#constantly thinking about a broadway boot a watched a While ago where Kath follows the delanceys to the stairs and reaches out

[i-didnt-do-1t]

The one where Katherine follows the Delanceys’ down to the basement.

cw: threat of violence

The door to the basement slammed closed behind him, and Oscar wasn’t expecting a hit to land across his cheek as he stepped out into the hall.

It wasn’t a hard one, nothing compared to the backhands from Snyder or da, but enough to send his head sideways at the unexpected nature of it, enough for it to sting.

Immediately on guard out of the corner of his eye he caught movement again and caught the wrist in a harsh grip before the second hit could land.

When he looked at her, Katherine Pulitzer didn’t look back. Her gaze instead fixed on his bruising red knuckles circling her arm.

“What did you do to him?” She asked and her voice was hard, all sharp edges, and she didn’t seem afraid of Oscar either, not in the way she should be, and the realisation felt like pin pricks in his skin still buzzing from the adrenaline of beating on Kelly. So he tightened his grip, working against the logical part of his brain that told him it wasn’t in his best interests to rough up Joseph Pulitzer’s daughter and jerked her arm to the side forcing her forward.

“Only what your father paid us to.”

“Clearly money matters to you more than your morals.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine money is anythin’ that you’ve ever had to worry about.”

It was only at the vitriol in his voice that she attempted to pull her arm away from him. Instead he tightened his fingers, his knuckles aching at the movement.

He could feel Morris at his side, feel his stare, something akin to a glare but nothing enough to make him stop yet.

“There are other ways to gain it than being fists for hire, then beating on kids that are only trying’ to make a living-“

“Okay” Oscar relented. “Maybe there is. But maybe breakin’ Kelly’s hand is more satisfying’.”

He enjoyed the way her eyes widened, the way her jaw tensed with worry.

“You’re both bas-“

He cut over the top of her, loud and sharp and blunt. “-being paid by your father. Who told us we can treat him as we see fit.”

She was biting her tongue. He could tell. She tried to pull away again and he had to stop himself from laughing, almost had to admire her confidence.

“And we ain’t nothin’ next to what Snyder’s gonna do to’him. You gonna go start a fight with him too? Think you can win that one?”

“Let go of me.”

“You hit me first.” He turned to Morris, his too casual grip far too strong for the harsh way she tried to yank herself away again and failed. “What d’you think Morris. Brave little girl reporter ain’t so brave no more.”

“I am not, a little girl.”

“Oh. Course’ not.”

The mocking in his tone was enough to make her expression shift again from worried to angry before it stuck something firmly in the middle.

Oscar didn’t really abide by the whole, you can’t hit girls rule, not that it was something that he’d actually done, but he always thought if someone, anyone, swung first he was going to hit back twice as hard. But Katherine was different, laying a hand on Miss Pulitzer in any way that could leave a bruise all but guaranteed their return to the refuge, if not actual jail.

(but something in him, something that hated his father in a way not dissimilar to how she seemed to resent hers right now, told him she wouldn’t be saying a word. And maybe that was something he could respect.)

It was Morris in the end that lightly kicked his shin.

“Let her be. Door’s locked any way and you got the key. Ain’t like she’ll be getting in.”

And like she’d almost forgot Morris was there, her other hand raised, to try and hit out at them or do something stupid like try and grab the key in Oscar’s pocket he wasn’t sure and they weren’t gonna find out either, because this time in one fluid movement Morris grabbed her other arm.

“Thought you was meant to be smart,” he said, and he just sounded tired. “We can stand here arguing and Kelly can hear every word. You wanna make him worried bout you too on top’ve everything else?”

For a second Katherine was quiet, gaze flicking between the two of them and Oscar wondered what she was seeing. The Delancey brothers, made of the same blood and flesh who shared the same crease in their brows they got from their da. Snyder’s mutt’s from the refuge raised to bite and bare teeth. Oscar and Morris, side by side and back to back, putting money in their pockets and restless with the constant casual background hum of anger.

“You both could’ve helped.” She said eventually, and she pulled her arm from Morris, he let her go, shoving his hands back in his pocket before he came up with a cigarette. “You could’ve helped them.”

And the words felt familiar to Oscar, something similar spat at him one morning. He was right then, and he was right now too.

“Yeah? I help the guy who puts money in my pockets.”

He tightened his grip, only for a couple seconds, only until she winced, the expression near imperceptible, and then he let go. Swallowing down the rest of the anger, restless and pulsing through his blood and his limbs. He needed a drink, or a fight, or to turn around and beat on Kelly a little more.

Instead Morris shoved his shoulder toward the hall door.

He paused before he started walking though, sending once last look at Katherine as she held her arm to her chest and stared after them, frustration and something almost like fear written across her face, but not of them, not for herself.

“When Kelly fucks up his choices you ain’t gonna want to be at the rally Pulitzer,” He said, “Snyder’s men ain’t gonna be as nice as we are, not gonna have no qualms about hittin’ a girl.”