A nudge to the side of her head woke Rita from her sleep in the early hours of the next morning. She blinked, trying to focus on her surroundings. Once she'd recovered from the abrupt disturbance, she noticed Dodger standing over her. "What's up?" She yawned, a little worried by the look on his face, but nowhere near enough to leap out of bed.
"I want to talk to you, that's all." Dodger's signature smug tone sounded rather forced, and he hoped that Rita would be tired enough that she wouldn't notice.
"It can't wait 'til sun-up?" Rita asked irritably, it didn't seem like there was enough of an emergency to warrant her rude awakening- especially not after what had been one heck of an exhausting night.
"This is for your ears only. No one's goin' to disturb us if they're asleep." Dodger could tell that she was still unimpressed, "Please- it's gotta be now, I might not be able to do this later."
Rita picked up on the urgency in his voice and reluctantly dragged herself out of bed. It meant a lot that Dodger seemed to be trusting her enough to confide in, but his timing could have done with some work. She quietly followed after him, taking care not to wake anyone else. Not surprisingly, they were dead to the world, apparently knocked out by the heroics of several hours before. Dodger kept walking, looking back every now and then to make sure she was following close behind. Rita recognised the spot where he finally sat, the same place they'd spent the night when Dodger had broken down uncontrollable tears. Slightly anxious as the memory came clearly back to her, she sat beside him and said nothing, waiting for him to talk.
Dodger breathed deeply. This was as hard as he'd imagined, even just to start speaking. He looked out at the water, pretending that Rita wasn't even there. It would be easier that way. The night air was cold, and he would have much preferred to have stayed tucked up in bed, but he needed to do this.
"You've picked up that Fagin took in my mother when she was pregnant, right?" Dodger finally said, "She had two other pups, but they died before I even opened my eyes." He took a moment to collect himself as his voice began to tremble, "I was about a month old, give or take a bit, and she just walked out. Einstein told me that she said she had some master to go to, she couldn't go back with a pup in tow. I didn't understand it, I was only young; but I thought 'aren't mothers supposed to stand by their kids?' What was so great about this master she had that made her choose him over her own son?" Whatever he was doing now wasn't working, Dodger felt he had to get up. He started walking, allowing him to focus on his own footsteps. He wouldn't let himself break down again.
Sensing that Rita was keeping close, Dodger continued, his mouth dry. "I was young enough that I could just forget about it most of the time- I had Einstein, I had Fagin, and very soon I had the whole city open to me. If I was sad about my mom I could just push it away, it wasn't as if I hardly remembered her anyhow. I was just a little kid, and I was busy being a little kid. I could forget about her most of the time, and I was happy. There's a photo somewhere… of my mother I mean. Fagin found a disposable camera around the time when I was born, otherwise I probably wouldn't know what my own mother looked like. It was always there though, that memory of waking up and her not being there. You can guess how ecstatic I was when you went and pulled the same thing." There was a bitterness to his tone that he'd been unable to hold back.
Rita had been listening sympathetically up until that point, but wasn't prepared to be guilt tripped. "I'm on your side here, Dodger," she said, her voice firm and strong, "If you just want to take shots at me, I'll go right back to bed."
"You're right, I'm sorry." Knowing he'd almost messed up his big confession, Dodger was in a half mind to pack it in and go back to bed himself; but he'd gotten this far, and he didn't imagine he'd ever get it all off his chest otherwise. He had to tell someone or it'd drive him crazy. He took a moment to compose himself before carrying on. "I was out that night, pickin' up girls, the usual. I was round the back of that warehouse… ya know, the patch that big brown shaggy guy, I forget his name, the place he's been tryin' to make into a meeting spot. Anyhow, I was round the back and I came on to this small gathering. It was her, my mother. She had a couple of guys hanging off her, playin' up to them. It was almost like I was watching myself," Dodger's voice broke and he had to pause. "I guess I was staring 'cause she noticed me. She spoke to me, just saying hello, but it wasn't like she knew that I was her kid. Then I realised she was comin' on to me." Once again, Dodger struggled to get the words out. Rita was staring intensely into his face as he spoke, a look of pity creeping up behind her eyes. "I asked her about her master, and then it dawned on her, she knew it was me. She laughed. Said she made it up so she could get away. She couldn't stand being tied down by having a kid in tow. Fagin and Einstein could take care of me, so why should she hang around? She'd never wanted me; she waited until I didn't need her to survive, and then got herself free. I felt sick. I just ran. I ran all the way home, and then you found me." Dodger whined, and realised that he'd started shaking. "She didn't want me, Rita! My own mother!"
"Oh Dodge, I'm sorry." Rita moved closer to nuzzle his face, "I'm so sorry." She had long wondered about Dodger's birth family and his early days, and had suspected that it was a tender area. The thought of anyone walking out on their own tiny pup for no good reason was nothing short of repulsive, and to know how deeply that poor excuse of a mother had hurt Dodger left Rita in a seething rage. "How could anyone…?" Getting over her initial anger and pity, she spoke firmly, "It's not your fault. Whatever was wrong with her that made her leave you, it wasn't your fault."
Dodger stopped walking, rounding upon Rita to stare into her face. He searched for the reassurance that it wasn't him with the problem- he'd always known it had to be, and that feeling that haunted him drove him to crave the attention and admiration of others as he did. If his mother was the problem, why did Rita also walk out on him? "I musta done something for my own mother not to love me enough… love me at all. Something's the matter with me, Rita, and I can't change it."
Rita just shook her head resolutely. "That's bull," she said, "There's nothing wrong with you, nothing at all. You've not been unwanted for a second in your life. Fagin obviously loved you right from the start; you're like the apple of his eye, and Einstein's too. I know it doesn't make up for what you lost, but really it was your mom who missed out. She was so wrapped up in her own stupid life that she missed out on knowing you, and you're something special."
"If I was so special, I think my own mother would have noticed." Dodger scoffed, still hoping to be convinced otherwise.
"You don't think I know you better than someone who was only around when you were a tiny pup? I woulda thought you valued my opinion more than that." Rita frowned; Dodger could be so stubborn when he wanted to be. "It's not just me anyhow, it's all of us. The gang only works 'cause you make it work; without you, we're just a bunch of ragtag mutts messin' around. Not just anyone could make a street dog out of Francis. He'd still be in that terrible place- or even dead, if it wasn't for you! You gave him a future, and you made us a family. And as for my walking out; it wasn't you that drove me to it, but it was you I came home for."
Dodger had found himself coming around until the last sentence stirred up the pain of rejection all over again. "I was gonna leave. I would have walked out if Fagin wasn't relyin' on me. I stopped myself. Could you do that? You didn't manage it last time." Dodger was surprised to see the hurt in Rita's face and stopped himself before he said anything he'd regret. She'd always hated it when he brought up her running away, ashamed probably.
Rita looked at him, despairing. He knew how to twist the knife in, that was for sure, but she didn't let herself get drawn in by his lashing out. Trying to stay calm, her voice nonetheless shook a little as she spoke. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry before you get it? This is not about me, anyhow, this is about your mother. And don't you dare try and compare me to someone like her. I'm sorry, Dodge, but I don't know what else you want me to do. I made a mistake and I learned from it; it's what people do. You gotta let go of the past and trust me." Even as she said it, Rita knew that at least on some level Dodger did trust her- they wouldn't be sitting out there in the middle of the night, talking, if that wasn't the case. He was trying to reach out, it just seemed to be a struggle for him.
For a long while, Dodger sat there in silence, trying to accept what he was being told. Finally, he allowed himself to soften towards Rita, knowing that she was on his side. When it came down to it, she'd come back to him… and the only reason she'd run away in the first place was to fix things with the first person she'd run away from. She'd just been a little kid blundering around trying to make everything right; it was pointless to hold onto grudge over something like that, especially when it was blatantly clear that she truly cared for him. "I do. About as much as I can trust anyone. And you're right, it's not about you. We're in this for the long run, you and me. I know it, I just get scared. It's hard to let go of that, my mom screwed me up pretty good," he said quietly, and he began to smile, just a little, "Guess it was all for the best though, things turned out all right in the end. I probably wouldn't still be stickin' around if I had a mother on my back the whole time- and I might not have even found you."
"That's true."
"I'd rather have you around than a mother; there's stuff I could do with you that wouldn't work so good with my own flesh and blood." Dodger grinned slyly.
"In your dreams, Dodgie." Rita nipped at his ear in jest, "I don't know what would have happened to me if you hadn't come along- pound probably, at least until they disposed of me for good. Can't say I'm sorry I got swept away with some bad little scruffer, it all worked out pretty well for me," she grinned. "And you know, maybe you got so good 'cause you had to work it all out yourself? You did it your way 'cause you were forced to, and it made you what you are. There's no point mopin' about the past; it's all over and you came out the other side."
Dodger nodded. Whatever his mother, or anyone else for that matter, might think, he undeniably had a lot going for him. He had no match on the streets, not even Rita. Any reputation he had was earned by his own trial and error, he was self-made with no parental influence. Under his leadership, the gang had gotten Francis out of that hell-hole, and saved Scrap and Scout and countless others in the process. Surely, that was something to be proud of. He thought of a young Rita, shivering alone in the pound, awaiting her death. If he'd somehow been responsible for preventing that, then he had all the more reason to be proud. Dodger noticed Rita yawning. "You want to go back to bed?"
"If you're feeling okay?"
"I'm fine. It might take a while still, but I'll get better. I hope so anyway," Dodger said, feeling tired himself having spent a long time working up the courage to have that conversation.
"I'm glad to hear it. Eventually you won't think of her so much. It'll get easier." Rita said between yawns, and then turned to head home. A weight had lifted off her chest, and it seemed the same was true of Dodger. She was hopeful that he could move forward now, to get back to his old self. Things were going to get better.
Dodger led the way back to the barge, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Whatever he'd been dreading in telling Rita had come to nothing, in fact, he felt better for it. With it out in the open- or at least as out in the open as he'd ever allow it to be- he could move on from the hurt his mother had caused and make the life he wanted for himself unencumbered by the burden. "This is it though, I don't want any of this brought up, not ever- and no one else needs to know anything." A solemn nod from Rita reassured him that he had nothing to worry about. "Thanks, by the way. You're the best, you know that?"
Rita smiled, her eyes full of affection, "'Course I know that. Come on, I should be fast asleep in bed."
They exchanged playful nips to one another's sides as they started off home, the usual joyfulness that had been lost from Dodger that night round the back of the warehouse finally returning. Rita was quick to pick up on the change in him and roughly shoved him to the side with a rumbling growl. It had been too long- weeks and weeks- since Dodger had really laughed with her, and she'd begun to think that it was an unwelcome by-product of their growing up. But it seemed that the old Dodger hadn't been lost, he just needed a little push. They scuffled, becoming louder and louder in their growling and shrieking. Soon Rita was on her back and gasping for breath, her sides hurting from the fit of hysterical laughter that she and Dodger had fallen into. She wasn't quite sure where it had all come from- relief, perhaps, that the dark little cloud that had hung over them was shifting, but it sure felt wonderful.
"Are you drunk Rita-girl?" Dodger snickered and jabbed her in the neck, tickling. For someone supposedly in need of her bed, Rita was very much overflowing with energy. It made him happy, in a strange light-headed way that he'd not felt for what seemed like forever.
Feeding off one another's giddiness, they came onto the barge still laughing and pouncing on one another. Rita shushed Dodger through her giggles as he led the way down the stairs. In high spirits though she might be, she did want to go to sleep sometime soon- and there would be no chance of that if they woke Tito. She quietly padded back to her bed, lay down with her head sticking out the curtain and watched happily as Dodger strutted back to his. Something of that old swagger had returned to his step, as had the devilish gleam in his eye. While Rita didn't expect a complete turnaround straight away, it felt like Dodger had pulled himself over his main hurdles. It was going to be all right, of that Rita was certain.
Dodger lay peering over his cushion at his sleeping companions. They were a family, and it had made all the difference to him. Now, he could let it all go and move on; the pain of rejection by his mother dimmed by the prospect of a fresh start as leader of his little gang. The worst was over.