Title: Sleep to Dream
Author: Ann Valentine
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Disney owns the boys. I don't. *pouts* I do, however, own Slash. . . for all the good that does me. Stage came up with Alexander Durecht.
Archives: Slashyways; my site, lumos et nox; Seize the Night
Warnings: Cross-dressing (but definitely NOT your normal kind!)
Opening Comments: Part two! My transvestite is BACK for even more gender-twisting and maligning of cantaloupes!
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Sleep to Dream
Part the Second
"EXTRY! EXTRY! READ ALL ABOUT IT! BODY FOUND IN ALLEY DRAINED OF BLOOD! NO SUSPECTS YET!" Dutchy raised the paper over his head, his voice echoing over the crowded streets. He was pleased with the day's headline--the papers were going like hotcakes. He and Specs had only been selling for about an hour and were already down to their last few papers. He trotted back to Specs to get a few more papers and found the brunette frowning vaguely at a lamppost, eyes unfocused.
"Hey, Specs, you okay?" Dutchy asked, concerned.
Specs shook himself, then turned to look at Dutchy. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
"You looked a little . . . oh, what's the word . . . wrapped up in your thoughts?"
"Preoccupied?"
"Yeah, that. So what's up?"
"Nothin'. I was just thinking about--"
"The girl," both newsies said.
Dutchy snorted. "You been thinkin' about her all day. Don't you think maybe it's time to concentrate on something more important?"
"Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know, like selling papes!" Dutchy smacked Specs upside the head with a spare paper. "C'mon, Specs, snap out of it. We got papes to sell. You can worry about the girl later."
"You're right." Specs smiled. "Let's do it."
Back at the lodging house, Kloppman was carefully removing the cantaloupes when the boy groaned softly. Kloppman sat back and prepared to watch the fireworks as his eyes slowly opened.
A hand rose and gently brushed over the still-unfocused emerald eyes. The hand traveled down, freezing at the unbuttoned button. Slowly, it traveled to the second. At the discovery that it, too, was undone, the boy sat straight up. He gasped and jerked backwards at the sight of Kloppman, who was holding up a cantaloupe and smirking.
"Optimistic, aren't we?"
The boy went red.
"So . . . who are you, why are you dressed like a woman, and why were you covered in blood?"
"Don't tell anyone."
Kloppman raised an eyebrow. "Hope you didn't talk while you was dressed like that."
"I . . . no. Don't tell anyone."
"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Now answer my questions."
"Connolly. It's safe. Brother was killed."
Kloppman's other eyebrow joined its twin. " 'It's safe?' How is it safe?"
"Just is."
"Oh." Deciding he wasn't going to get any more straight answers from this kid, Kloppman decided to quit while he was ahead. "Well, you go on upstairs and clean up. If you want to stay dressed like that, I can loan you some of my daughter's clothes. If you don't, a couple of the boys are your size." Kloppman nodded to the boy and left.
"Um, yeah . . . thanks."
That evening, Kloppman's bookwork was interrupted by a crowd of noisy, talking, laughing newsboys. Two veered away from the mass and went to his desk.
"Hey, Kloppman," Specs said, leaning on the desk. "So, how's the girl doing?"
"The . . . girl?" Kloppman coughed. "Oh, she's . . ."--another cough--"fine. She's"--a third cough--"awake now. Why don't you go in and see"--a fourth cough--"her?"
"You feeling okay?" Dutchy asked. "You're coughing a lot."
"I'm fine. Go on in."
The two boys went into the quarantine room and found the girl sitting up. She looked much better than she had the night before--the blood was gone, she had changed into clean clothes, and she looked well-rested.
As his eyes settled on her, something began niggling at the back of Dutchy's brain.
"Hi. Are you feeling better?" Specs asked.
The girl nodded, ducking her head. She grabbed a notepad, scribbled something on it, and handed it to Specs.
" 'Much better, thank you,' " he read aloud, then handed it back. "Are you mute?"
She nodded again.
Dutchy clicked his tongue. "Pity. I guess that means you can't stay here. Your folks live around here?"
The girl shook her head, wrote something else, and handed the pad to Dutchy.
" 'They're dead,' " he read. "Aw, geez, I'm sorry."
The girl shrugged, then looked up and smiled sadly at them. The two newsies spent a few more minutes talking to the girl, then Specs turned to Dutchy and said,
"I'm gonna turn in now." He nodded to the girl and added, "I'm glad you're better."
She smiled and waved good-bye to him as he left. Once they were alone, Dutchy sat down by the girl's bed and said, "Now you have some explaining to do."
She stared at him blankly.
"We found you in an alley covered in blood over a dead body. If you're innocent, then prove it. If you're not, the bulls are only a few blocks away. Well?"
The girl licked her lips nervously and began writing on her notepad. Finally, she handed it to Dutchy and stared at him.
" 'I didn't do it,' " he read aloud. " 'I was trying to help the poor man. Please believe me.' " He handed the pad back and arched an eyebrow. "You didn't do it. Right. You know, I consider myself an expert on females, and I don't know any who would just go up to a dead body to help it. Especially one as disgusting and bloody as that one was. Too squeamish." He began standing as he continued, "So I think that I'll just have to get up and--"
"Stop!" The single word leapt from the girl's throat and froze Dutchy in place. The girl clapped a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening as she realized her mistake.
Dutchy, although he had claimed to be, was no expert on women. However, he knew one thing for sure--women did not, in general, have bass voices. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. The hair--the eyes--the voice--it had to be--
"Aidan Connolly?"
The girl's--Aidan's--eyes widened yet further as her--his--hand fell into his lap. "Alexander Durecht?"
*end part two*
Continue to part 3...