A/N: Something I wrote in a day. I've never actually attended a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, so forgive me if my ideas are a little bit off. And I suck at writing humor, but hey, it's the effort that counts, right? Merry Christmas everyone!

Katherine didn't know which she regretted more: the fact that she decided to host thanksgiving dinner at her apartment or the fact that she'd invited the newsies of Lower Manhattan.

Probably the latter.

"Put that down, Mush, that's my aunt's china! Albert, that's a tablecloth, not a toga! Stop playing with the spoons, Elmer! Buttons, please try not to destroy my coat buttons! Race, no smoking!"

Katherine Plumber would've said no to this. She was a headstrong girl. She was resolute, she was persistent, she was stubborn.

But Jack Kelly was stubborner.

They's my family, Ace, he'd told her with those big adoring brown eyes, Thanksgivin's meant for family, ain't it?

She'd buckled after a few minutes of persuasion and kisses plus a promise not to get on her father's nerves for a week (The New York World was frequently littered with a few propaganda cartoons due to Jack's dramatic flair).

And that was how she ended up with nineteen newsies squashed in her tiny apartment. How they'd all managed to fit, she never knew. She just knew that they were on the verge of tear the whole place down with their curiosity.

"Henry, stay away from the turkey! That book's fine, Davey, just don't bend the spine. Finch don't you dare use that slingshot in here! That's my skirt, Specs, not a lens cleaner. Mike, get your hand out of that sock! No, Ike, you can't fly on that broom. Sniper, Tommy, stop pillow-fighting! Les, Smalls, what are you doing under the – hey! Put those buns back on the table! Romeo, stop flirting with the woman in the picture, that's my mother!"

They were like a group of monkeys exploring a foreign jungle. The boys had not stop moving since they'd stepped through the door, and with the limited space in the apartment it made the whole situation quite dangerous.

She nearly screamed when she spotted Crutchie limping to the table with ten plates balancing precariously on his one free arm.

She actually screamed when she realized JoJo had discovered her beloved typewriter.

"No!" She barreled into the newsboy just before his fingers came down on the keys, sending him sprawling upon the floor. "Don't you dare," she cried, "touch my precious!" Livid, she whirled around to face the other onlooking newsies, who had gathered at the doorway. Nearly all of them shrank back at her fury.

"Let me make this crystal clear!" she half-shrieked. "No one, I repeat, no one, touches the typewriter! You come near it, y-you die!"

Her guests were silent for a full ten minutes, watching with bated breath as she seethed, her eyes wild with distress and her hands trembling like leaves.

It was only after Jack dared to approach her and tentatively wrapped his arms around her did she calm down. There was a collective sigh as Katherine's anger eventually faded.

The typewriter crisis over, Jack's face lit up with excitement. "Let's go eat!"

The apartment erupted with cheers, and the joviality of the occasion was restored. The newsies rushed to the long-awaited meal sitting on the small rosewood table.

"It'll be over soon, Ace, I promise," Jack assured her as she ran a hand down her face.

Katherine did not speak for a while. When she finally did, her voice was soft and distant.

"Excuse me, I need to make a call." She pushed a confused Jack out of the room and shut the door in his face.

Time to call for help.

When Katherine reentered the kitchen-cum-dining-room-cum-living-room, she nearly fainted.

The boys were already attacking the dishes she'd prepared. Food was being 'passed' across the table – in the newsies' sense, 'pass' meaning 'throw'. It seemed more of a food fight than a thanksgiving dinner.

"It isn't a thanksgiving dinner now that they've begun without grace," thought Katherine, disappointed.

"Who says so?" Jack was by her side, full of concern for the hostess.

Katherine's brow furrowed together. "Did I say that aloud?"

"No, I can read your mind," Jack teased with a devilish grin on his face. He scanned the room, which now resonated with boisterous laughter. "I guess you 'ad to say it aloud; this room's too noisy to hear the thoughts in you's head."

"Yeah," Katherine agreed with a meek nod of her head.

"Hey, give 'em boys a chance, we's never celebrated thanksgiving before."

Katherine's head whipped towards Jack in surprise. "Really?"

"We couldn't even afford new shoes, how'd ya expect us to afford a whole stuffed turkey?" Jack said lightheartedly. His eyes softened. "Teach us how ta celebrate, Ace."

"But they've begun," pointed out Katherine. "The saying of grace is a key component to Thanksgiving dinner. It's the tradition!"

Jack smirked. "Since when was 'tradition' in Katherine Plumber's vocabulary?" He folded his arms and raised the pitch of his voice. "Wake up to the new century. The game's changing."

Katherine's eyes widened with realization. "You're right, it isn't in my vocabulary!"

Then Jack yelped as her fist collided with his arm. "Ouch! What da 'ell was that for?"

"That was for doing a terrible impersonation of me," Katherine said with a cheeky pout.

"Well ya didn't hafta do it so har – " his protest was silenced as Katherine's lips met his.

"That," she said as she drew away, "was for saving my thanksgiving dinner."

Then, with a streak of resolution, she turned to her guests, attempted to gain their attention...and failed as she realized the shrieking episode had rendered her throat sore.

And then, the dashing Jack Kelly saved the day again. All it took, was his fist slamming upon the table, and his loud booming voice nearly busting her eardrums.

"Newsies of Lower Manhattan! The Mistress of the House wishes to speak!" The newsies froze, their eyes flying to their leader. He turned to Katherine. "You may speak, milady."

Katherine resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his mock gentlemanliness.

"Well, traditionally, grace should be said before the meal," she began. "But since you all have...devoured the food, we'll just hafta make do and say it now. Everyone hold hands – do it, even if you don't like your neighbor. Right, let's begin."

"I am thankful that my house is still in one piece, that I still have a job at the New York Sun, and that my friends are all here with me." Katherine smiled at Jack. "Now, anyone?"

"Why you looking at m – ow, my foot! Do ya really hafta wear such hard boots – " he was silenced by Katherine's poisonous glare. "Alright, I'm thankful for my friends...and you, Ace," he hastily added as he felt her shift her leg in preparation to stomp on his foot one more time. "Crutch why don't you go next?"

"I'm just thankful that I'm not pulp, and that I'm able to be here with y'all."

"I'm thankful for my socks."

"I'm thankful – " A burp. " – for this – " Another burp. " – leg o' lamb."

"I'm thankful for my pants."

"I'm thankful for my brother and my parents. I'm thankful to have known you all, and for all your acceptance of me when I first became a newsie. I'm thankful for Katherine, for her superb writing — and cooking — ability. I'm thankful for Jack and his natural leadership, that he was able to show me that nothing's too great to overcome and help me find my voice. I'm thankful for – "

"Another sentence and Jack'll start regretting helpin' yer find yer voice, Davey."

"Aww be quiet Race. Unless you wanna say something?"

"Well, I'm thankful for my cigar. I'm thankful I haven't got gastric flu from the moldy donuts and the two year old biscuits."

"I'm thankful that we won the strike."

"We didn't exactly win."

"Yeah we did."

"The old cow Pulitzer – sorry, Plum – never lowered the price back down!"

"But at least it's better than our previous deal!"

"Yeah he's buying back the papes now!"

"If that's what you call winnin'."

"What's your definition of winnin'?"

"Winnin' is gettin' what you's want."

"That's bull. Winnin' is bringin' the opponent ta his knees!"

Thus, what began as a traditional thanksgiving grace became a debate about the definition of 'winning'. This time Jack too was contributing to the noise, which made he chance of shutting them up seemed hopeless. Katherine sighed in defeat, untangling her fingers from Jack's and Davey's and saying to herself a soft "Amen" before beginning her meal by herself.

The topic of discussion – argument, rather – had somehow veered to 'who could burp the loudest' when doorbell rang. Grateful for the distraction, Katherine leapt to her feet to fetch the door. She swung it open to receive the newest guest.

The apartment fell silent. Utensils dropped onto the plates. Nineteen jaws hit the table.

"I never thought you'd invite me, Katherine," Joseph Pulitzer said as he waltzed through the door.

"Why not, Papa?" asked Katherine with childlike politeness. "After all, Thanksgivin's meant for family, ain't it?"