Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 12

Spot rubbed his hands over his face roughly, halfheartedly watching the sun begin to rise through the window in Mary's spare bedroom. He could barely keep his eyes open as he sat in an old wooden chair next to the bed where Kate now soundlessly slept. To say Spot felt tired truly didn't begin to encompass the mind-numbing, soul-crushing weariness that had taken a hold of his body over the past several days. Saying he felt absolutely, fucking spent captured the feeling with much more accuracy.

But there he sat, despite the exhaustion that seemed to seep through his pores, waiting as patiently as he could for Katherine Moore to rouse from her drug-induced slumber. The last thing he wanted to do was confront the girl that had finally fallen into somewhat of a peaceful coma several hours prior, but he knew he had no choice.

Almost two days had passed since Flit had collapsed with Kate near the docks, and Spot had wasted no time in collecting as much information about the strange occurrence as possible. With his bird still recovering from some fairly nasty stab wounds to his leg and gut, Spot had been forced to seek out the few others who could relay the origin of Kate and Flit's attackers. But, upon finishing a long conversation with Skip, all of Spot's preconceived ideas about Kate's rescue began to dissipate. He had almost felt like scoffing when Skip had first relayed the details involving Kate's journey to Brooklyn. The young boy was well known for his exaggeration and his tale seemed wrought with it. But after receiving not one, but three stories that eerily confirmed all of what Skip had communicated, Spot had found it difficult to dismiss the emphatic boy's account as another fictitious venture. And after letting this information ferment for several hours, he began to realize that, in all honesty, he wasn't able to confidently deny any of the confusing claims he had heard. And he knew innately that the only one who could do so convincingly enough for at the very least his comfort was Kate herself. His boys, however, would probably require a much more rigorous screening of Kate once news broke about Flit. And this was precisely why he needed to get in front of this, well before the impending trainwreck could even commence.

Originally, he had insisted that she rest and heal for several days before he even attempted to approach her, but the troubling information he now was in possession of made him reconsider this. And, her behavior over the prior two days had only added to his inclination to speak to her immediately.

She had been erratic and completely incoherent. Spot shuddered slightly at the recent memory of Mary forcing a dose of laudanum into Kate's mouth while Spot held down her wildly flailing limbs. He wasn't sure if he would be met with more panic and violence when she roused again from sleep, but that, unfortunately, was the least of his worries. He knew the most important thing now was Kate telling him exactly what had transpired over the last five weeks, from start to finish. And if she proved incapable of doing so, it would be even harder for him to speak out in her defense.

Spot's eyes focused on Kate's form again as he heard her moan softly and fidget under the blankets that Mary had bundled about her several hours before. The bruises that lined her jaw shone much more distinctly in the warm light of the rising sun, her face still tense in sleep. But strangely, even in spite of her face's uncharacteristic hardness, Spot still felt drawn to her, having to suppress the impulse to reach out and stroke a curl gently off her forehead. He had always felt an inherent need to protect her, even when she had been with Jack, and now, sitting beside her, he was somewhat amazed at how strongly this feeling still surged within him.

To be sure, the natural instinct to shield Kate had certainly not been spurred on by her actual need to be safeguarded. She had been shockingly independent and even more startlingly self-assured when he had first met her. And as he got to know her better, Spot, the famed Brooklynite himself, had actually been somewhat in awe of her. The natural charm that had worked so flawlessly on all the other women he had been with, which had been quite a few, had fallen completely flat with Kate. She seemed to demand something more than the charismatic veneer that he had become accustomed to women swooning over, and for the first time in his life, he had felt himself complying to these requirements, almost instinctively. She had always had an uncanny ability to recognize when he was being disingenuous or stoic, and had just as easily been able to draw him out of these moods. Her skill was infuriating at times, but also completely mesmerizing. He had met many people who had been considered strong simply from the power they used to wield their perspective skills, but Kate's strength had lain in her amazing, yet subtle ability to read people. And perhaps it was this talent that had caused Spot to stop and take real notice of her, something he had never felt the need to do for most anyone else, especially the many women that frequented his bed. The closer he looked, though, the more he realized that it was the reflection of his own skills within Kate that made him pay attention. But, if anything, this insight only permanently secured his originally tentative investment.