Heya! Okay, so this is for my dear, lovely, beautiful friend, Butterflywriter, since it is her birthday.
Disclaimer: The Newsies are Disney's, Dove is Butterflywriter's.
Spot set off with a purpose towards Manhattan. He was going to pick up his girl, Dove, and show her the best time she'd ever seen. It's not every day that a girl has her birthday, after all. Spot had it all planned out—dinner at a fancy restaurant, then off to see a play, and finally, out to go dancing, which Dove loved to do, but Spot hated. Spot smirked to himself. Dove wouldn't know what hit her.
Spot leaned against the wall next to the back door of Irving Hall. He didn't have to wait long before the door opened and chattering chorus girls trailed out.
"Hiya, Spot." They chorused.
"Ladies." Spot tipped his hat. "Now wheah's me special goil?"
Dove stepped out the door. Spot caught her up in his arms.
"Dere she is." He whispered, kissing her forehead. Dove giggled.
"Hiya, Lover Boy."
There was another chorus of "Awww!"s from the flock of girls. Spot glanced at them and they tittered and scurried out of the alley.
"Ready ta go?" He asked her. She looked confused.
"Go where?"
"Out?"
"Oh, Spot, darling. I was hoping we could stay in tonight. I'm so tired." Dove yawned, as if to emphasize her point.
"Oh. Okay." Spot agreed, feeling greatly disappointed. Dove noticed Spot's crestfallen face.
"No, never mind, I'm being silly. Where are we going?" She whispered softly to him, tucking her face against his neck. He perked up.
"C'mon. You'll sees." He took her hand and led her out of the alley.
Spot led Dove uptown, her arm through his. The handsome couple turned many heads. Dove gasped as Spot stopped in front of a very fancy restaurant—one of the best in the city. He smiled proudly. He had been saving for weeks to do this for her.
Spot held the door as Dove swept inside the restaurant. The maitre'd looked down disdainfully at the young couple.
"I'm sorry, we're full tonight." He said haughtily.
"Well dat's fine, 'cause we'se has a reservation." Spot said pleasantly, trying to act unfazed by the rude treatment.
"Name?" The maitre'd sighed, opening his reservation book.
"Spot Conlon." Spot said proudly.
"Mm, I'm sorry, there's no reservation under that name. It looks as though you'll have to leave."
"What?" Spot growled. Dove tugged on his arm.
"Spot, it's fine. I'm not hungry anyways, let's just go."
As much as Spot wanted to defend his honor, he decided that he didn't want to spoil Dove's birthday anymore. He graciously followed her back out onto the street. They linked arms once more.
"Where to next, Lover Boy?" Dove breathed in his ear.
"Da-da theatre." Spot mumbled, feeling his tough front slipping. Dove clapped giddily. Spot's confidence returned. The couple set off towards the theatre.
When they arrived though, the theatre was dark. A piece of paper was taped to the glass window of the ticket booth. Spot stepped forward to read it, lighting a match so he could see.
"It says dat da show was cancelled. I'se sorry, Dove." Spot hung his head. Dove's arm snaked around his waist and her chin rested on his shoulder.
"It's okay, darling." She kissed the corner of his jaw. "Any other plans?"
"Yeah, one more place." He put his arm around her waist, and they strolled off into the night.
As they approached the ballroom, there was a commotion outside. Spot and Dove watched as the bulls rounded up a fight that had broken out and then ordered the hall to be closed for the night. Dove felt Spot slump next to her.
"Was that your last plan?" She asked softly. He nodded, dejected. Why couldn't just one thing go right, tonight? He waited for her to get angry with him, like many other girls had.
Instead she whispered,
"My turn to plan."
She took his hand and lead him away.
The couple wandered through the streets of the city, laughing and joking. They stopped at a vendor and Spot bought them each a sausage wrapped in a doughy crust. They continued to roam, with their arms around the other's waist.
Spot bought a frosted pastry from another vendor. He tucked a match into the top, and lit it with another.
"Make a wish, Princess." He held it out to her.
Dove pondered what to wish for and smiled as she thought of it. She blew on the candle and watched it sputter and die. Spot plucked the hot match off the pastry and cast it aside. Dove took the treat from him and broke it in two, handing half back to him. They sat side by side on a park bench as they ate.
"What did you wish for?" Spot asked, draping his arm across the back of the bench. Dove smiled mysteriously and shook her head.
Spot noticed Dove had a bit of frosting on her nose, and wiped it off with a finger. He kissed the tip of her nose. She giggled, and he smiled. Dove could always make him forget all of his troubles.
A few minutes later, they had moved, and were now stretched out side by side, watching the stars.
"I'se sorry nuddin' went right tahday, Dove." Spot murmured. Dove wriggled closer to him and laid her head on his chest.
"'sokay." She murmured back.
"So what didya wish foah?"
Dove nestled her head into his chest.
"You." She whispered.
Happy Birthday to yoooouuuu. Happpyyyy Birthdaaayyy to yoooouuuuu. Happyyyyyy Birthdaayyy dear Butterflywriter. Happyyyyy Birthdaaaayyy tooooo yoooouuuuu! *cheering and applause*
Be sure to check out her story, Morning Dove, to get the scoop on Dove's history.