So, post this on May 11th... Heh heh... Yeah, I'm a couple of days early, sue me. (No, please don't. I'm a poor, starving college student). I had the choice between writing this and my final essay for my history class. Clearly, this won. By a long shot. Soooo, here it is. Hopefully, my professor doesn't mind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. I'm probably a little too excited for it.

April 9, 1912

"I hate this weather," Jack Kelly muttered, setting his paint brush down.

"Really?" Crutchie asked. He hobbled across the room to the window, staring out at the soft, gray clouds. It had been drizzling all morning and the bright green grass in the yard before them trembled at the touch of the water. To Crutchie, it almost looked like the grass was waving at him, beckoning him outside. "I love it. It's cleaner, fresher than New York." He turned back to Jack. "I could stay here forever."

Jack snorted, "Yeah, well, I can't. I'm quite thankful that we're going back home in a week or two."

It was thirteen years after the strike and Jack had found true success in his art. So much success, in fact, that he had gone to England to sell some of his art there, while also getting new inspiration for pieces. Originally, Katherine, his wife of nine years, had planned to go with him to England, but after she discovered that their second child would be due near the time of the trip, she elected to stay in New York and not risk a sea voyage. So, Crutchie had joined his long-time friend on his journey to England in place of Katherine. And, unlike Jack, he was enjoying every minute of it.

"It's just so green," Crutchie breathed, staring out the window. "I wish New York was as green as this."

Jack finally stood up and joined his friend, staring out the window. Crutchie was correct. It was much greener and much more beautiful than the city that Jack and Crutchie hailed from. "I wish Katherine were here to see this…"

Crutchie glanced up at Jack. "I'm sure you guys can return," he suggested. "Once the baby comes along. I'll even stay and watch the kids for you. I can take more time off at Giuseppe's, if you need me to." Crutchie had found a job at a local restaurant, Giuseppe's, as a greeter, of sorts. He'd lead the customers to a booth or table and make small conversation with them until the waiter showed up to take orders. Crutchie had immediately become a favorite at the small Italian restaurant and was loved and recognized by all the regulars. He joked that, without him, the restaurant would be forgotten and overlooked, that the customers only came to converse with him. This was, actually, partly true because the only good food at Giuseppe's was their bread sticks that are so drenched in olive oil, the customer can't even taste the over-utilization of baking soda.

"I don't know how much Katherine would have wanted to come out here anyway. She's afraid of the ocean. Worried about drowning and all that," Jack explained, sitting down again at his easel.

"What're the odds of drowning?" Crutchie asked. "Gotta be low, right? I haven't heard much of ships sinking and people dying."

Jack shrugged, adding a touch of a more vibrant green to the landscape he was working on. "I don't care much. It's not really our problem."

"But, Jack, if people are dying—" Crutchie began.

"Look, Crutch, I paint. That's my job. I don't really have time to worry about death if I'm going to earn a living for Katherine, Elizabeth, and I. And the new baby, when he or she comes." Jack frowned as he thought of his wife and daughter, back in New York. He missed Katherine more than he had thought he would. Jack couldn't wait to return to New York and see her again, to hold her, to feel her hands in his once more. And then there was his daughter, Elizabeth. She had bright red hair like her mother, but soulful brown eyes like Jack. Elizabeth had just turned four and was certain that she was right about everything. It didn't help that Uncle Crutchie spoiled her and adored her to an excess. Elizabeth looked up to Crutchie so much that she ended up asking her father for a crutch for her fourth birthday, so that she could imitate her favorite uncle. Crutchie had laughed when Jack told him and had obliged Elizabeth's wishes by finding a small crutch, just her size. Now the young girl toddled around with the crutch in hand, laughing.

Crutchie shrugged, recognizing when Jack would not back down from an argument. Instead, he decided to bring up a topic that would certainly bring Jack back into good spirits. "I can't wait to meet the new baby."

Jack did grin, much to Crutchie's pleasure, before agreeing, "Neither can I. In fact, that reminds me… I should probably go see if she sent me a telegram. She said she'd keep me updated as much as she could about the baby."

"Okay, I'll come, too," Crutchie said, hobbling over to the coat stand and grabbing the wool coat he had purchased when they first landed in Southampton. As much as he loved the rain, the cold did not help his gimp leg at all, making it stiff and sore. Although Crutchie always felt somewhat idiotic—having to pull on the thick wool coat while everyone else on the streets settled for nothing at all, or, if need be, a thin jacket—he knew that he would be thankful for the extra warmth.

Once he had buttoned up the coat, Crutchie followed Jack outside of the small cottage they had called home for the past week and a half. An older lady, Mrs. Witherby, would rent out her cottage to vacationers and Jack and Crutchie had found her home to be the perfect place to spend their time in England. Jack had even painted Mrs. Witherby a picture of her house, which she had proceeded to proudly hang up in the entrance way, telling anyone who dropped by that one her nicest clients had painted it just for her.

Jack walked toward the main part of town at a leisurely pace, making sure that Crutchie could match his strides. He shivered against the light drizzle that misted the morning. Jack wished it would either rain or not; he just wanted to the weather to make up its mind and stick to it, just quit this in-between nonsense. He blinked rain drops out of his eyes, pushing on faster to get out of the gloom. Crutchie hurried to match the speed.

The two friends arrived at the post office rather quickly, Jack entering with no hesitation. Crutchie followed, only pausing to briefly shake off the excess moisture on his coat and unbutton it as to not overheat in the warm building. Jack went up to the counter, immediately inquiring, "Telegram for Jack Kelly?"

The boy who manned the desk looked up briefly. He looked to be about nineteen with large brown eyes and sandy blonde hair. "Let me look, sir."

"Huh," Crutchie huffed, "Imagine you bein' called 'sir.'" He shook his head, grinning at Jack. "Didn't think you'd ever have a title like that."

"It's not a title," Jack responded. "It's respect. I'm older—"

Crutchie quickly interrupted, "Ain't that the truth. You hit thirty a couple months ago and, Jack, I've been looking at these headstones and I think you might like this one that—"

Jack glared half-heartedly at his best friend. "It won't be too long until you hit thirty, too, Mister."

"I still got two years to go and I plan to enjoy my youth as much as I can."

"I'm youthful," Jack basically whined.

Crutchie grinned even wider. "See, that's not the word I'd use. More like… immature?"

Jack stuck his tongue out at the younger man, the retort he had planned dying instantly when the boy behind the counter cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, we have a telegram for you, Mr. Kelly." He handed Jack a piece of paper and Jack's eyes skimmed over the brief message, widening by the end.

BABY CAME EARLY STOP BEATIFUL BOY STOP WE ARE BOTH OKAY BUT MISS YOU STOP PLEASE COME HOME AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE STOP

K KELLY

"It's a boy!" Jack exclaimed, turning to Crutchie.

Crutchie clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder, his grin growing even wider. "That's fantastic, Jack."

"It's a boy…" Jack breathed again. He was suddenly gripped with an uncontrollable need to see his new son, to swim the ocean back to New York if he needed to. He missed Katherine, Elizabeth, and now his son terribly. Jack turned to Crutchie, urgency tightening his voice. "Get tickets for the next ship that sails. Now. I've gotta see my son."

"I left most of my money back at Mrs. Witherby's," Crutchie pointed out. "I won't be able to get any fancy tickets or nothing."

"I don't care if we have to cling to the side of the ship, Crutch, I just need to get off this blasted island and back to New York."

"Okay, okay," Crutchie said, smiling slightly. "Anxious father, I get it. I'll be back as soon as I have tickets." He nodded at the telegram in Jack's hand. "Congratulations, Jack. Send her something back, let her know that we're leaving as soon as possible."

Jack watched Crutchie hobble out of the office, rebuttoning his coat as he braved the chill England air. After his friend was out of eye sight, Jack turned back to the clerk. "I need to send a telegram to New York," he informed the boy.

The kid nodded, handing Jack a sheet to write down his message. "I figured. Congratulations on the baby, though. That's exciting."

"Thanks," Jack muttered, gripping the pen as he pondered what to tell Katherine. There were so many things he wanted to say: he loved her desperately, missed her, yearned to see her and hold her again. And then their children. Young Elizabeth and now his son. A son! He had no idea how to craft the thousands of thoughts flitting through his mind into a small telegram. After much too long deliberating, Jack penned a couple short sentences, before handing the paper back to the clerk with the couple of bills that would pay for the telegram.

SO EXCITED STOP CRUTCHIE AND I LEAVING AS SOON AS POSSIBLE STOP LOVE YOU MORE THAN I CAN SAY STOP LOVE TO ELIZABETH AND MY SON ALSO STOP BE THERE SHORTLY STOP

J KELLY

The clerk smiled slightly at the telegram, looking up just as Jack was exiting the building. "Hey!" he called out, stopping the older man in his tracks. Jack looked back at him curiously, reaching for his wallet in case he had underpaid. The clerk cracked a grin, before saying, "Thirty ain't that old. Don't let your friend tell you otherwise."

Jack returned the grin, before leaving the post office to find Crutchie.

After searching Southampton for a good thirty minutes, Jack figured that Crutchie would just return to the cottage after he had gotten the tickets. He got back to their room and started attacking the painting he had been working on with fresh fervor. Although the art hadn't been coming together the way Jack had initially visualized earlier that morning, after receiving the news about his son, the excitement was able to translate perfectly into what he had envisioned. With swift strokes, Jack added the slight curve of the eyes—Katherine's eyes. What had supposed to be a painting of a mother and a child and quickly shifted to a painting of Katherine with their new child. She beamed down at the boy, who slept soundly, his face turned into Katherine's arms. Jack wished he knew what his son looked like, so he could paint the child smiling or cooing.

The sound of the door closing alerted Jack to Crutchie's presence. He glanced up at his friend, who was pulling the heavy wool coat off. His hair was slicked to his scalp with rain water. "It really started pouring out there," Crutchie explained, making his way to the bed where he proceeded to pull his boots off.

Jack watched him expectantly, noticing the excitement that seemed to simply radiate from the younger man. "Well?" he began, recognizing that Crutchie wasn't going to reveal his findings without some promptings.

"I'm sorry I took so long. Stopped back at the post office to send a telegram to George. You remember George, right? He's one of the waiters at Giuseppe's and he absolutely loves ships. When I told him I was coming to England with you, he sat me down and talked about the ship we were taking for over an hour; he told me what company made it, how it was made, all that. So, when I got the tickets—which I did, stop looking so anxious—I had to stop and send him a quick telegram about it. He's going to be so excited. George won't want to hear about England or nothing when I get back, just the ship we're taking back home."

"Which is?" Jack asked.

Crutchie grinned, pulling two third class tickets from his shirt pocket. "They were hard to come by, let me tell you, and I could only afford third class, but I landed us tickets for the most talked about ship in the world."

Jack sincerely doubted that this ship Crutchie was so excited about was "the most talked about in the world," but he was really curious to know how they would be making it back to New York. He grabbed one of the tickets from Crutchie's hand. "The Titanic?" he asked, reading the name inscribed on the boarding pass.

"Yeah, the Titanic. This'll be riding in style, much more than some palomino." Crutchie's grin widened even more, if possible. "And it's the maiden voyage, too, Jack! She sets out tomorrow. Boy, we'll be making headlines tomorrow for sure."

"Huh," Jack said, flipping the ticket over and observing it. "The Titanic." For some reason, the name of the ship just felt right on his tongue. "Here's to our next adventure, I suppose."

Crutchie eagerly agreed. "Here's to the Titanic!"

Well, if you couldn't tell from the date at the start of this story, I'm sure you can basically see where this is going now. I was surprised that no one else has attempted a Titanic fic for Newsies. (If there is some, please tell me. I didn't see them and I'd love to read what other authors did.) All I've been seeing are WWI fics and those are fantastic; I'm all for sending the boys to war, but guys. The. Titanic. That is literally one of the biggest tragedies in history. And it's only thirteen years after the strike! Anyway, I hope you all like the story. Reviews are always welcome!