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

Chapter 31

As I slowly plaited my hair into a thick braid over my shoulder, I found it hard to stop myself from staring worriedly at Spot's stiff form near the window of our shared bedroom. The kerosene lamp on our dresser flickered within his distant blue stare, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he brought his half-smoked cigarette back to his mouth for another puff. His eyes squinted distractedly out into the strengthening rainstorm--- only a light drizzle when the Manhattan party had exited the lodging house a half hour before----and a sadness seemed to crease into his handsome face.

To the untrained eye, Spot's actions following his meeting with Jack and David would have seemed completely unremarkable. He had genially bid the Manhattan crowd farewell as they had begun their trek home, smiling affectionately down at me before enfolding his fingers into mine and then leading me up to our bedroom. His stoicism, however, had long been an easy read for me. His eyes had been distant, his smile too forced. But the tightness in his lips had been the final telling sign that had made me undeniably certain---- there was something boiling uncomfortably within him that needed to break through, something that he desperately needed to say. And after the many months I had been by his side, I knew my best course of action in dealing with this presenting conundrum was to gently soothe the anxiety that was most likely impeding his speech.

So quietly, I moved to stand behind his taut form, allowing my hands a careful caress over the toned muscles of his lower back to then clasp gently upon his tense abdomen. I gave him a steady pulse, nuzzling my nose into his shoulder blades as I felt his hands entwine into my own.

"Me-thinks there might be something on your mind," I murmured into his shirt, smiling shortly as his hands squeezed mine in response, a chuckle rumbling within his body.

"You thinks huh?" he replied, taking a large inhale from his cigarette before flicking the remaining ember out the window and saying, "What gave me away?"

He turned slowly to face me, thoughtfully meeting my gaze as he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. His eyes were clouded with conflict, his hand faltering ever so slightly as it brushed delicately upon my cheek. But I simply pulled his palm to my lips, kissing it gently before pressing it into the side of my face and murmuring, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe your glum expression or furrowed brow. It's hard to say, really."

He raised his eyebrows, grunting lowly in amusement at my statement. And after only a brief pause, he gently ran his fingers through my hair, grasping my face within his hands purposefully and opening his mouth as if to intonate whatever disquieting thoughts seemed to be swirling within him. However, he just as quickly closed it again, causing me to narrow my eyes in concern.

"What is it?" I asked, moving my head to meet his faltered gaze before posing, "Bad news from Jack?"

He stared at the floor for several more moments, a clear hesitation in his pursed lips. But his silent struggle only inspired a further probing from me as I covered his sturdy hands upon my face with my own and clearly said, "Tom."

His eyes immediately locked with mine as his real name slowly filled the space between us. It was a summons that I used sparingly, but one that nonetheless was a very effective means of securing an honest response from Spot. And so he nodded slowly in understanding, his eyes flitting to the floor once more before he murmured, "Jack thinks that something is building up. After he spread around all those false leads that you were with him, he thinks that someone might actually bite---that something might happen soon."

I quirked my head in confoundment, honestly surprised by the despondency in his tone. From sitting in on the multitude of planning discussions that had taken place between Spot and Jack throughout the last six months---seemingly endless debates on what ways, if any, we could come by more information concerning my kidnapper---Spot had been an outspoken proponent for tracking down the culprit by any means necessary. And once several potential strategies had been mapped out, I had been in full support of the measures that Jack had planned on taking----disseminating falsehoods throughout Manhattan that I was currently in his care while also initiating contact with the underling Fiore goons that he was familiar with. It was a dangerous set of actions on his part, but ones that Jack had wholly insisted upon going through with, and ones that Spot had found an undeniable necessity.