A few games proceeded in which IF paid no attention as she looked out across the table, listening to the girls talk about their day. No one had asked her what had actually happened with her and Bitter that day, in fear that they would get snapped at. All in all, they knew it was none of their business and were satisfied with the rumors that had slowly spread around the lodging house. The Brooklyn girls were not known for keeping their mouths shut, but knew when not to ask, nonetheless.

It was in the fourth game of poker that a loud knock sounded at the door and all became silent as a tall girl stood up and opened the door slightly just so she could see who it was. "Oh hi Spot," she greeted with smirk, pushing the one streak of white hair in her long dark brown hair behind her ear as she waited for him to state his business.

"Hiccups," Spot replied with a solemn nod, trying to look past her and into the room, which was quite impossible seeing as the door was only a crack open.

"An' what kin I do fer our great leadah dis evenin'?" Hiccups asked, glancing back at the girls to wink one of her big blue eyes at them, making them all elicit a slight chuckle, even IF.

Spot shoved his foot in the door so Hiccups would not later shut it in his face and lowered his voice, "Wanted ta see how Bittah was doing an' maybe talk ta her if she's up."

"Who's at de door," Bitter's tired voice sounded clearly over the noise of the room, making everyone turn towards her.

IF was the first to speak, standing up as she did. "Bittah's asleep!" she told Hiccups and hurried over to Bitter's bunk.

"No I'm not!" Bitter protested, still unsure of who was at the door.

Spot raised an eyebrow as Hiccups started to say that Bitter was asleep, having heard her protests. Of course Spot managed his way into the room and IF told her to hush up, telling her who was at the door.

Bitter groaned as she saw Spot appear over IF's shoulder. "Bittah we need ta talk," he said carefully, catching the expression on Irish Flare's face as he moved around her.

"She's in no condition fer one of yer talks!" IF replied for her.

Bitter let the two holler at each other for a few minutes, watching amusedly as IF got in his face, trying to shove him out of the room and soon finding him to be very immovable.

Bitter finally decided to interject and stood up, making the two stop instantly and she ushered both of them to follow her out of the room, which they complacently did a moment later. When they found themselves outside the room, the two began to talk vigorously again, neither noticing Bitter's silence until she simply walked to the bathroom without a word.

They finally noticed a minute or two later, both already red in the face and tempers flaring as the two looked around confused.

"She's in de bathroom," Buttercup Tate said from behind them. Her shiny hazel eyes sparkled as the two gaped at her and she just twirled her long dark brown hair around her finger as she patiently waited for them to retreat. It took them a while to catch on, IF stomping off first and Spot following a second later.

They found Bitter sitting on a chair in the bathroom, some bandages, peroxide and rags spread out across one of the sinks. "Well, I hope you two got the yelling out of your systems," she started, proceeding on when they both nodded, "IF will fix me arm up, givin' Spot a chance to see that I'm not dying an' then he can ask some questions of both of us in privacy, seeing as we were both involved in what happened this afternoon."

IF was the first to speak of the two. "Good," she said, glaring at Spot as she turned her attention over to fixing up Bitter's wound.

Spot did not react well to seeing the wound and just kept on shaking his head over and over. "Don't let yer head roll of, which it's bound to do if ya keep shakin' it like dat," Bitter said with a smirk.

"Well at least it doesn't need stitches," he said, looking at it closely as IF cleaned it out.

"Yes, it's fine, now can we get this conversation ovah wit, I'd like to get more sleep so I can actually sell tomorrow," Bitter replied, prompting him to begin.

He just gaped at her, "You're not…" he started.

"She will sell tomorrow," IF interrupted rudely, "I'll look aftah her an' don't argue wit me."

Bitter threw a grateful smile in IF's direction and then turned back to Spot, who had crossed his arms, glaring evenly at IF, who was not in the least paying attention to him. "Well get on wit it," Bitter repeated.

"Airight," Spot said after a few minutes of deciding that he could not argue her out of selling. "What happened exactly?" he asked.

Bitter told the story start to finish, IF adding her little remarks in from time to time. They gave him every last detail, but it did not satisfy Spot.

"So, do you know why the girl was there?" he asked. Both shook their heads and IF piped up, "She was passed out cold the whole time I was in Manhattan an' none of them were revealin' anything."

Spot thought about that for a minute and then asked, "Did you recognize the boy?"

Bitter had to think about that for a moment or two. "Geez, well, he was a newsie, dat was fer suah, wasn't from Brooklyn an' didn't look like a Manhattan newsie, I'd say maybe he was from the Bronx, I ain't too sure tho, I've seen 'im around once or twice in Brooklyn," she said, trying to think harder.

"What'd he look like?" Spot asked.

"Oh that's easy. He looked like a normal average guy, brown hair, brown eyes, had a scary look to them, like he had killed before, uhm, an inch or two taller than me, oh yeah an he had this scar across his neck, most likely from a knife fight. Other than that he was ordinary as anyone, looked like he could blend in real well," Bitter said, nodding as if to finalize all that she had said.

Spot seemed content with her answers and furrowed his brow as he thought about all that she had said. "Ouch!" Bitter suddenly cried out, grabbing her arm back from IF. "You tryin' ta cut off my circulation or didya jist wanna see me in pain!"

IF laughed, "Sorry," she muttered, fixing the bandage so it was not as tight.

Bitter got up once she was done and turned to Spot. "That it?" she asked.

Spot nodded in response, barely glancing at her before he left the washroom. That was the last Bitter saw of him that night even though his questions swarmed her thoughts all night as she prepared for bed, nodding her head as IF talked her head off. Why did he ask all those questions, he never seemed to be interested in me fights before? What does all this mean? A Manhattan goil gettin' beat on by a newsie from one of the other territories, who woulda thought? And who was that boy who I left lying there in that alley? Why didn't I ask his name or where he was from? The questions flowed through her mind as she pulled the covers over her and tried to sleep, leaving one question wandering around in her mind. What will his friends do when they find him?

* * *

Bitter had a fretful night, she didn't get any rest until she had tossed and turned for an hour or two, hitting her arm harshly and passing out, which was most likely the only reason she slept at all. She awoke before the rest of the girls and dragged herself into the bathroom to bath quickly, none of the boys seeming to be up either. She pulled on her black pair of boy's shorts, holding them up as she pulled on her undershirt and then grabbed the first pair of suspenders she spotted. However, before she could get on her now dry, blue short-sleeved ratty dress shirt, Irish Flare interrupted her sleepily to take a look at her wound.

She cleaned it out and then sighed as she looked closely at the wound. "You really shouldn't be selling today," she started, "but as long as Spot doesn't know how bad this wound is…" she trailed off, glaring at her for emphasis and then wrapping the wound tightly. Bitter pulled her over-shirt on just before Spot entered the bathroom rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She quickly slipped past him, not saying a word.

He grabbed her arm gently and she looked back at him. "You suah yer ok ta sell?" he asked.

Bitter nodded and twisted her arm out of his grasp. She scurried through the lodging house, not wanting to encounter her leader again, in fear that he would take a look at the wound and tell her she couldn't sell.

The day was definitely not a pleasant one for the young hurt girl. Just when Bitter least expected it, she was forced into an alley easily as the arm that was grabbed was her hurt one. The dark haired boy smiled as he saw the trace of blood covering her sleeve. "So Camelion got you good," the boy snarled.

"Meddlin' in our business in the first place and you with only a scratch, him half conscious in a bed," the other added in, "Isn't dat right Prowler?" the darker haired boy loosened his grip slightly as he opened his mouth to add in a snide comment, the only thing coming from his mouth next was a yelp as she kneed him hard in the stomach and hit him wickedly across the head, causing his vision to go in and out, falling to the ground barely conscious.

"Get her Horror!" the boy called weakly as Bitter dashed off towards the end of the alley, not in the mood for such trouble.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle a fight even in her condition, but she knew if she came home with another wound she'd be bedridden by Spot's orders. The scar-faced boy grabbed her, his face horribly lit up in pleasure as her own face lit up in pain as he dug his fingers into her now open wound. He pushed her hard up against the wall, but she landed a swift uppercut to his chin, knocking him a few steps backward as a sickening crack occurred, his jaw breaking. She ran out of there before either could recover, the wound on her arm pounding something horrible and she could barely pick up the newspapers she had dropped near the entrance of the alley.

Bitter didn't even think twice before heading straight back to the lodging house, in no mood to see any goons of theirs any time soon. She resigned herself on a chair and fell asleep there, or rather (although she'll never admit it) passed out.

"Leave me be," was the mumbled response Spot received as he nudged her awake. He caught the sight of her sleeve and shook her so she was fully conscious. "What!?!" she growled, her tone softening a little as she saw Spot and his expression. "Oh, it's you," she said, turning her face up into a small grin.

He pulled a short skinny girl aside. "Books, go find IF, tell her Bittah needs some assistance with her wound," he said quietly so Bitter couldn't hear.

Books nodded and ran off without questioning him. Bitter looked confused and then shifted her body, letting out a small hiss of pain as she moved her arm too harshly, turning pale. She looked down and saw the wound bleeding; her sleeve covered in blood. "Damn," she muttered quietly.

Spot watched her concerned, "Anything you'd like to tell me?" he questioned plainly.

"I got in a fight?" she said nervously, "but I ain't hurt 'cept dis."

Spot shook his head. "How many an' did ya catch dere names?" he asked.

"Two, uhm dey were newsies, had nicknames like all newsies do, Prowler and Horror," she said, nodding as she said there names.

Spot looked thoughtful for a minute and was interrupted by IF storming down the stairs. "What did you go an' do!?!" she exclaimed, seeing her arm.

"Jist a lil' brawl," Bitter said, standing up and following her into the bathroom.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't get more hurt, I'm surprised you're still on your feet aftah losing all that blood!"

Bitter ignored her rambling and let her wrap her wound and then followed IF to the girls' bunkroom to take a long nap. Before she lay down, she yawned as she said, "See dat someone sells me papes downstairs."

IF laughed. "Now dat, Bittah, is pure dedication," she said, grinning as she exited the room, satisfied with Bitter's short chuckle.

"You'se bleeding all ovah yer sheets," was the first thing Bitter heard when she was rudely awakened. Winter's green eyes were staring down upon her, a motherly look to her face. Bitter groaned automatically, seeing the wet sheets below her.

"Damnit," she muttered, sitting up groggily and grabbing the sheets up into her arms.

Winter snatched the sheets from her arms. "You don't look like you'd last walking to far," she judged from her pale appearance, "Cali, help Bittah to de bathroom," she called out. A girl standing about 5'4" rushed over, her dark brown hair bobbing up and down in its ponytail and her ever-changing blue eyes turned a bit gray as she peered out at the hurt girl beneath her thin-rimmed glasses.

Winter led the way, tripping over the sheets every once in a while, Cali following with her arm tightly wrapped around Bitter's waist just in case she passed out.

"This is unnecessary," Bitter pointed out, a foul expression on her face, which only heightened the ghastly paleness to her face.

"No. It's not," Winter stated, pushing the door open to the bathroom and walking in. When Bitter was seated on a chair, she continued to explain herself. "Irish is out with a boy from Manhattan an' she left us in charge of you," she said, emphasizing the last word as she threw the bloody blankets into the wash bin.

"A boy?" Bitter raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, some guy named Snitch, said she was going to try and get some information outta him, but me an' Cali think she's sweet on 'im," Winter said as she started washing the sheets.

Cali nodded as she grabbed a medical kit and put some bandages and cloths on the sink. "Definitely sweet on de kid," she added, pouring peroxide on a cloth and then peeling off Bitter's shirt and bandage. Her chest rose with a gasp, but she kept it in, averting her eyes to the floor for a moment and then peering closely at the wound.

"It ain't dat bad," Bitter muttered out loud, rolling her eyes. She would have said more if Winter hadn't gotten up and came over to look at the wound and gave Bitter a knowing look.

"Hmmm, yeah, not dat bad!" Winter stated sarcastically. "Only infected and pusy and bloody as all hell."

Bitter winced as Cali pushed the peroxide covered cloth onto her wound. Winter pushed Cali aside. "Go wash the sheets," she said, seeing the girl a bit pale.

Cali frowned slightly, but let Winter take over cleaning Bitter up as she sat down to scrub at the bloodied, wet sheets.

"Grab my hand and squeeze, dis is gonna hoit like a bitch," Winter smiled, grabbing the small bottle of peroxide and letting Bitter grab one hand while the other poured peroxide directly into the wound.

"Mother fuckin…" Bitter yelled, stopping mid-sentence as her arm burned, making her eyes tear up as the pain was almost unbearable and her grip on Winter's hand almost cut off the blood to her arm, Bitter's knuckles turning white instantly.

Winter peeled her hand away from Bitter's once she was done. "Fuck," Bitter growled loudly, pulling her arm away from Winter. "Dat is de last time I let you do dat," she moaned as Winter grabbed her arm back again.

"Dat's what ya get when ya fight too much," Winter retorted, gripping her arm tightly so Bitter couldn't get it free again. She was finally able to bandage the wound and shook her head back and forth.

"It'll be fine, I just need some sleep," Bitter said, glaring as she stood from the chair, changing her shirt quickly.

"Yeah. Dat an' a day offa sellin'," Winter retorted. She made a mental note to have a talk with Spot later on that day.

"Don't get any ideas," Bitter glared as she stomped out of the room and almost fainted once she entered the room, instantly losing consciousness once she hit the bed, but not before she elicited a curse from pain.

* * *