Author's Note: Well, here we are. After spending the last few months exploring the history of Luke 'Rip' Divenize in the fic, A Virgin's Touch, I decided to go back and redo Cuts Like a Knife. A few of the characters have been changed, a lot of the characterizations have been changed... all to better suit that story. I really want to set up continuity and I think it works better now. I just hope that anyone who read the original series will like it just the same now - if not better :)

As always, reviews are appreciated. Let me know what you think. As an author, I crave response. Thank you. – stress

Disclaimer: Most of the characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes. Any original characters featured are the intellectual property of their creators.

Obsession: Cuts like a Knife

08.18.06

I'm alive,
I'm right behind you.
You say forget but I'll remind you.
You can try to hide but you know that I will find you.

- "I'm Alive", Next to Normal

May 26, 1895

"Jessa?"

Gayle O'Connor paused for a moment after her call but, to no surprise, there wasn't any reply coming from behind the closed door in the far corner in the cramped apartment.

She smiled warmly over at the girl waiting impatiently in her kitchen. "I'm sure Jessa will be out in just a minute," Mrs. O'Connor said, her thick Irish brogue noticeable for her nerves. The dark-haired child, fifteen, maybe sixteen years old, was watching her unblinkingly. And she hadn't even accepted the offer of breakfast, either! The elderly woman nodded. "If you'll just excuse me."

Scooping up her skirt in her wrinkled hands, Mrs. O'Connor bustled from the kitchen until she was standing right outside of her ward's bedroom. She knocked softly. "Jessa, my girl, your friend is out here waiting for you."

The reply was muffled, nearly out of breath—

"I'll be right out, ma'am."

If it wasn't for how worried she was about making a good first impression that morning, and how frantic she was to hear that Spindle had arrived so soon, the young girl would've reminded her guardian that she preferred to be called simply Jess instead; Jessa was just too frilly for her. But she was worried and still wearing only her chemise, so rather than remind Mrs. O'Connor about her Christian name, she allowed a quick response before reaching out and grabbing the fine black skirt folded at the foot of her bed.

She had to look her best.

That morning was the morning that Spindle Scott, the head of the newsgirls in their town of Far Rockaway—a well-known Irish neighborhood on the far side of Queens—had invited her to sell newspapers with her. As all the girls knew, you were either accepted into the elite gang of street girls when Spindle asked you to go out and sell as her partner or that was the last time you dared walk the Far Rockaway streets with a paper in your hand.

Just in case, Jess couldn't help but wonder if the launderess two blocks over was still taking on young girls…

"I'm just about done," she murmured, her own voice a blend of the mother tongue and the powerful New York accent. She pulled on the long black skirt and then grabbed the beige blouse Mrs. O'Connor had hanging up in the closet. Even though the O'Connor's were not very well-off themselves, Mrs. O'Connor was very deft with a needle. Ever since her and her husband, Seamus, took the young girl in when she was little more than a child, Jess had never gone around looking as if she was in need.

Just before leaving the room, Jess tried to run a comb through her mass of light brown curls until she threw the brush down in annoyance. It would take forever to get all the tangles out of her hair and she didn't want to keep Spindle waiting any longer than necessary. Spindle was known for having a temper and Jess didn't want to risk upsetting the older girl, not today of all days.

Looking herself once over in the mirror, she sighed. In the reflection she saw a slim girl, one who looked older than her thirteen years for the hardships she suffered at an early age—losing her mother, her father and her home in Ireland all within one short year. With brown curls falling down past her shoulders, a mischievous glint in her green eyes and a dusting of freckles over her nose, she was as Irish as they come which wasn't so noticeable in Far Rockaway. She ruffled her curls one finally time, trying to tame them. Ah, well. She was as ready as she was ever going to get.

Before leaving, she made sure to pick up the quarter off of her dresser and then ran out into the living room. There was a girl, tall and thin—maybe a few years older than she—standing in the middle of the kitchen. She was looking extremely restless, playing with the ends of her long brown ponytail, and didn't even notice it when Jess entered the room. Jess recognized her sharp profile at once: it was Ace Harrow, one of Spindle's top girls.

On one hand that was good, but on the other—

"Good morning, Ace. Where's… where's Spindle?" she asked nervously.

It was common knowledge amongst the girls that Spindle only ever sold alone, or more recently with her beau, some hotshot from Harlem that no one had met yet but did not doubt existed. The only exception came when she was testing a new girl to see if they were worth it to sell in her territory which, for Jess, was supposed to be that morning. Except...

Jess had the sudden, terrible thought that maybe, just maybe Spindle had decided that Jess wasn't even worth the test. After all, she was three years younger than Spindle and, unlike most of the other girls who lodged in the Queens' Home for Girls, actually had a place to call home. Most of Spindle's gang of newsgirls resented the fact that, even though Jess was an orphan being raised by an elderly couple from her old Irish village of Sligo, she didn't have to live in the lodging house or worry about sleeping on the street or going hungry if she didn't sell as many papers as she should.

At the sound of Jess's approach, Ace dropped the ends of her ponytail and stood up from her slouching position. "I wouldn't worry about that just yet. Spindle said to tell you to meet her down at the distribution center. She had errands of her own and passed you off to me," Ace replied calmly. "Are you ready now?"

"Oh, yes." she said and, glancing over her shoulder, saw Mrs. O'Connor hovering the hall. "I'll be leaving now then. I hope Mr. O'Connor enjoys himself at work today," she added.

Mr. O'Connor worked as a trolley conductor for the Steinway Railway Company. Though he was getting on in years, his wages ensured that the couple had enough to afford a two bedroom apartment in Queens—one room for the O'Connor's to share and one for Jess so she had some semblance of privacy in the small apartment. The O'Connor's had had no children of their own together and, though they were both well into their sixties, they had long ago come to think of Jess as their child and treated her as such.

Mrs. O'Connor hurried over to give Jess a quick kiss on the cheek and say a silent prayer over her head just like she did every morning before the girl left to sell her wares. No matter how many times she was told that there was no need for her to sell papers to make rent, Jess always insisted so that there would be a few extra cents a week.

"You take care, my girl. I expect you home for lunch," she told her ward before turning to enter the kitchen. "It'll be stew."

Jess had to suppress a laugh—it was better than the sudden heat of embarrassment that licked at her cheek where Mrs. O'Connor's lips had just been. Of course it was stew. In the O'Connor's apartment, it was always Irish stew.

"Yes, ma'am," she said and, avoiding Ace's slight smirk, led the older girl to the front door.

As she watched the two girls leave, Gayle O'Connor couldn't help but think back to the day they had met young Jessa Rhian. It had been on the steamer ship that brought the O'Connor's to the new world and the girl had been a wee child then, six years old at the time, and her only family, her father, had been found dead in the cramped undersides of the ship. The captain ensured that the girl would go straight to the orphanage once they docked at Ellis Island but Mrs. O'Connor felt pity for the tear-streaked child. She was a Sligo girl, after all, and Mrs. O'Connor never lost her Irish pride.

After convincing her husband that it would be the best thing to do, Gayle had offered to take young Jessa with them when they set off to find a home in New York. She had lived with them since then, for over seven years now. And, as Mrs. O'Connor pulled the chuck meat out of the icebox in order to start the stew, she couldn't imagine life any other way.

When Jess arrived at the distribution center with Ace, she looked around eagerly, her green eyes searching out Spindle. Ace left her side almost immediately, wandering off to say hello to her friend, Corner.

She couldn't make out Spindle within the crowd and, rather than wait just outside the gate, she approached three of her own friends: Tunes, the only other girl in the crowd she saw wearing a skirt, her dark red hair pulled back in a short bun at the nape of her neck; Moneybags, a tall girl with dark brown hair hidden under a black newsies hat; and Grace, a short girl with long and, somewhat ratty, dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. They were all members of Spindle's elite group of newsgirls and were excited that Spindle had finally decided to let Jess in.

"Mornin', girls," she greeted them, easily lapsing into a tone more New York than brogue. "Nice day to be sellin' papers, wouldn't ya say?"

The trio echoed their own greetings before the shortest of the three, Grace, placed her hands on Jess's shoulder. "I can't believe you're finally going to be inducted into our group, Jess," she said with a shy smile. They two girls had known each other for years; Grace had been living at the Girls' Home since she was eight and sold newspapers on the corner street near the O'Connor's apartment. Jess had bought one from her every day before taking up the banner herself—Grace was the first newsgirl she had ever seen, given that most newsies she knew were the dirty boys she purposely avoided.

It was Grace who introduced her to selling papers, as well. They had sold newspapers together on that same street corner since they were ten years old and had grown all the closer for it. It was not unusual for Grace to spend the night in Jess's small room. In fact, the O'Connor's had offered the girl a place to stay too many times to count but the girl had lived on the streets too long to be comfortable in a real home. Besides, she enjoyed her freedom too much to and liked to make fun of the restrictions they placed on Jess.

Tunes piped up just then. "Hey, if Spindle lets you in, maybe we can finally give you a real name." All four girls smiled at that remark; Jess's insistence that she use her Christian name—or, at least, a variation of it; she refused to tell the girls her name was Jessa—was a topic to poke fun of. Almost all of the other girls went by an alias.

"I agree with Tunes here. I mean, what kind of name is Jess?" added Moneybags, her dark eyes lighting up. She was the sarcastic one of the bunch but usually meant no harm. The other girls had long since gotten used to her manner of saying things.

Jess knew not to be offended. They were just teasing. "I happen to like my name," she replied casually.

"That ain't sayin' much."

At the arrival of a fifth voice, the other four girls turned around to greet the newcomer. There was a petite girl standing there, with long, thin red hair and dark green eyes. While she was short—but not shorter than Grace—and rail-thin, she exuded only confidence despite her size. She walked with power in her every stride, reveling in how all conversations stopped as she passed.

Tunes nodded over at Spindle before gesturing to Moneybags and Grace. "C'mon, let's get on line before they all sell out. Bye Spindle, Jess." And, quick as that, the three girls fled up the stairs and towards the distribution center, leaving the leader and the new girl together alone.

"Spindle, how are you this morning?" Jess asked politely, purposely ignoring Spindle's comment. The leader was as known for her temper as well as her sharp blade and, if she wanted her chance of joining Spindle's group of girls to stay positive, she couldn't rise to her bait.

The redhead nodded. "I'm good, Jess." She paused and yawned for a moment; it was just shortly after sun up and she had the appearance of one who didn't get much sleep the night before. Her hair was flat, her eyes were puffy and her yellow button down shirt, missing the top two buttons as it was, was buttoned wrong. "You almost ready to go?" she asked.

Jess nodded. "Yes, I just have to go and buy my papes," she said, referring to the newspapers with the slang the other newsies used, "and then I'll be set."

"Then what are ya waitin' for?"

Nothing, that's what. Jess could feel Spindle's disapproval like a dark cloud overhead and, eager to please if only to finally claim a respected spot in the Far Rockaway scheme, she bowed her head. "Right away, Spindle," she said and started for the same path her friends had just taken… until she heard a rich, smooth masculine voice call from behind her and stopped at once. For some reason, it made her freeze—

"Wait, Spindle. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend here? It would be polite, no?"

—and slowly Jess turned because, suddenly, it seemed ever more important to find out what sort of boy had a voice like that.

And there he was, a tall, handsome boy of around sixteen. He walked over to Spindle, more of a cunning swagger really; there was a sizeable stack of papers already tucked underneath his arm. With his sculpted features, olive skin, jet black hair and icy, icy blue eyes, he was absolutely gorgeous and, as Jess could tell just by the way he smiled at her, he knew it, too. Those eyes were locked on her, piercing her, keeping her frozen on her step.

Jess's heart started to pound and, under the weight of his stare, she shivered.

Spindle frowned for a moment before reassuming her disinterested expression. "I don't see why not. Rip, this is just another one of the girls who sells in my territory."

"She has a name?"

Spindle's snap of an answer showed she was losing patience at the direction of this conversation. "Of course she does. It's Jess. Jess, this is my guy: Rip Divenize. He just moved to Queens from Harlem so he could be closer to me," she explained as she patted his faded dark blue shirt sleeve possessively.

"Nice to meet you," Jess said, her voice coming out no louder than a squeak. No one had ever looked at her that way before and she wasn't sure she liked it. And what made it worse was that he still wasn't looking away.

Rip, on the other hand, slipped his arm out from under Spindle's touch and stepped forward to take Jess's hand. His fingers were callused and rough but his palm was warm and his grip tighter than a crab's pinch.

"Ah, but the pleasure is all mine, miss," he drawled. His voice was low and hoarse and contained the hint of an accent that she couldn't quite place.

Jess blushed from her roots to her heeled shoes at his forward manner. In an effort to pretend she wasn't as uncomfortable as she was, she sought out Spindle. Spindle's expression was blank, unreadable, and Jess just hoped that was a good thing. She had heard rumors about what Spindle was like when she was angry and, well, at least she didn't look angry. Right?

She cleared her throat when it became clear that Spindle wasn't interested in helping her out of this situation. "Well, um, I think I should go get my papers now. I'll just—" And here she managed to slip her hand out of his, Rip laughing as she did so before swaggering back to the redhead's side "—I'll just be right back."

Spindle gave her a curt nod and let her lips split into a scowl only when she saw that Jess had finally scampered over to the line. She took in a deep breath and then, despite the fact that others were still in earshot, she turned to face Rip with fire in her eyes.

"Rip, damn it, just what do you think you were playin' at?" she hissed through gritted teeth. She just couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he had had the nerve to hit on one of her girls—and a younger girl, no less—while she was standing right there. He was her fella!

But Rip shrugged and turned his charming smile towards Spindle; his eyes, though, never left Jess as she stood, tapping her heeled shoes anxiously while waiting on line. Once or twice he saw her mousy gaze throw a worried glance back at him and deep down, like a big, fat alley cat, he purred in pleasure.

To Spindle, though, he just said: "What am I doing? I'm trying to make some friends. When I came to live here, you said that I should make some friends."

Spindle scowl deepened and the expression brought out the depths of her eyes, vivid against her pale skin. "Friends sure, but I don't remember tellin' you to get yourself a girl, too. I thought that was me." She paused and, when she spoke again, her voice was low. Guttural. "It's always been me."

Rip reached over and pecked her cheek. "Don't you worry, doll, you know you're my one and only," he said and reached one of his hands up to pat her hair soothingly. When she leaned into his hand, he smiled. Wrapped around his finger like always. It was time to remind her of that fact and, almost gently, he pulled away from here, silently gloating over the growl deep in her throat.

"I have to go, Spindle. I promised some of these fellas I met last night that I'd walk around with them today, get a feel for the streets. Come find me later, though? I'll be waiting for you," he added, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him.

Spindle longed to tell him no, that she couldn't bear to be separated from him again after finally getting him to agree to come to her side in Queens at last, but she couldn't. She glanced back at the distribution window and nodded to herself. She had her own plans after all and Jess was already returning with the tiny stack of papers she'd purchased. The younger girl seemed to be dragging her heels, taking her time as she headed back towards where Spindle and Rip were standing together, seemingly apart of the hustling, bustling morning crowd surrounding them.

Good, thought Spindle. It always served to make sure that the other girls knew their place. Fear, worries, nerves… those were the appropriate responses—and staying far away from Rip DiVenize, too. Even better.

"If you're waiting for me, then I'll be there," Spindle told him, turning back and giving Rip the small smile that she reserved only for him. But, because this was Spindle, she reached out and poked him in the shoulder before he could move any further away. "Oh," she said silkily, "one more thing?"

Rip froze, tensing under the point of her finger. Swallowing an angry retort, he said simply, "Anything for you, Spindle."

Her smile was wicked and sharp, like the curve of her blade. "Don't you ever call me doll again."

It was a good thing Rip still had his back to her. Even a hardened girl like Spindle might've quailed at the dark expression that flickered across his handsome features. "È meglio di altri," he murmured.

"What was that?"

He sighed. "As you wish, Spindle."

Translation:

È meglio di altri. - It's better than others.