposed to do this” - “Then stop kissing me like that” would be great with either sprace or kath x sarah
I am SO sorry this took so long but I didn't have ideas at first and then... well it got a looot longer than anticipated. I hope this being 4.500 words long makes up for it.
Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Thought you’d be first?”, the annoyingly teasing voice he sadly knew way too well greeted Spot as soon as he’d entered the supposedly empty secret tomb he’d been tasked to find the treasure of. Of course.
He should have expected it the second one of the traps wasn’t as dusty as the rest.
“With how much of a nuisance you’ve been lately, no.”
The slight disappointment that painted Racetrack’s features for less than a second was worth it.
“Rude.”
“If you don’t wanna hear it, don’t take on the same jobs as me.”
“But then I can’t prove I’m better than you.”
Figures. Spot moved to climb out the narrow entrance he’d come in from again. It wasn’t worth it to argue with the other rogue, nor was it fitting with the Code to steal something from someone who’d rightfully claimed the prize first. Spot wasn’t one to break Thief’s Honour, especially not for someone as persistent or sly as the other bounty hunter.
That didn’t seem to satisfy the other’s need to gloat though. “Wait, you can’t just go-“
“Why not, you got the orb already, right? No use sitting around and glaring at your face.”
He could hear Race’s stomping, even already turned to the exit. “You don’t just get to- It’s not nearly as fun if you’re not even mad!”
Oh Spot was mad. Annoyed, mad, frustrated and wondering if he still had enough savings without this job. But there was no use in crying about it or way to change what had already happened, so he might as well go back and find a new job, even if one far less well paying. He’d wasted days on tracking down this tomb and solving its riddles, and yet it had been a few minutes too late.
And showing Racetrack any of those thoughts or feelings was even more useless, as it would only make him even prouder of his achievement.
Ignoring the black-haired man’s complaints, he crawled back, picked up his small bag of travel equipment outside and trekked back to the inn he’d stayed in.
The job as a bounty hunter and thief for hire, basically, had never been a walk in the park, but Spot had always been smart, had a knack for finding things or noticing details others didn’t, and was good enough with a bow and axe to defeat most monsters towns paid to be rid of. For years he’d managed to get by in relative peace, no close bonds, no duties, no problems. Racetrack Higgins was worth at least a hundred other problems in one annoying, quick, tanned package. Spot had no idea where he’d come from or how they managed to cross paths as often as they did, be it reclaiming items, finding treasures, fighting monsters – and then having to figure out who defeated more, if there were multiple, and no matter how often Spot tried to change where he was going, sooner or later he was always running into the other rogue again.
Naturally, it was sooner rather than later, at his very next job. Luckily, this time Spot barely had the time advantage, the monster he’d been tasked to kill already falling down as Racetrack ran into the ruins.
“What? Oh come on!”
“Thought you’d be first?”, Spot echoed what Race had said last time, making the other fume.
“You know what? Yeah. I did. I knew I should’ve taken another one.”
Spot went to take the trophy he needed to proof he’d properly finished his job. “Tough luck.”
He knew that ignoring the other rogue was the worst he could do to him, even though the other didn’t make that easy. “You couldn’t have beaten that thing that fast! You’re not that good.”
As Race couldn’t see his face anyways, he took the privacy to roll his eyes. And kept back from raising his axe again. Even though most of the work had been done with his bow.
“If you don’t want to test out how good I am with it, just get lost.”
For a moment, Spot thought he’d take him up on it, just to get his anger out. But the other head-hunter left with just a bit more grumbling.
Seeing Spot Conlon of all people the second he opened the door to the interview regarding his newest retrieving job made Racetrack almost turn right around and show everyone the middle finger. Of course he had to be here, again, and this time not just at the end of his heist but right at the start. Why had the client even invited them both in at once? Making an interview like that didn’t sound like the most sound solution.
Still, because he had pride and additionally the job was promising more money than hist last ten combined, Race went in and pulled his chair farther away from Spot before sitting down.
“Good evening gentlemen, thank you for coming. My employer has heard about your fruitful endeavours and wants to hire you for a job of extreme importance.”, started the moustachioed man in front of them. Only a representative then.
“Us?”, asked Spot, a word Race hadn’t even noticed the implication that they’d both be hired.
“Yes, Mister Conlon. It’s of utmost importance and we’ve decided we put more trust in a group than one singular individual. Both of you had the best credentials for similar tasks. It’ll be dangerous and even just getting on the site will be difficult to accomplish. We’ll need the best men we can get.”
Race felt just a bit of satisfaction, gloating at being one of the best. It was soured by Spot being next to him, who didn’t look fazed by the flattery at all. “Is the money divided between us?”
“No, you’ll both be paid the share advertised on the job description. If you bring us the artifact safely.”
A giant amount of money for both of them, regardless of who brought it or who did what part of the work. Didn’t sound terrible, they didn’t even have to work together much. He didn’t particularly want to work with the other bounty hunter but… it was extremely good retirement money.
They signed, of course they did. It was too tempting not to, they even received some materials, if they wanted to take them, as preparation for their travels. Of course, Race and Spot were professionals, even if they usually worked against each other, so they needed very little of that. It revealed some first arguments, though, regarding their modus operandi. Spot immediately tuned any of Race’s thinly veiled attempts to make his preferred methods seem idiotic out, and after the satisfaction of seeing him annoyed didn’t come, Racetrack had to – just for himself, never to Spot – admit it was a childish thing to do. They would do better to not kill each other, at least until they had the money.
As much as agreeing with the blond hurt Race physically.
The first few days were, relatively, uneventful. Especially considering how often they’d clashed usually. They still fought, but mostly silently got to know each other’s practices and habits, judging, sometimes, which caused the fights. Staying professional had been the smart choice. Mostly
But Race, after a few ales, had kind of forgotten about that fact.
They were staying at an inn – in the same room with two beds only because there had only been that option or way too overpriced single rooms – and had both, after they’d camped outside for most of the last days, indulged in the tavern, Spot more in gathering intel, and Racetrack more in drinking. And gambling. And using the money he won to buy more drinks.
Safe to say, if Spot hadn’t pulled him away, he would have started a bar fight only by pulling all the money out of the regulars’ pockets in his favourite card game.
Now, though, Race only had one outlet to let his annoyance out.
“You’re no fun. Least let me enjoy myself. See you often enough with you always takin’ my jobs! What’s up with that any way, can’t get enough of my pretty face?”, he asked, a bit too loudly, as they were barely up the stairs
Spot sighed, something that Race had gathered in the last few days, was a way to calm himself from saying something unwise. “I’m not taking your jobs. You’re taking mine. It’s annoying. Don’t try to turn it on me.”
“M not takin’ yours!”, Race defended himself. “Tried ta go allll the way to the otha side of the continent and you still show up!”
“Well, I tried the same.”, Spot argued, finally a bit more affected. “If you insist you’re not doing it on purpose we’re incredibly unlucky.”
“Psshhh.”, Race huffed, “Look at my pockets, can’t be unlucky ever. Got all that money from games.”
“Then I guess some gods find it very funny to see us argue and compete in jobs all the time.” He dumped Race on his bed. “I don’t want to compete for jobs either. And trying to one up you all the time deliberately is a waste of my time.”
Race didn’t bring the conversation up the next day, when he had a clearer head. He did go over it a lot in his head though. He’d always kind of… assumed Spot was going after his jobs specifically. Some kind of rivalry, revenge, something. But hearing neither of them did it – well, once or twice Race had done it but those were outliers and had been extremely funny in context – was confusing.
He’d just taken their rivalry for granted and had gone to expect Spot once more to show up everywhere. Now, he knew there wasn’t even a reason for it. It really was dumb luck and chance. One-upping Spot didn’t feel half as good, knowing he didn’t search him out. He had, just as much as Race often had, just accepted a job and then saw someone else was faster. Probably as annoyed as Race was. With a bit more murder. He’d seen his fingers twitch to his axe.
But surprisingly, the other was very insistent on keeping the codex. Even if he had been rolling his eyes and groaning at Race’s subpar singing for the last half an hour. They were on a very boring road in a forest. It was all he could do to sing and play his harmonica.
Really.
He should have expected the boring path to just be so boring and devoid of singing birds because there were monsters roaming the forest.
To his defence, they hadn’t heard anything of the sort in the tavern they’d stayed at. That didn’t help in the fight, at all.
The giant cat-like monsters swarmed them as soon as the sun had started to drop. Most looked normal, if you could call it that, dark-brown fur in patterns, some almost going to black, canines fletched and looking ready to pounce. But one was different, significantly bigger and with strange… appendages on it’s back, almost like long vines, ending in what looked almost like a spiky tentacle. It was clear what the biggest threat was.
They still outnumbered Spot and him by a lot.
And then the giant panther-thing duplicated.
“Fuck.” Spot really took the words out of his mouth. “I think I’ve heard of a being like this. They use illusions, we need to find the right one to kill it.”
Illusions. Paired with probably actually existing feral canines. Wonderful.
Race tried to take stock of what kind of defensive and offensive items he had stocked, pulling his short sword with one hand and grabbing a smoke bomb with the other. Spot had taken out his axe, though he’d probably switch to his crossbow if they weren’t surrounded.
“Don’t die.”
“Don’t bet on you havin’ so much luck.” Race threw the smoke bomb in the direction of one of the panthers and two smaller canines, running forward and slicing the next right through the neck. No tough skin. Hopefully no resurrection. Out of nowhere, a tendril swiped for his head, making him duck. He had no idea if it was real, but he wasn’t keen on finding out.
He saw bits of Spot’s fights, swinging his axe widely to keep the monsters at bay and hit as many at once as he could. The sharp zing of his crossbow surged through the air multiple times, even in Racetrack’s direction, hitting a monster that had almost reached him. Knowing he only had one proper weapon, Race tried to keep up by throwing his smoke or blinding bombs, guessing the cats would be far more affected by the bright lights than they would.
But even though the normal cat monsters got less, the panthers got more, and Race had no idea which was the real one – or maybe there had always been more than one. He had no idea if it was hit already, bleeding, or even keeping back from the battlefield, wearing them out.
Just as he sidestepped an attack, Spot pulled him to the ground, a paw hitting him right in the chest – and going right through it, an illusion, while a sharp-toothed mouth he hadn’t even seen snapped right where his head had been. Obviously more prepared for that, Spot shot it in his throat as the fangs opened again, causing a roaring howl from the seemingly real monster they were facing.
Filing ‘Spot saving him’ away for later, he whipped around to see the other reflections of the panther-like monster flicker, parts of them fading.
Without anything else to distract him, he could keep his eyes on the real one, blood running down it’s fangs, murder in it’s eyes. He held his sword in a defensive position, eyes darting to Spot who’d switched to his axe. “You take the right. Watch out for the tendrils.”
Even with knowing what the real beast was, it was fast and agile enough to evade them and keep them on their toes until Race managed to hit one of his tentacle-things in the air, half cutting it off and giving Spot a few seconds to deal a heavy blow to his side.
It didn’t take long, after. There was only so much any living being could take, monster or not.
The arrow down the mouth probably did the most to get them a foot up. Not to mention that Spot must’ve figured out which were illusions and which weren’t before that, to even pull Race away.
Race thought about bringing it up right away but held back, thinking it might not be the appropriate time. And after it just seemed… even worse. So they trekked, in silence, faster than before into the night, not wanting to risk finding any more cat-beasts in these woods and finding another, safer, resting place.
Tending to wounds was difficult in the dim moonlight, and until the adrenaline wore off, Race hadn’t even noticed his scraped knees and scratches by his arm. He did his best to see, in the new shine of the fire, when they’d set up in a small clearing, bird and cicada sounds of the forest making them hope the space was saver then before.
Still in his head about if and how he could bring up, probably sarcastically, his thanks for the other fighter, he only noticed Spot attempting to clean a gnarly gash on his back as he grunted and failed at touching his own skin there, his cleaning rag uselessly sticking higher up.
“You won’t reach that. Gotta be a snake to do that. Hold still.” Race grabbed the cloth, trusting Spot would have cleaned it well enough and dabbed at the wound, cleaning the partly dried blood to reveal the open skin underneath. It wasn’t… terrible. But he’d never be able to sling bandages there himself. “Got some paste?”
Spot already held a small tin box up.
While applying the healing paste, Racetrack realized how… surreal this was. Would have been, just a few days ago. If it weren’t for his honour, he’d have much rather expected to slit Spot’s throat or leave him to die in a ditch somewhere. But, against all odds, Spot had been… nice to travel with. Mostly. He was still annoying, but he had his morals. Strengths. Especially physical, looking at his back, and even with how wiry he’d usually looked, Race was glad he hadn’t let himself get angry enough to ever agree to a fight, as he was pretty sure in raw strength alone, he’d lose.
“Thanks. By the way. How did you know what the real beast was?”
Spot looked over his shoulder to him best as he could. “When I got back to shoot, I could see it was the only one shaking the ground. Moving… correctly. If that makes sense. The others looked odd on the ground. I couldn’t know, exactly, but I’m glad my instincts were right.”
Race hadn’t even had enough time to look at anything but what was right in front of him. As much as he didn’t want to say or even think it, Spot was definitely the better fighter between them. At the very least more observant, but Racetrack generally wasn’t the most enthusiastic fighter. Sure, he’d do it for jobs and for his own survival, but it was always more of a chore. He loved the other parts of his work, reconnaissance, breaking and entering, retrieving and finding age old artifacts or just some stolen heirloom.
“Was definitely a last second save. And shooting down its throat? Great move.”
Spot turned around fully to him now, an eyebrow raised. “Wouldn’t have thought I’d ever get you to say anything nice about me.”
“Don’t get used to it.” Race rolled his eyes. “And if you don’t think you can get a bandage all over your back, turn around again. Don’t want you dyin’ on the way, not if that could happen again. I need my meat shield.”
Luckily, they didn’t run into a fight as terrible as that one the rest of their way to the town they needed to get to. A few smaller fights that were quickly dealt with, but not another beast able to summon entire illusions like that. Their talks had also changed. Race felt bad snapping at Spot, at least for the most part, and Spot was actually… okay company. If they didn’t argue.
He had some similar opinion, even on their jobs and was intelligent enough to hold a conversation and even startle a laugh out of Race at some comments. And whenever Race held watch at night, when they rested in an unsafe place, he got lost in staring at the blonds sleeping face when he was supposed to watch their surroundings.
It was… odd.
Something he didn’t want to admit, not after years of getting on each other’s nerves. And yet there wasn’t much he could deny about it. Spot wasn’t bad looking, never had been, and now that they actually talked instead of shooting each other murderous looks or snapping in anger after losing another job, he could… appreciate that fact. A lot.
Still, they were working together, kind of, at least right now. It wasn’t a time to think about some weird infatuation. Not with him. No matter how breathless he’d felt, seeing Spot’s grey eyes shine as he laughed a few days ago at dusk. None of that was important.
Once in the town, getting directions to the allegedly haunted old ruins was easy, no monster sightings were reported in the immediate area, and from observations they dared to do of the half-collapsed buildings after their travel and before resting properly showed they were at least from the same time as the artifact they were instructed to find.
Still.
There could be a ghost or monster somewhere in there, they didn’t want to risk by going in unprepared. Not after the last fight, not with Spot still injured enough he didn’t lie on his back.
This time, they didn’t just take a room for both of them in the tavern because it was cheaper, they also did it to plan ahead. “We should check the one standing tower. But we need to make sure it won’t collapse under us, we should buy some rope.”
“Sounds like a good idea. And maybe stock up on holy water and all that, those rumours of it being haunted are probably exaggerated, but who knows.”
Spot hummed, leaning forward on their little table and writing that down. Race definitely didn’t look at his fingers curled around the feather or how he put a bit of his hair behind his ear as he wrote.
Concentrate. “If it was in a secret room we might need to do some diggin’. Literally.”
“Didn’t sound like it, but maybe we’ll find a wizard to sell us some scrolls to detect and find magic. Best we can do. Everything else needs to come from us.” Spot looked up, grin painting his face that made him look completely different from the standoffish, irritating man he’d been ‘rivals’ with for years without even considering they weren’t intentionally going on each other’s nerves. “Or did you hide some magical talent from me I didn’t know about?”
It took him a moment to realize what the question was and in what context Spot came to it, having been too busy thinking terribly dumb things. “Uh- no. Definite no. Couldn’t use a spell for anything.”
With them hunched over the small table over the weak light from their candles, they’d been getting far closer than Racetrack had thought, too close to think of anything but the smirk on Spot’s lips and how close they were to finishing this. Possibly going separate ways again. Not able to be around each other.
Without thinking of any consequences, Race leaned forward, crossing the small space between them, and kissing Spot. Nothing big or even lustful, a quick press of the lips before he’d noticed what he was doing and pulled away.
Attempted to.
Spot had cupped half of his face in his hand and pulled him in again, just confusing Race further.
He pushed the blond away, blinking a few times and not… entirely sure what to feel. “We… we can’t do this, we’re not supposed-“
“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”
Race felt his face go warm and he avoided his eyes. “I shouldn’t- it was dumb. We’re working together, for once, I shouldn’t have-“
Spot interrupted him by taking his face in his hand again. “I don’t care. We’re doin’ this job with or without this. It’s not changing anything.”
That startled a laugh out of him. “It’s changing a lot, actually, a week ago I still wanted to strangle you!”
“And I’d be surprised if you don’t still want that. You can want multiple things, Racer.”
Could he? He was a rogue, of course he could, he always wanted multiple things, the reward, the glory, the mission, the artifact, he’d just never wanted another person like this. Especially with how this had started. "We should finish up the planning."
"So you want to ignore the last few minutes?" He could see Spot lean back, not closing off yet but preparing to. He wondered when he’d started to be able to see his feelings like that.
"... Give me the rest of the planning for processing it all. Then we can go back to this."
Unsurprisingly, the rest of planning wasn’t quite enough for him to process it all. His thoughts often drifted, not sure what all this meant, what it would all do, but he still knew if he could have this, could get away with taking this… he wasn’t complaining. From all he knew about Spot, it wasn’t like either of them had anyone to answer to, to report to. They could do what they wanted. Would probably even earn more if they worked together instead of parting ways.
And he wanted to see if those kisses would be as good as the few seconds he’d gotten before.
“You know what you want now?”, Spot asked, putting their plans and missions for tomorrow safely away.
“As a fellow bounty hunter, you should know I want all I can get.”
He could see a slight tension leaving Spot’s shoulders as he stepped closer again. “Then take it.”
Not waiting for another invitation, Race pulled Spot forward and kissed him again, really this time. He was warm, and Race could feel his smile through the kiss, at least until Race pulled on his blond hair and his mouth got busier with other things. A few moments after he was glad Spot had put their papers away as he hit the table with his back and sat on it to pull Spot as close as he would get, though he needed to look up more during the kiss, as he was sitting.
His hands wandered down, trying to get under the other’s shirt, shoving the linen up out of his pants to roam around his back as Spot held the back of his head almost too gently for what they were doing, his other hand resting right above his hip. Just by that he could feel that, if Spot really wanted, he could easily grip him hard enough to leave bruises, and while this was definitely too much for today, he filed that thought away for another time.
Gasping slightly, Race leant back enough to catch his breath, Spot’s grey eyes fluttering open after he’d leant closer again, pecking the edge of his mouth. Not able to stay away. “Happy now?”
“Happy stealing another thing from you, yeah.”, he teased, nails digging into his back.
Spot hummed, looking like he was purposefully taking everything about him in, cataloguing every small thing about him. “We should have only gotten one bed after all. Even cheaper and bigger than what we have now.”
“Remember that for our way back. We still have to find that artifact. And bring it safely to the client.”
“We can take our time with that. I’m sure he’d want to get it as safely as possible, right? No infested woods, only safe travel.”
“With taverns. And beds.”
Spot pulled him up and to one of their small, only-intended-for-one-person beds, kicking off his shoes before lying down and opening his arms. “I think we can fit. Just gotta get a bit closer.”
“No worried I’ll take something from your pockets?”
“I won’t be wearing many pockets to bed. But you’re welcome to try, Racer.”
If they needed about a week longer back then to their mission point, no one had to know. They got the money. And a lot more.
The demons simply would not leave me be until I got this out. Didn't have "Writing Sprace Fic" on my 2025 Bingo Card but here we are! I hope you all enjoy.
5 to 1 on Romeo | Spot/Race | T | 3,128 words | Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Spooning, Bed Sharing, Established Relationship/Situationship ("situationship" because it's Sprace)
Through his one good eye, he looks up. Spot Conlon’s green eyes shine down on him. Race can’t tell for sure, but if he had to guess, he’d say Spot was smiling at him.
“Heya Spotty,” he groans into the dirt.
It’s the last thing he remembers saying before his eyes close and the static in his ears rings loudly like a bell. And then there’s nothing. Just a big black hole of nothing that Race welcomes eagerly.
-
Race gets a beating from some Brooklyn newsies who don't know any better. Spot comes to his rescue.
Jack doesn’t like him going to Sheepshead Bay.
“It’s not our turf, Race,” he said. “S’pose you get hurt out there? Some Brooklyn brawler who don’t know you. I can’t do anythin’ to stop ‘em.”
"Stop 'em?" Race asked, slightly offended. Like Jack thought he couldn't hold his own against any newsie — Brooklyn or not — that came in his way. “Listen, Jack, I'll be just fine. Ain’t nobody gonna soak me out there. ‘Cept for maybe the bookie if I don’t pay up,” he added with a laugh.
Jack didn’t like that, a scowl forming across his face and thinning his lips. “There ain’t no track in Manhattan you could go to?” he sighed.
Sure there was. Race knew all the seedy hideouts he could place a bet. Every underground fighting ring, every basement poker game, every dark corner to make a few extra dollars. He visited them often enough, more often before he started hawking the papers in what his ma might have called “an honest living.” (That is, if he ever spoke to her again.)
But Race knows Sheepshead. He knows it better than he knows Manhattan, even after all these years of walking the streets. Uptown, Midtown, Central Park — he’s got his route mapped out and he stays the hell away from the Brooklyn borders during the day if he can help it.
Race lit his cigar and blew a plume of thick smoke straight into the air. “I can hold my own, Jack. I ain’t gettin’ into any trouble I can’t get myself outta.”
questionable government spies but better written and five years late, chapter 3: i’m not one for bullying, but i am one for bullying nepo babies!
yeah it’s been like 10 months. you win some you loose some, ok?
—-
words: didn’t count, at least a few thousand
warnings: lots of swearing, gangs mentions, davey is an asshole
edited: kinda!!!
tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)
ch1 | ch2 | read on ao3
—-
“Jesus fucking christ don’t any of you dipshits know how to fucking merge ?”
Albert blinked his eyes open blearily and then immediately shut them again. The rising sun reflecting off of what was probably miles of cars and tractor trailers gave him an instant headache.
“Are we there yet?” Jack asked from the back seat, voice thick with sleep.
“No we’re not fucking there yet,” Race cursed. “If we were I’d be cursing much fucking more.”
Albert couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to be back with Race. “You know I could have driven,” Albert said.
“Like fucking hell I was going to let you do that,” Race took his eyes off of the road for a brief second to glare at Albert. “First you’re injured-“
“I’ve had worse.”
Race ignored him. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week-“
“Hitchhiking from Canada is hard work!”
“And it was one thing on the fucking bumble fuck backroads, but this is fucking 95. People don’t fucking know how to drive here.” Race swerved into the right lane and layed on the horn and flipped off the Jeep that had just cut him off. “See?”
Unfortunately, Race was correct. Despite the fact that Albert had raided a Walgreens in not only Chicago, but also somewhere in the maze of corn that was Ohio, his shoulder was still fucked and his nose was regrettably getting more and more stuffed. Normally he would down 9 advil with half a bottle of DayQuil and pass out for six hours, but he wanted to be at least mostly conscious when he entered Davey’s office. So he’d been alternating between taking advil and DayQuil every four hours. It was nowhere near as helpful as his usual dose and he felt like absolute shit. The one driving shift he had taken, at midnight through Pennsylvania, had been absolute hell. But Race didn’t need to know that.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Jack asked. “You’ve been going since two and-”
“Jack,” Race interrupted. “Can I ask you a question?”
Albert smirked.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever driven into Manhattan at 7:30am?”
“No.”
“That’s what I fuckin thought.”
Jack hesitated. “So do you not...want me to drive?”
“I’d rather fucking retake fucking high school fucking chemistry again than fucking let you get behind the fucking wheel right now.”
Albert tried to hide his laughter unsuccessfully.
Race took his eyes off of the road for a brief second to side eye him. “Albert Dasilva rush hour traffic is not a laughing matter.”
“Sorry,” Albert muttered, biting his cheek to keep the rest of his laughter in.
“But why is it different from rush hour traffic in any other state?”
“Watch and learn,” Race said. “Albert, badge me.”
Oh this was going to be good. Albert opened the glovebox and pulled out Race’s FBI badge. In all their years as agents they had wanted to do this but had never had a good enough reason, until now, evidently.
“Why do we need a badge to get through the toll plaza?” Jack asked. “Are they going to give us a discount or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Race scoffed. “We work for the government, not the fucking mafia.”
Albert snorted. That was one way of putting it.
As they drove through the toll plaza Albert felt adrenaline begin to course through him, momentarily taking his mind off of his sorry state. This job was so much better with a partner. This was something that he knew, obviously, but he came face to face with it every time he was out on his own for long periods of time. Albert had hitchhiked across his fair share of the country on his own and it was always hell on earth. It made him appreciate moments like this even more, the small moments of insanity in an otherwise, generally frustrating job. He could die at any moment, but at least he had Race by his side and some kind of scheme brewing between them.
Like right now.
“Why are you going into the bus lane, Race. We are not on a bus.”
“Watch and learn, Jackie,” Race smirked as he rolled down his window. The state troopers were already approaching the car.
“Sir this is a bus lane only,” one of them said. “You are going to have to exit.”
Race dramatically flipped open his badge like they do in the shitty cop movies. “Racetrack Higgins,” he said. “I’m with the FBI. Me and my partners are on a time crunch to get into the city.”
“And what does that have to do with this here bus lane?” The trooper crossed his arms.
“I’d tell you but you know how it is, FBI, secrets, alla that,” Race waved his hands around vaguely. “In fact, I should make you sign an NDA just for talking to me.”
The trooper was unamused.
“Look man,” Race said. “This is a life or death situation here. You either let me through or I tell the head of the New York FBI that you, personally, are the reason why I am late, and lemme tell you, that is not going to be good for either of us.”
The trooper considered. Behind Race, buses began to honk impatiently.
“C’mon man, I’m holding up the line of disgruntled commuters here.”
“Fine, just this once,” The trooper said, stepping back from the car and waving Race through.
Race rolled up the window and stepped on the gas. A small, devious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh, what Albert would do to see that smile.
“Boys,” Race said, pulling into line with the other buses. “We’ve fucking done it.”
“ Fuck yeah man,” Albert shouted, reaching over to fist bump Race.
“What did we do, exactly?”
“Bypassed all of the fucking tunnel traffic,” Race said, drumming on the steering wheel. “It's an absolute game changer.”
“But you said it was a life or death situation…?”
“Uhh…yeah?” Race looked at Jack through the rear view mirror. “Jacobs is going to fucking kill us if were any more late than we already are.”
“Why are you guys so afraid of him?” Jack asked. “He’s just another guy working for the same people we do, he’s barely got more clearance than you do.”
Albert smirked as Race made eye contact with Jack in the rear view mirror.
“Let’s revisit that thought when we’re done with the meeting, capisce?”
And an hour later, when they were all finally sat in Jacobs’s office, Jack really did look like he was rethinking that comment. Albert didn’t blame him.
“You’re late,” Jacobs said, slamming the door shut behind him.
“My apologies,” Race said. “One of us was dead less than twenty four hours ago.”
“What, you think crime stops when people die?” Jacobs sat down behind his desk.
Race opened his mouth to respond but Jacobs fixed him with a glare.
“I want to keep this brief,” Jacobs said.
Finally, something they could all agree upon.
“I don’t want you here,” Jacobs said.
Race snorted. Albert choked down a laugh. Jack looked confused.
“Glad we’re on the same page,” Race muttered under his breath.
Jacobs ignored him.
“The only reason you are allowed back here is because we need your help.” It looked like it pained Jacobs to say that.
“Could I get that in writing?” Race asked.
Albert elbowed him.
Jacobs glared harder. “I can still fire you.”
“You just said you needed my help.”
“Race,” Albert whispered, bumping his leg against Race’s.
Jacobs watched the two of them with a bemused expression before continuing.
“A man named Sean Conlon turned himself in this morning. He’s a member of The Anonymous, a gang we have been trying to take down for years.”
“What does this have to do with us?” Albert asked. He was familiar with the name. He didn’t know much, but he knew they were dangerous. He thought that Finch might have mentioned them before.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Jacobs said. “It has to do with him.” He pointed at Race.
“Me?” Race raised his eyebrows.
Albert did not like where this was going.
“He said he will only talk to you,” Jacobs said.
“How does he know who I am?” Race asked.
Albert was wondering the same thing. He and Race had fucked right out of New York as soon as they could. It didn’t make sense why a gang member would be on a first name basis with him.
“I don’t know, and I also don’t care,” Jacobs said in true Jacobs fashion. “I want to take these fuckers down. So the case is now yours. Don’t fuck it up.” He slid a fat case file across the table.
Albert glared at it like it would bite him.
“It’s going to be a few weeks before I’m able to do field work again,” he said, gesturing to his arm that was still in the sling. “So I am not sure when we will be able to-“
“Oh you’re not doing anything, Dasilva,” Jacobs said, his smile sickeningly sweet. “You and Kelly, was it? Are on behind the scenes work exclusively. Higgins will be in the field.”
Albert felt his heart drop down to his feet.
“Sir-“ he said, trying not to let his voice shake. “I don’t think that’s-“
“I don’t care what you think,” Jacobs said. “This is the first solid lead we have had on this case in years. Higgins is going to be in the field and that’s final. Now for your assignments…”
He started rattling off addresses and places and Albert tuned it out. He could blame it on the pain or the cold he was definitely catching when Race asked him about it later. Race and him were a packaged deal. Together or bust. Usually it was Albert in the field, Race on backup. Not because Race couldn’t handle himself. But because it hurt Albert too much to see Race get hurt. He had seen enough of that when they were kids. He could keep Race safe now. That was why it was always him throwing his life on the line, jumping in front of bullets and off bridges and exploding things and detonating things and doing whatever he needed to do to make sure that Race could go to bed in one piece at night. And Jacobs wanted to throw him straight into the fire now? In New York? He was worst than a jerk he was a fucking-
“Dasilva!”
Albert snapped out of his thoughts.
“Hm?”
“Pay some attention. I said you’re working at the Starbucks in Times Square and-“
“No the fuck I’m not,” Albert said, surprising himself.
“I beg your pardon?” Jacobs looked like he was considering stabbing Albert with the pen he was holding in his hand.
“No I’m not,” Albert repeated. “If you want me on this case, I’m working at 99c pizza. That’s my one condition.”
Jacobs considered. He knew Race and Albert were a packaged deal. They already had been.
“Fine.” Jacobs said. “But I’m not making any other exceptions for you two.”
Albert nodded. His arm was hurting again. He didn’t realize how tense he was. He needed to go lay down. He needed this meeting to be over. He needed to go curl up next to Race and maybe that would wash out the numbness.
It was far too long before Race was tapping his arm and offering him his hand. He just managed a curt nod to Jacobs as he followed Race blindly out the door.
“He was…interesting,” Jack said as soon as the elevator doors closed.
“Told you,” Race said, though it lacked his usual snap.
“Still can’t believe the New York FBI headquarters are in the fucking H&M building,” Jack said, mostly to himself.
Albert grunted in agreement. It truly was the stupidest thing about this place. Who the hell had had the bright idea to put the damn FBI headquarters in Times fucking Square of all places?
Just thinking about the nightmare of this building and the sensory overload that was down on the street below them that he was going to have to walk through in a few minutes made his head hurt. He let his eyes fall closed.
Race’s hand was immediately on his uninjured shoulder.
“Do you know where you’re going, Jack?” Race asked.
Jack must have nodded because no one said anything else.
All too soon, the elevator dinged open and Albert was forced to open his eyes as they were deposited in the Times Square H&M stockroom.
“Stay close,” Race whispered.
Albert didn’t need to be told twice.
He let Race steer him through the throngs of people, letting his guard drop for the first time in over a week. He knew he should be on alert, but it was Race. Race would never let anything happen to him.
“We just have to head to the van real quick,” Race whispered in his ear.
Race could have led him anywhere and he wouldn’t have cared.
He waited, leaning against the van as Race grabbed their go bags out of the back. He heard Race say goodbye to Jack, he must be staying somewhere different than them. Albert tried to take his bag from Race, but Race just brushed his hand away.
“Not tonight, Albie,” he laughed lightly, as if this was a normal situation. Well, Albert guessed it sort of was. How awful was that.
Race slid his free hand back into Albert’s and suddenly they were back on the street, back in Times Square and all the lights were blinding him, making his head hurt worse. He shut his eyes. Race would lead him home. He always did.
—-
sincerely hope it’s been worth the wait lol. let me know what you think!!!
The streets of New York were covered under a thick layer of snow. It had been snowing for days and even now, when Race was already ankles deep in the snow, it kept snowing. His linen bag was still filled with newspapers, his pockets without the usual coins.
Apparently it was Christmas. He hadn’t known. No one had spoken of Christmas that morning. They did not really celebrate Christmas in the lodging house. Last year they had gotten an extra piece of bread with their dinner but that was all. It was hard to celebrate a holiday that revolved around presents when no one had a spare coin to buy presents with. And yes, every year Jack would tell them it was not just about gifts but also about being together. But who was he kidding, people liked gifts more.
Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35949220
Crop tops. I’ve seen boys wearing them. I wanted to do the same. I like them, like how they look. And I have to admit, I feel pretty bad ass in this. I turn around to look at myself in the mirror. I’m pretty hot, not gonna lie.
“Hey Race I nee-” I whirl around and try to cover my bare midriff. Shit. “Jack, I’m sorry, it’s not what it-”
“Calm down, Race. You look nice, it shows off your abs. A certain short guy will like it.” Jack says with a smirk. “What’re you talking about?” Jack sighs and rolls his eyes. He places a hand on my shoulder. “Race. My idiotic friend. You are extremely oblivious sometimes.”
“Am not!” Jack just raises an eyebrow. “Spot has been crushing on you for months now. The sexual tension between you two is painful. Literally. I hear you writing your terrible love poems through the wall. Also, you should never be a writer. They’re horrid.” I glare at him as he continues. “Get your shit together and tell Spot that you are in love with him. Because clearly everyone knows this but you.”
“I do love him. But...He likes me?” Jack’s head falls to his chest. “Yes. He likes you. And he’s been standing outside your door for like ten minutes and he’s heard all of this conversation. I am now leaving so the two of you can work out all... this.” he gestures vaguely with his hand.
Spot peeks his head in and comes inside. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are as red as Albert when he gets a sunburn. “Ohmygod. You were not supposed to hear any of that-” Spot interrupts me. “Is it true? You weren’t just saying that?”
I hesitate a moment. No point in lying now. “Maybe I do like you, but it’s not like you have to like me back, a guy like you wouldn’t want a guy like me-”
Spot’s lips are against mine. And it’s just like I’ve imagined. I’m kissing back. Fireworks in my stomach. Lightning in my veins. It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. When we finally pull away, both of us are out of breath and panting.
