A/N (warning): mentions of character death.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor will I ever own, Newsies.

~*Spavid*~

David had this thing with lying— meaning, he hated it. He could not stand people who lied (or cheated, or misconstrued, or any number of other deceitful things) and those who did those things were immediately blacklisted in his book. There were, of course, some exceptions. These mainly consisted of surprises, test answers, and 'did you take notes?' 'Nope, sorry.' But other than those minor white lies, David abhorred anything to do with the subject.

'Integrity, honesty, and hard work' was his motto. (Along with, 'loyalty, friendship, love, and one day ruling the world,' but that was secondary.)

So when someone broke his 'honesty' rule, they were dead to him. And so that's how he broke off his friendship with Jack Kelly. In the end, he didn't really regret it— sure he lost some other friends in the break, but the ones that really mattered stayed impartial to the entire situation. In all honesty it was better for him, and he always kept up the things that made him healthier.

"He misses you," Mush stated, and of course it would be Mush— David had a weakness for puppy eyes, regardless of how long he lived with Les.

"I don't care, he lied to me," David replied, taking his coffee from Mush's hand and putting sugar in it.

"Yeah, but it was one time. And he's your best friend," Mush counter-argued, leaning against the counter and ignoring the incoming customer.

"It doesn't matter, Mush," David sighed exasperatedly, resolute in his decision, "now go and serve your customer and stop bothering me about Jack, okay?"

Mush nodded and saluted David undauntedly, cheerfully greeting the customer at the same time. This let David finally sit down, and he glanced around, happy to be un-interrogated once more. He chose a window seat (because he may or may not have secretly loved to people watch) and looked through the passing crowds.

"Hey, Mouth," came a voice from across him.

David jolted out of his thoughts, smiled briefly at his companion, and took a sip of his coffee. He scrunched his nose— cold. He wondered how long Spot had been there.

"Not long, but Mush said you've been sitting there for over 45 minutes, so…" Spot replied to David's unasked question.

David hummed and pushed his cup of coffee away from himself, gesturing for Spot to sit down.

"How goes it?" he asked, lazily resting his chin on his propped up hand.

"Fine, I guess. Class sucked," Spot answered, sitting down and chugging the cold coffee, smirking at David's blatant disgust.

"I don't know how you do that," David muttered, grimacing and looking away from Spot.

"Easy," Spot replied, finishing the cup, "it's just like iced coffee, only room temperature."

He shrugged and threw the cup away, sitting back down and staring at David. David blinked and gave a wary look to Spot, who was still staring at him.

"What?" David asked.

"Nothing. Something's different is all," Spot muttered, obviously frustrated that he couldn't tell what was so different about David.

"Your puppy's not here," he finally stated after a few more moments.

"Ding, ding, ding, and the winner gets a prize," David deadpanned, ringing an imaginary bell.

"What happened to him? He ride off into the sunset on a cowboy dream, only to end up back here in three years time, broke and homeless?"

"That's…" David paused, "very cynical, actually. And no, I stopped being friends with him."

"Oh yeah, there is that," Spot muttered, pursing his lips and giving David a strange look.

"Wondering why?"

Spot shrugged nonchalantly, icy eyes focusing straight on David the only indicator that he was, indeed, curious.

"He lied to me."

"About what?" Spot asked, tilting his chair back on two legs.

"Everything."

Spot nodded and hummed, obviously trying to think of some advice before giving up and shrugging.

"Sorry, dude," he stated, raking his hair out of his eyes and grimacing in David's general direction.

"Not like it's your fault," David snorted, looking through the wallet to see if the money he had was enough for another coffee.

"Let me get it," Spot replied, seeing David's search, "after all, I drank your last one."

Reluctantly, David nodded, not really liking to take charity, but knowing that if Spot suggested something, it was best to just go along with it if it was only a minor inconvenience.

"Thanks," he said, saluting the tiniest bit and looking out the window once more.

David didn't know how long it took for Spot to get back, but once the smell of coffee slid under his nose, he pulled away from the people.

"Thanks," he stated again, sipping the coffee and smiling slightly.

Spot would pretend to be tough and unfeeling, but he always knew David's coffee order.

Spot shrugged and sipped on his on, glancing out the window as well. He couldn't see what David obviously could, which was slightly unfortunate, as David was always enthralled in the window.

Everyday he would try, looking out the window— sometimes for hours, just trying to find what David did. It never came to him.

He wondered if it was because it only was in David's mind, or because he just wasn't looking for the right thing. He hoped it was the second, in all honesty. Maybe because he wanted a piece of the awe that David's face seemed to hold whenever he looked out the various windows.

So he decided to ask.

"What do you see?" he asked, voice too piqued in interest for him to be entirely happy.

"Huh?" David asked, looking at Spot and closing his mouth.

David had been talking to Spot all this time and Spot wasn't even paying attention? See if he ever tried to talk to Spot again.

"Out the window," Spot murmured faintly, gesturing and looking out, himself.

"People," David replied bemusedly.

"I know that," Spot muttered, demeanor instantly changing back to irritable, "I mean, what do you see in them?"

David started to answer and then paused, shrugging and shaking his head.

"Just the people," he replied, "I mean, they're all so different and it's like you can make up stories for them just by one glance. It's interesting to see them, is all."

Spot nodded, clearly not understanding, but accepting David's answer. He went back to looking out the window as David watched him, still slightly bemused.

"Why do you care?" he asked, tone light and inquisitive.

"I'm just wondering," Spot murmured, blinking and tilting his head as he tried to see what David did.

"You know, you walked by that window three times before you came into the coffee shop," David stated, nodding at Spot's incredulous look.

"The first time I thought that you were probably going to meet your friends, try to beat some people up or something— it was your jacket that made me think that, mostly. The second time, you had flowers, so I thought that maybe you were trying to apologize to a girlfriend or something, because you just generally looked like an asshole."

Spot barked a laugh and leaned forward slightly, wanting to know more.

"The third time, you were crying," David continued, "or, if not crying, you were going to."

Spot tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

"You were on the phone and looked to be screaming at someone and you were wiping at your face and when you took your hand down, your face was smeared with tears. And, honestly, I didn't know what had happened."

"That's when you stopped me," Spot muttered, nodding to himself and looking up at David.

"Yeah," David whispered, getting a far-off look in his eye.

"So, basically, you were a creepy stalker," Spot smirked, and okay, that so totally ruined the melancholic mood that had been suffocating them.

On one hand David was grateful, as it had started to become stifling, but on the other, stifling was good sometimes. Like the feeling of being so dizzy you think you might pass out, but never do. Or only having enough air to take small breaths, the rest of your lungs constricted with paralysis.

But those instances were few and far between, and usually became more damaging than worthwhile. And David did not do things that were damaging.

"So, Mouth, what are you up to tonight?" Spot asked, tilting his chair back once more and quirking his lips up at David.

"Nothing, really," David said, shrugging and trying to think of conflicting plans.

"You wanna go out to dinner or somethin'?" Spot continued, clearing his throat and, oh, he was flushing.

"Are you asking me out?" David retorted, smirking and nodding.

"I figured it was the next logical step. All our coffee dates and all."

Spot shrugged and motioned to his hand like a phone.

"I'll call you with the times, okay?" he asked, flushing brighter and leaving the store.

David huffed a laugh and leaned back into his chair, sipping at his coffee more. Spot Conlon was, apparently, full of surprises.

~*Spavid*~

David got to his apartment, which was colder than usual, and started reading, waiting for Spot to call him with the time of their date. He was probably more excited than he should be, jiggling his leg a little bit and arching an eyebrow as his door opened.

"I'm not talking to you, Jack," he muttered, crossing his arms and sniffing haughtily.

"I brought groceries," Jack said, crossing into the kitchen and putting them away.

"David, why aren't you talking to me?" he asked exasperatedly, coming back out and leaning against the doorframe.

"You know why," David huffed.

"Mush said you were talking to Spot today," Jack said, ignoring or not comprehending David's last statement.

"I talk to Spot everyday," David replied incredulously, ignoring his statement to ignore Jack.

"I know. But he said something was different," Jack stated, throwing David his migraine medication and a water bottle.

"He asked me out," David muttered, taking the pills and smiling at Jack despite himself.

"Did he?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows and sitting next to David.

David nodded, remembered that he was going to ignore Jack, and turned away from him.

"You're mad about the Francis Sullivan thing, aren't you?" Jack asked, sighing and running a hand through his hair.

David nodded but offered no other motion of having heard Jack.

"Don't go out with Spot," Jack stated, biting his lip and turning David's face towards him.

"Why?"

"Because it won't turn out the way you want it to. Deep down, you know that, Davey."

David shook his head and clenched his fists, because who was Jack to tell him who he could and couldn't go out with? No one, that's who.

"Davey," Jack pleaded, eyes wide and dark and so much older looking than they had been the day before.

"Davey, please."

David bit his lip and shook his head once more. No. He wasn't going to ruin any potential happiness that he might obtain from going out on this date with Spot.

"David," Jack commanded sternly, standing up and crossing his arms.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Jack was supposed to apologize for the Francis Sullivan thing, David would reluctantly forgive him, and then Jack would help him find the perfect outfit for his date. This was not how it was supposed to go at all.

"Shut up, Jack!" he yelled, standing up as well and growling at Jack.

"Is it because I stopped playing into it, huh, Davey?" Jack asked rhetorically, knowing the exact reason that David was so upset— even if David, himself, didn't know.

"Playing into what?" David asked.

Jack sighed and shook his head, running his fingers through his hair.

"Spot's dead, Davey," he murmured, not wanting to break David's heart, but knowing that he had to.

"What do you mean, 'Spot's dead'?" David asked, sitting back down in shock, "When did this happen? I just saw him an hour ago."

"He died three years ago, David, you know that," Jack soothed, sitting down next to David and rubbing his back.

David shook his head and curled into himself, putting his fists against his eyes, hoping to block out the world. Feeling something cold on one of his fingers, he opened his eyes and glanced down. A wedding ring.

"No," he said, shaking his head once more.

"You guys got married five years ago. He worked on video game design and you worked as a copy editor. He died three years ago, Davey. Hit and run. He was dead by the time they got him to the hospital. At first we thought you were alright— well, as alright as you could be, but then you started talking to him.

"You just got out of the hospital a month ago, Dave. Remember? We all visited you to make sure that you were doing alright and everything and you seemed to be. You've been okay this past month, but you were talking to Spot again today, weren't you?"

He phrased it like a question, but it was more of a statement than anything else. David feebly shook his head once more, memories starting to flash in his mind. He vaguely heard Jack say, 'regardless of what your therapist says, I'm not going to let anyone go along with it anymore.'

There was Spot and he, on their first date— awkward teenagers in their first year of college. When they moved in together, the splattered paint of a different color still staining the living room wall. Proposing to Spot and him saying yes, despite his protests of 'why couldn't you let me propose, huh?' Living together and having jobs and getting over fights and love and everything that happened in their life that he could never get back because flash crying in a hospital and a funeral, dressed in all black, and going home with no one there— no one ever there again.

He didn't notice that he was crying until Jack hugged him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choking the words out from his uncooperative throat.

"It's okay," Jack replied, still hugging David and just trying to keep his best friend holding on.

Fuck. He didn't want to have to send David back to the hospital. He absolutely hated it the last time. But if David didn't get better, he had no other choice, really.

"It was our anniversary today, is why," David mumbled from Jack's shoulder.

"I know," Jack sighed sadly.

"You need to go to sleep, eh?" he continued, smiling weakly at his younger friend and ushering him to his bedroom, "First day back at work tomorrow and everything."

David nodded and Jack stayed in his room until David fell asleep, calling up Sarah afterwards and saying that he wouldn't be home tonight.

~*Spavid*~

David woke up the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. He put on some clothes and walked out into the living room, spotting Jack on his couch. He rolled his eyes slightly, because of course Jack would be there.

"I'm going," he murmured to Jack, feeling oddly receptive to his friend.

"Okay, have fun at work," Jack murmured, still half asleep, "and tell Mush that I'll be in later, but I don't want to help him renovate his shop, okay?"

David rolled his eyes again and headed to the coffee shop. He needed caffeine before he could deal with anything. And he most probably was not going to tell Mush that nonsensical statement.

Walking the distance to there, he pondered the nature of his relationships. Especially with Jack.

You see, David had this thing with lying— meaning, he hated it. He could not stand people who lied (or cheated, or misconstrued, or any number of other deceitful things) and those who did those things were immediately blacklisted in his book. There were, of course, some exceptions. These mainly consisted of surprises, test answers, and 'did you take notes?' 'Nope, sorry.' But other than those minor white lies, David abhorred anything to do with the subject.

'Integrity, honesty, and hard work' was his motto. (Along with, 'loyalty, friendship, love, and one day ruling the world,' but that was secondary.)

So when someone broke his 'honesty' rule, they were dead to him. And so that's how he broke off his friendship with Jack Kelly. In the end, he didn't really regret it— sure he lost some other friends in the break, but the ones that really mattered stayed impartial to the entire situation. In all honesty it was better for him, and he always kept up the things that made him healthier.

"Hey, David, first day back at work, huh?" Mush asked, getting his friend's coffee ready in no time flat.

"I don't know why you guys keep saying that," David muttered, taking a sip and paying Mush, "I'm a full-time student, I can't maintain a job at the same time."

He was really glad that Mush decided not to quiz him about Jack, but he wondered how the guy didn't get fired for talking on the phone right as another customer walked in.

As he sat down at his usual window table, he wondered how long it would take for Spot to show up. He always did, on Tuesdays, and David, the hopeless fool that he was, always looked forward to it. He watched the people pass by and smiled a little bit. Today would be a good day, he could feel it.

"Hey, Mouth," came a voice from across him.

David smiled and got lifted out of his thoughts.

"Hey, Spot," he replied, feeling as though that wasn't right for some reason, but going with it anyways.

Yup, today would be a good day, indeed.