When Spot woke up the next morning, there was no trace of Bitter, which made him wonder if last night had only been a dream. He pulled on half of his clothes sleepily and walked out of the room, forgetting that he had not put on a shirt. Whiskey whistled amusedly as Spot entered the bunkroom, getting a foul look from Specs as she elicited a sharp catcall. "Well, looks like someone got a good night of sleep," Whiskey said with a knowing smile.
"Wheah is she?" Spot asked, glaring at Whiskey.
"Why who Spot?" Whiskey asked with a smirk.
"You know who I'm talking about," Spot replied, looking to Specs for help.
"Well Bittah sulked outta heah in a hurry aftah ignoring my questions, probably goin' ta find a fight to blow off some bottled up emotions. Looks like you two did something last night," she insinuated, glowering as Spot practically steamed from the ears and ran out of the room in a hurry.
Sure enough, Bitter was out looking for trouble. After selling a decent amount of newspapers, she waltzed through the streets and alleys, looking for any sort of fight that she could involve herself in. She was having the worst luck and had almost given up when she heard some noises coming from an alley nearby.
Stepping into the alley, Bitter was shocked to find Trick by himself beating on a Brooklyn newsie, one of Spot's favorite fighters. The boy, called Foul, was on the ground, a bloody mess of bruises and broken bones. By the time she got over the shock of the situation in front of her, Trick had turned to her, wiping his blade of blood as a nasty grin crossed his face.
Bitter naturally went for her dagger, pulling it out just as Trick lunged at her, his blade aimed for her heart. Sparks flew as the metal hit each other explosively, making Trick flinch in surprise. "Nice ta see ya again Bittah," Trick snarled, fighting viciously, obviously wanting to kill her.
Only by skill did Bitter find herself pinning Trick to the wall, suspending any movement from his body as her dagger dangled dangerously close to his neck.
"Bittah!" a familiar voice hollered, breaking Bitter's concentration and grip on Trick. Trick seized the moment to catch Bitter off guard, leaving her with a "small scratch" on her lower arm, right above her hand, before leaving, running away at the sight of Spot. She cussed out his disappearing back, glaring quickly at Spot before she went over to Foul, picking him up easily into her arms.
She pushed past Spot as he watched her, shocked that she could pick up a boy of Foul's size, him being husky and not at all light. He trailed behind her, reprimanding himself from almost putting Bitter into mortal danger.
Bitter only got as far as the main room before two boys took Foul from her hands and carried him upstairs to the overpopulated sick room. She sat down onto the couch with a sigh, ignoring the questions that were being shot at her and before long, got so fed up with the newsies' prodding that she got up, cursing and heading to the bathroom. Spot followed her and stood in the doorway, watching Bitter clean out her wound, which in worse condition than Bitter let on.
"Bad cut," he stated from the doorway, receiving only a well-deserved glare from her.
"It's jist fine," she stated as she turned her arm away from his view to bandage it up neatly, knowing it was not deep enough to be anything Spot should concern himself with. She pushed past him, ignoring anything he said and going straight up to the bunkroom, taking a slight detour to see how Foul was doing. She took a quick peek and caught Needle's eye, who nodded slightly in her direction as she raised her eyebrows.
Taking that as a good sign, she slipped carefully into the bunkroom, but not unnoticed. Whiskey was sitting up, smirking at her, eyes glowing with questions. "So Bittah, what did you two do last night? I won't think any less of ya if ya tell me," Whiskey said, motioning for Bitter to come and sit next to her.
Bitter just shook her head and walked hurriedly towards the window, opening it quickly. Before Whiskey could say another word, Bitter hissed a "leave me the fuck alone" and heaved herself through the window, shutting it before she climbed up to the roof to get some well deserved alone time.
Whiskey smirked once more and settled back in her temporary sick bed. Spot entered the room soon after, a look of worry furrowing his brow.
"Spot." Whiskey acknowledged, nodding in his direction and receiving nothing more than a grunt for her efforts. Spot sighed and made his way over to the bed, taking a seat.
Whiskey hissed out an icy warning as Spot sat dangerously close to her bad leg, pinching the blanket around it. "Watch da leg, Spotty-boy. I'm suah you'd love ta see me bed ridden' fer another week or so, but I'se more den ready ta get outta dis damn bunk."
"Listen sugah, right now I'se don' give a damn 'bout yer well-being," he began, pausing to compose himself and fight back the snarl that had threatened to surface. When he began once more it was barely a whisper. "I'se worried 'bout Bittah." He ran a hand over his weary face. "Really worried."
Whiskey frowned at the admission. "Well, is dere any reason Bittah may be havin' dese conflictin' emotions? I mean, one minute she's perfectly normal, and da next she's tellin' me ta fuck off. 'Course I deserved it, but nevah da less, if ya want my help I'se gonna need a few more details..." she trailed off, giving Spot the most compassionate look she could muster up.
"Well..." Spot started, a small frown on his face as he began to debate whether or not to seek Whiskey's help and reveal the intimate details of Bitter and his life. "We'se kinda...went a little further last night den in da past, an' den dis mornin' she was gone."
Whiskey sighed and then swung her legs out of bed. Spot's eyes grew wide in warning as he saw her on the verge of breaking her promise and getting up and about. "Relax, Spot, I'se just gonna go up ta da roof an' try ta an' clean up dis mess dat ya created. Dere ain't nothin' you can do ta fix it cuz she needs her space from ya at da moment, so jus' kick back an' if ya hear me screamin' from da roof, come rescue me from a semi-maniacal Bittah."
Spot frowned, but didn't attempt to stop Whiskey as she made her slow progression to the fire escape.
Bitter tensed as some 'thumps' were heard below her, the noises coming from the fire escape. From the slowness of them, she knew it was Whiskey. She moved over to the other side of the roof and closed the distance between her and the edge of the roof.
"I don't wanna talk about it," she stated from her perch as Whiskey climbed over the edge of the roof with difficulty.
"Well too bad," Whiskey said with a huff, out of breath from her sudden exercise.
Bitter took a secret vow of silence and dared not to look over at Whiskey. She knew she couldn't deny her friend of the truth when looking her in the face.
"Bittah, I know it was a big commitment you made last night, wit yer past an' all…"
Bitter just sighed as Whiskey paused to take in a deep breath. Whiskey was hoping to strike a nerve or at least say something to elicit a reply from her. "But at least Spot looked like he enjoyed it," Whiskey smirked, nervously awaiting her answer.
"Oh shut it Whiskey," Bitter murmured, trying not to let the small smile that was threatening to come cut into her cold look of indifference.
"He looked very very worried Bittah, which means dat he really enjoyed last night," Whiskey tried again, seeing the corners of Bitter's mouth twitch.
"Well if he had as a good of a time as I did…" Bitter let slip out, a devious smirk on her face.
Whiskey chuckled. "See, I knew you were still in there somewhere, didn' want de iceman takin' ovah me dearest pal," she smirked, glad to get a rise out of her.
"Now get yer arse ovah heah an' tell me whad de hell yer problem is, you have a gorgeous sex god to keep you warm durin' cold, lonely nights, which is more den me. Damn rat bastahd takin' Specs away from me," Whiskey said; seriousness was never her featured emotion.