The Child is Gone
by The Liz/Tomato

Honey, help me out of this mess
I'm a stranger to myself
But don't reach for me, I'm too far away
I don't wanna talk 'cuz there's nothing left to say.

Darling, give me your absence tonight
Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside
'Cuz there's no kind of loving that can make this all right
I'm trying to find a place I belong...

The moment Davey saw Jack, he knew he was in love. He also knew he was cheesy and clichéd, but there you are. Life is like that sometimes.

The moment Davey saw Spot, he knew Spot was in love. That was fine on its own, but he happened to have something in common with Davey. The object of both their emotions was Jack. Further observation revealed that the main difference between Spot and Davey was that Davey and his feelings were stuck on the tiny, tattered, overcrowded ship "Unrequited". Spot lounged on the cruiser "Lucky Bastard". A dull, throbbing ache that was as cheesy and clichéd as his first reaction to Jack took up residence in his chest. Life, Davey decided bitterly, is more often like this than like anything else. It just figured. Didn't Spot have enough as the undisputed ruler of Brooklyn? Wasn't he happy with fame and the limited fortune being a newsie could bring? Why in the name of all that is purple, fluffy, scary beyond all reason and in the possession of Medda did he have to be with the one guy Davey fell for?

Because life's a bitch, that's why.

And so, unknowingly starting a glorious Hollywood trend, Davey shuffled slowly along a busy New York street, thinking bitter thoughts and kicking any small animals that wandered across his path.

He didn't live with Kloppman and the rest of the newsies, but he liked to visit the lodging house. It gave him a feeling of brotherhood to sit around and play cards with the other guys. He liked it. He didn't feel like he belonged anywhere. Sometimes he wondered if the others were like him. They certainly knew more about it.

["That guy's gay," Skittery snickered as they passed a tall, dark-haired man on the sidewalk.

"What?" Davey commented wittily.

"Gay," Skittery said. "He likes boys," he added helpfully.

"Oh." Davey hadn't known there was a word. He was beginning to find out that he didn't know a lot of things.]

Davey laughed bitterly at the memory. He remembered wondering if Skittery could tell how he felt about Jack just by looking at him. He thought Jack could. He knew Jack noticed when he left whenever Spot was in the room. He saw a dark sort of pity in Spot's eyes whenever he did that. It made him angry enough to punch something. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want them to know about the thoughts and images that spun through his head. He was perfectly content to suffer in silence. He didn't have to subject himself to watching them together, however. His excuses might be see through, but they did their job.

He couldn't help it. He didn't want to watch them together. He didn't want to watch them shooting glances at each other. He certainly didn't want to think of the time he caught them kissing.

[Davey whistled cheerfully as he left the lodging house. Jack hadn't been there, but Spot hadn't, either. It was a good night in Davey's book. Racetrack was kinda cute, now that he thought about it. He might have been flirting. Davey had a few suspicions about the gambler. It was nice to think about someone other than Jack for once-

And there they were. Spot pressing Jack against the back wall of the building, his face raised and pressed to Jack's.

He thought later that it should have made him angry. He should have been hurt. Instead, he gazed at them as a visitor to a museum inspects a painting. There was something beautiful about the two of them. They were perfectly locked together in their own little world, safe from hostile outsiders and hard times.

Then some fluke of chance made Spot glance his way. There was the fucking pity again. Davey turned on his heel and ran back to his home and his comforting, boring, clueless family.]

He didn't want to think about them together.

He couldn't help it. He still did.

Davey halfheartedly hopped up the stairs to his front door. "Hello, dear," his mother greeted him. "Two of your friends came to visit! Isn't that sweet of them?" She beamed proudly, delighted that her son was happy and had friends. Davey winced.

"Which two?" Davey replied, stomping out a few flames of guilt.

"That nice young man Jack, I think, and the one that calls himself Spot." A flicker of disapproval fluttered across Mrs. Jacob's face. Davey grinned to himself. His mother didn't understand the newsies' nicknames, and probably never would. "They're waiting for you in your room."

Speak of the devil... "Thanks, ma." He trudged to his room. Guilt and curiosity quickly transformed his stomach into a ball of knots. He opened his door.

The room was dark, the shades were drawn and no lights were lit, but Davey had no trouble recognizing the shapes on his bed. The pale bodies of Spot and Jack appeared to be one at first, one glistening, sweat-soaked entity reeking of sex and other things his mother would never approve of. As Davey stood in shock, one of the shapes moved. Its barely visible eyes locked on his.

"Dave?" the Spot-shape said. It was a low, husky voice that wasn't quite a whisper. It was something far more dirty, something that spoke volumes and sent dark shivers up Davey's spine. "C'mere."

A year ago, Davey wouldn't be here. He would have run screaming down the hall. He would collapse in his mother's arms, and Jack and Spot would be forever banned from the Jacobs residence. A year ago, Davey didn't know who or what he was. He never looked at girls, but he never looked at boys, either. A year ago, he would never have did what he did next.

Smiling a little and feeling strangely as if he was coming home, Davey went.

...The child is gone.