Disclaimer:  Nope, don't own Newsies.

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Death to Spottie

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Chapter Two

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Madison Square

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            It was 11:22 am and Race and Spot were sitting at a small, café style table next the windowed wall inside The Coffee Tree.  Race marveled at the simplicity of the shop.  Wooden tables, wooden bookshelves, a wooden counter.  Yet it exuded comfort.  The smell of freshly roasted coffee and the dim lights made Race feel sleepy.  But then, wouldn't that be what the shop wanted?
            "Ah, coffee," Spot said lazily, then took a small sip of his drink.  "Caffeine is life."
            "Yeah, sure," Race agreed nervously.  His eyes flicked to his black wristwatch.  It glowed 11:24.
            They had left their semi-wrecked room just moments after Racetrack ended his conversation with his father.  Spot had been difficult, in the beginning.

==


            He was tangled in his new sheets and when someone whispered in his ear he saw stars explode behind his eyelids and felt a steady throbbing in his brain.
            Spot snuggled deeper into his sheets.
            Race reached out to shake his shoulder, but then quickly pulled his extended hand back, uncomfortable.
            "Spot."  His voice was too loud; it grated against his ears.  He heard Spot grunt, and pretty soon all Race could see was the top of Spot's brunette head hidden under his gray blanket.
            "Dude, wake up," he tried again.
            This time was a success.  Spot ripped the sheets off, revealing a slight body clad only in boxers.  Race turned away.
            He heard the other boy groan, then say, "Race?  Turn off that goddamn radio."  His voice was scratchy, like he was trying to speak after swallowing a lump of cotton.
            "The radio's not on," he stated bluntly.
            "Shh!  It's too loud."
            "Oh."  He paused.  "Okay," he said, enunciating.  "I'm turn-ing off the ra-di-o."
            "Thanks."
            Apparently when Spot was hung-over, he hallucinated.  He stumbled out of bed and fell to the floor with a thud.
            "Ow, my butt."
            "That's nice."  Race waved it away.  "So.  Get dressed."
            "Why?"  He craned his neck to look at Race.  He had to squint.  There was something around the little Italian that was glowing.  Oh, wait, no.  That was just the glare from the sun.  "Ow, my head."
            "Coffee."
            That was the only answer Spot needed to hear.

==

            A sporty red car was parallel-parked haphazardly outside the small coffee shop.  On the drive up, Race had clutched nervously at his seat belt and his hand had strayed near the emergency brake while Spot weaved in and out of traffic, squeezing into impossibly tight spaces in between cars and running red lights.
            Did Spot normally drive like that?  Or was it just a hangover-induced recklessness?
            Either way, when they reached The Coffee Tree, Race had clambered out of the car with as much speed and grace as his limbs would allow.

==

            11:32.  Race cleared his throat awkwardly.  Spot stared at him from over the brim of his Styrofoam cup.  He grunted.
            "We should get going."
            Spot lowered his cup and picked up his croissant delicately.  "Why?"
            "I…uh…"  He struggled for an acceptable lie.  "Meeting someone for lunch."
            Spot seemed to accept this.  He nodded, then took a large bite out of his pastry.
            "Why don't you…uh…go ahead and get in the car?"  Race twisted his watch around his wrist.  "I've got to go…to the bathroom."
            Spot nodded again.  Racetrack raced away.
            When he returned from 'the bathroom,' wholly expecting Spot to be gone, or maybe dead and chopped up into bits and pieces, he stopped in shock when he saw Spot sitting in the same seat, contently biting into his croissant.
            Shit.  This was not going according to the plan.
            "Hey, man."  His voice cracked when he spoke.  "I thought you were going to be in the car?"
            Spot glanced at the nervous man next to him and blinked.  "Huh?"  Race mentally slapped his forehead.  Spot probably hadn't fully awoken yet.  He sank dreadfully into the seat opposite his roommate.  He watched as Spot mechanically sipped his coffee, then bit into his half-eaten baked good.  He chanced a glance at his watch.
            11:35.
            That was when, outside, Spot's beautiful red car blew up in a blast of fire and smoke.  Scrap metal flew into the walls of nearby buildings.  People screamed and ducked and pointed and ran.
            "Holy shit.  My car just exploded," Spot said.  A moment of eerie silence where Spot downed the rest of his drink.
            "Er," said Race.
            People outside were still screaming.  He could faintly hear the sound of sirens wailing from not-so-far-away.
            "Holy shit.  My fucking car just fucking exploded!"  Spot jumped out his seat and ran outside.  The police had already gathered, shooing people away.  He dashed through their outstretched arms and cried out loud.  It sounded something like, "Aagh!  My BABY!  Death!  Doom!  Doom!  Doom!!"  Of course, Racetrack had been listening from inside the coffee shop, not sure if he should show himself, and the fact that he could even hear Spot amidst the sirens and fire and screaming was impressive enough.
            He left a ten dollar bill on the table and walked out the door, quickly losing himself in the winding streets of New York City, leaving the disaster area behind him.

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End Chapter Two

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[A/N]:  Relatively short chappie, sry.

THANX TO REVIEWERS:

parkranger:  HA.  I will not tell who the brunette was.  HAHA HA.  I'm EVIL.  Greatly EVIL.  Oh, and I changed the whole Jack Kelly/Blonde thing.  Weird.  I've seen Newsies like 50 thousand times, but I always think of Jack as a blonde.

Sapphy:  ::has a mental image of Spot in drag poking at a salad and sipping his water::  ::dies::  BTW, I LOVE Drunk!Spot.  He's fun to work with.  Although Hungover!Spot is fun, too.

uninvisible:  ::calls::  Spot!  Give Uninvisible a striptease, too!

Spot:  ::whines::

MS:  Do it now, bitch!

Spot:  ::stripteases::

Strawberry Shake:  HA.  I will never tell you Spot's secret.  (actually, yes, I will.  It will be revealed LATER!)  HA.  This fic started out in my head all nice and simple, but now I've decided to complicate things and such.  Much fun.  Hope you like it!

SpotLover421:  WOOT!  What if Race actually does kill Spot!?  Wouldn't that be EVIL?  Wouldn't it?!  Hehe.  Oh, and you'll find out about Spot eventually…  Thanx for reviewing!

LeftyHiggins:  LeftyHiggins, that's a cool name.  I'm left-handed.  Are you left-handed?  'Cause if you are, YOU ROCK.  Right-handed people suck.  HA Ha.  I'm just kidding.  Thanx for reviewing!

PLEASE REVIEW!  THANK YOU MUCH!