A/N: The political dealings in this chapter (and those forthcoming) are not meant to reflect historical happenings. Consider them (like canon events) Disney-ified -- only dystopian. Sincere thanks to readers, reviewers, and those who lent encouragement while Jack and David refused to cooperate.

Chapter 4 -- Standing or Falling

Jack found David outside the bookstore. He was holding a thin stack of newspapers, but making no effort to attract customers, simply staring at his reflection -- or, Jack supposed, the books -- in the window around the gold "antique books" lettering.

"Penny for a pape," Jack greeted.

Startled, David tensed and stayed tense even as Jack slid into place at his side. For the hundredth time Jack wished David wasn't all nervy like that with him. Of course, David tried to pretend he wasn't.

"Oh, hey."

"Your not gonna sell those last few papes just standing there, Davey, no matter how pretty a face you got," Jack teased, hoping to settle him. Instead, David shuffled away from the window and, subsequently, Jack.

"I'm just here for Les. Mama doesn't want him selling alone. I hold the extras while he does his act down the block." He pointed toward Les' small, coughing frame down the sidewalk. Jack's chest swelled with pride, despite the hint of disapproval still in David's voice.

There was nothing to say for a few seconds, so Jack let himself do a once-over of David. Something about him looked different, and in a way Jack didn't really understand, David felt different. "So, you glad to see me?"

"Yeah," David replied steadily. "Sure." He hitched the papers under his arm. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Not sure if he was supposed to answer that, Jack shrugged. "I hotfooted over this way soon as I knew I could. Took a guess about where you'd be. We always came by this way," he jerked his head to the cold street he'd once seen hot and alive with fire and fighting -- the street that had inspired him, and David. But the statue-still and focused way David stood before him now made Jack feel somehow foolish about that.

He realized his palms felt sweaty even in the warmthless February sun. "Anyway, I saw Crutchy a ways back," he hiked a thumb over his shoulder, "and he pointed me here."

David nodded like he'd figured that out already. "Good thing you didn't come looking for us before now. We haven't been out for weeks."

"Oh." So they'd stopped selling. The possibility hadn't occurred to him, and something inside him felt rubbed raw -- he didn't like thinking David had given up on him. He looked down, then away, then up at David -- who was looking away -- then down again before finally deciding it was still his turn to talk. He quietly offered the first thing that came to mind. "I miss you, Dave."

David smiled limply. "That's nice to know, Jack. Thanks." He clutched a ruddy-knuckled hand to his coat collar and bounced on the balls of his feet for warmth.

Wasn't full forgiveness, but Jack would make it up to him.

"Jack!" Les barreled into him, and Jack squashed Les' head in a half-hug, surprised he stood ribs-high already. Les beamed. "Did you see that? I didn't even have to offer the pape -- that fella just saw me cough and then bought it! I'm really good now. Are you going to sell with us? I'll show you!" He skittered away to get another paper from David.

"Actually," Jack caught David's eye above Les' capped head, "me and your brother got some catching up to do. We thought you could finish out the day with Crutchy. Whaddya say?"

Les' face fell, and David's brow creased. "Jack --"

"C'mon . . ." He playfully bumped David. "He'll be fine! You'll be better off without this stick-in-the-mud, right Les? A kid and a crip? It's genius. You'll be millionaires by the end of the day."

David continued to frown.

"It won't be long. We'll be back in a couple hours." Jack cupped his hands around David's neck and gave him an encouraging shake, then stooped to scoop Les onto his shoulders.

He steered them up the street, with David trailing grudgingly, until they met Crutchy, who was just as pleased with the idea as Jack figured he would be. Some guys never changed. After David handed off the rest of the papers and told Les to behave, he turned to let Jack lead the way.

Jack set off toward the park at his usual healthy clip. On the way he rattled about what he'd been up to, about the good guys he'd found for his team -- guys he knew David would like and approve of. "Today they're out on patrol. Keeping Greene's name circulating, finding more folks to help out. Winter's almost over and nobody's gone hungry in my district. That's something."

David listened -- eyes to cobblestones, hands in pockets -- as Jack led them down the winter streets and through wild stories of the fights and successes he'd seen lately. It used to be easy to talk to David, and maybe Jack's breakneck pace made it seem easy, but it didn't feel the same.

But the only way Jack could think to fix that was to keep trying. A few times after a rally had turned into a riot (mostly Jack ducked out before the action -- not that he'd told David that -- but on occasion he got forced into a scrape) he'd gone to the Jacobs' to have Sarah treat his wounds, and each time it took a while for David to forget his frown and start talking strategy, but he always did.

"So what've you been doing on Saturdays, Dave?" he hazarded.

David shrugged. "Sometimes you send me to Brooklyn."

A surprise laugh escaped Jack. "Yeah. Sometimes I do. And how is the baron of Brooklyn? You only ever bring me bad news about him -- 'Spot says no,' 'Spot says you're a chump.'"

One corner of David's mouth lifted wryly. "He's all right. We don't really talk much."

"He still king of New York to all those newsies?"

"Unofficially, maybe."

Unconsciously, Jack slowed his pace. "There's no way he gave it up."

"Not so much 'gave it up' as 'got a promotion.' Or gave himself one, I guess."

With his interest more than piqued, possibilities churned in Jack's head. He needed more facts. "You're not making sense, Dave."

"Look, all I know for sure is that he's not a newsie anymore."

"What about his gang? What about Brick and Pauley and the rest?"

David winced, and Jack knew that wince -- it meant David thought he shouldn't say what came next. "I don't think they're newsies anymore, either."

That meant this new racket of Spot's -- whatever it was -- was big. And assuming it was (mostly) legal, appealing to Spot's business interest might finally sway him into an alliance. The idea put speed back in Jack's step. He'd run it by Greene.

They stopped at a sausage vendor -- Jack paid for both of them -- and claimed a park bench across the way.

"All these events you go to, all this organizing, it's a lot of work, right?" David asked, redistributing sauerkraut over his sausage.

"I guess."

"So," David licked his finger and wiped it on his pant leg, "doesn't it seem contradictory to you that Greene says he supports the labor unions and shortening workweeks but requires his own men to be ready for action at any time? You work almost straight through every month." He took an enormous bite.

Jack chuckled and shook his head. That was more like it -- David asking school-smart questions and chomping down food. He smiled and delivered one of his best lines. "We're working to make it better for everybody."

"Mm. How noble," David said in a tone that meant it wasn't.

Even though David's lack of support nettled Jack, he didn't show it. He bit firmly into his sandwich to stop himself from saying something stupid, and they ate in silence.

Swallowing his final mouthful he asked, "What made you stop selling?" It'd just occurred to him that all the newsies' strike leaders had moved on, grown up. "I mean, was it Spot? Because he could shame a canary out of its yellow, but there's nothing wrong with selling papers, you know. "

David's eyes narrowed. "Had nothing to do with Spot." His tone was sharp. "It's not like we need the money anymore. It's certainly not worth freezing out here once or twice a week for a few cents." He crushed the paper wrap from his lunch into a ball. "And I have other things to worry about, like school."

"Yeah, okay. I'm just saying a man needs to stand on his own two feet and if you --"

David sprung off the bench, full of anger that caught Jack off guard. "Is that what you think working for Greene is? 'Standing on your own two feet'? You're not 'standing' on or for anything, Jack. You're falling for all of it! He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, a capitalist disguised as a champion of the working man. He's a crook!"

Jack's temper flared, and this time he didn't suppress it. He was on his feet and inches from David in seconds. "You doubt goddamn everything. Greene's gonna be mayor by summer's end. Like Roosevelt -- straight to the top! Just because you don't think it can happen doesn't mean it won't."

Lips pinched thin, David held his glare steady. But just as Jack wondered whether he could ever hit his best friend, David's features softened. Suddenly the David Jack recognized best stood before him -- the one who looked all-knowing and confused at once, the one who wanted something Jack didn't understand.

"You're never going to see it, are you?" David's voice held sad awe. "Not until you want to."

That struck Jack harder than any insult would have. He had no idea what to say, and he wasn't even sure they were talking about Greene anymore. "Davey, I --"

"Know the reason I stopped selling, Jack?" David concentrated a deep blue stare on him. "It was you. It wasn't the same without you."

With that, he turned and left Jack standing there, falling.