Author's note: Well I put up the first part of this story earlier and here's the second. More to come latter, of course- hope ya' like it.
Disclaimer: If you've heard the name before, it's not mine :)
Senses came back slowly, one at a time. First, Kat was aware again. She was aware of laying on something that felt suspiciously like a bed and not at all like the ground she'd expected to be spending that night on. Following closely behind was the enormous pain in her head. It flared up behind her eyes and pounded in her ears. It was not so loud however, that she couldn't hear a whistling noise coming from beside her.
She jolted upright as she regained full consciousness and narrowly missed hitting her head for the third time, on the rafters of the bunk bed that she was laying on. Her eyes darted around the room so hurriedly that the action only served to intensify her headache. She was in a plain room with wooden floor, walls, a ceiling. There was a trunk and a door opposite her, as well as a window to her left. Another door was on her right.
The whistling beside her had stopped and now Kat heard a low chuckle. She jerked around to see him, leaning a chair back on two legs with his hands folded behind his head. Light brown hair fell over his forehead and into denim-colored eyes that were currently sparkling with amusement. His mouth was pulled up in a sardonic half-smile to complete the expression on his all- too-familiar face. It was all she could do to keep her chin from dropping. To her disbelief, Spot Conlon himself leaned forward, smirking with pleasure at the look of recognition on her face. Nothing made sense at all anymore, Kat decided as she gaped at him.
"Ma' Lady" he drawled, bowing elaborately from his chair in what she decided was only mock-chivalry.
"Hello." She managed quietly, her voice sounding very unsure. Kat studied her host with poorly concealed distrust as she lowered herself back down onto the pillow. Spot too was quiet as he looked her over. He took in her white-blonde hair; noted the spat of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the way her face flushed under his gaze. Her skin was dark, contrasting strongly with her hair and eyes, which were summer-green and framed by thick lashes. She was small-scrawny he thought- but his boys had claimed to have some trouble bringing her in- quite obviously they had.
Kat cringed as he surveyed her unabashedly, looking smug as he did so.
"Wha's ya' name doll?" He asked finally, looking back up into her eyes. She glared at him as fiercely as his presence would allow, feeling extremely vulnerable and curious as to why Brooklyn's king had need for her. She hesitated with her response to the simple question long enough for Spot to raise his eyebrows.
"Kat" she replied finally in a feeble voice. His smirk widened.
"Kat?" Was he deaf? She wondered irritably. Or perhaps he was confused by her nickname. She usually introduced herself by full name anyway. She was just so flustered…
"Well, Katherine." was her hasty addition.
He leaned back in his chair again.
"Well, which is it sweet'art?" he prodded.
"It's Kat" If her voice was feeble now, it was feeble steel.
"Mmmmm" he nodded. " An' how old are ya', Kitten? Maybe… 11?
Her eyes tightened at the corners and her mouth set into a hard line.
"It's Kat. And I'm 14, thank you." She snapped.
"Oh," was his snide reply. "Pa'don meh." And he moved like he was tipping his hat to her. Distaste was all she felt for the infamous leader, however it was distaste not marred by disappointment. He was everything she had heard him to be.
"So, bein' 14, whaddaya doin' on da' streets a' Brooklyn by ya' self at night?"
Kat glanced uncomfortably around the room and squirmed on the bed. She had no desire to anger Spot Conlon. But neither did she care to tell him her business.
"I don't see how it's ayn concern of yours." she thought the reply sounded somewhat meek, and by Spot's still glinting eyes, he must've too.
"Dat don' seem ta' be a very wise response. Bein' in my house an' on my bed like you is. Surely after what I done fer ya'- takin' ya in off da' streets 'n all- ya' could humor me wid' your cooperation. Ya' do realize whose bed youse is on." He added haughtily.
"You're Spot Conlon."
"Dat's very good, Kitten." Her body wailed with exhaustion, but Kat didn't feel at all comfortable shutting her eyes in her current position. She looked up at the bottom of the top bunk, studying Spot out of the corner of her eye.
"Now, since we got dat outta' da' way, les' try dis' again. How come ma' boys found ya wanderin' around so late on ya' own?"
"Those were *your* boys?!? You gotta be kidding! Why'd they assault me and drag me to you?!" she squeaked in her anger, rising up off of the bed. Spot remained calm.
"T'ink I'll ask da' questions if ya' don' mind, angel." And he reached a hand over to her shoulder where he pushed her gently back onto the mattress. He didn't say anything then, and after a confusing and- by Kat's standards- uncomfortable silence, she gleaned that he was waiting on her to answer his original question. She sighed heavily.
"I was looking for somewhere to spend that night." If she kept her answers short, there was a slimmer chance that she'd make a fool of herself.
"You live on da' streets?" he stated more than asked, as though he already knew her reply. She wanted to say no and prove him wrong, but he was right. So she nodded.
"Wull that ain't no good. Ya' gotta' have a way a makin' money; a place ta' stay." Not sure where he was going, Kat simply nodded again and tried to keep up although her head swam madly.
"So, how 'bout bein' one a' mah newsies?" He continued. Her head snapped up and she looked at him with unbridled curiosity, stained by skepticism. Kat was more than surprised. An employment offer was the last thing she'd expected.
"I… you brought me here to offer a job?" she stuttered. Spot's eyes tightened a bit at the corners. He was growing tired of explaining himself- something he rarely did. He stood up from his chair, towering over where she lay on the bed. It seemed to Kat that he was trying to further assert his authority. It was working. His face was cool, but terrifying to her. She swallowed hard and sunk further into the mattress involuntarily.
"I borught ya' 'ere ta' get ya' off da' streets. An' now dat ya' are, yer gonna' be one a' ma' newsies." Suddenly the offer didn't seem so much like a choice anymore. Kat nodded mutely, staring up into stormy eyes. She'd been a newsie before and hadn't hated it. And she knew that it was better to be with the Brooklyn newsies than against them. Spot sat down again, leaning over her closely as his eyes trailed over the matted blood in her hair and her slightly battered face.
"I see ya' gave ma' boys a run fer dere money." Kat looked down in embarrassment.
"They certainly gave me a run for mine." was her reply. Spot reached over to brush his fingers over the bruises that were forming on her face. His touch left goose bumps in its wake, and butterflies in Kat's stomach. She swallowed hard and pulled back slightly. Spot pretended not to notice; he didn't look at her as he spoke.
"Ya' wanna' clean up?" He offered, fingering a few strands of her hair. Spot was electrifying. It was impossible not to react to him. And he knew it. And Kat hated it.
She tried to sound casual.
"I look that bad?"
"I'm sure ya've looked bettah." He flashed a grin up at her. "Washroom's right dere. I'll 'elp ya'" Without waiting for a response, he put a hand under her elbow and helped her sit up. Then he waited patiently by her side as she slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She stumbled a little, immediately overcome by vertigo, and Spot caught her around the waist. Her face flushed and she looked up at him from under her lashes. He smirked.
"Dis' way darlin'" He supported her weight as they walked over to the door Kat had noticed across from the bed. When the door opened before her, they were standing in a room larger than the one they'd left. There were stalls along the sides, with sinks down the middle. The only thing she saw in the way of washing was a barrel with a pump for water. She blanched at the prospects and glanced at Spot but he wasn't looking at her. He set her down on a bench and went to close the door on the other side of the room. Kat heard faint snoring through it and wondered if the other newsies slept in that room but shared the washroom with Spot. It didn't surprise her that he bunked alone. When the door was shut and latched, he turned back to her. Neither of them spoke for a moment, Kat quickly averting her eyes to the floor when she found that she was unable to match Spot's steely gaze.
"So, I'm supposed to wash in that?" she asked, trying to keep the uncertainty from coloring her tone as she indicated the pump and bucket. He pushed off from where he leaned against the wall and made his way over to her.
" Ya' got a better idea?" He seemed to be enjoying her position. Kat knew that the water would drain as quickly as it was pumped, and that the only way for her to wash was for someone else to pump while she rinsed in the barrel. And that someone looked like it was going to be Spot. She winced up at him uneasily.
"I assumed you might, being the one and only Spot Conlon and all." His smirk widened.
"Sorry, sweet'art. That's all I got." He reached for her now to help her up but Kat cringed away from him. He pulled back to look at her.
"Can I just… keep my clothes on and wash them too?" There was no way to look at him as she asked.
Spot's voice dripped with amusement.
"If ya' wanna' sleep in wet clothes, sure darlin'. An' I figured dat's what ya'd do. Unless ya' 'ad somethin' else in mind…"
"No, no, of course not." She spat quickly. He watched her squirm a minute before reaching for her again, and this time she let him pull her to her feet. He moved to the pump and stood waiting for her to get in. Gnawing on her lip unnervingly, she approached hesitantly. She stood, looking at it, and then up at Spot whose eyes twinkled out at her. He nodded towards the barrel. Kat sighed hugely and lowered herself in carefully, fully clothed and scowling. Spot pumped water for her from behind where she couldn't see him and she pulled gingerly at her knotted hair with shaky hands. The water was frigid and left her trembling uncontrollably so that she was almost incapacitated. And she was sore to boot. There was just a small gash on the back of her head, not too deep but longer than she had anticipated, and the cold water stung. She couldn't help whimpering softly when she rubbed too hard. The water stopped pumping and Spot hands appeared suddenly under her arms. He lifted her up and set her, dripping, on the floor. When he came around in front of her he took her face in his hands and studied her again.
"Ya' look bettah." He decided to Kat's embarrassment. She mumbled a chattering thank you.
"Now le's gettcha' outta' dose clothes. I got some ya' kin use."
A/N: So, did ya' like? Let me know, please, I love feedback! Do you think Spot's accent is too confusing? Review, review!