Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Any recognizable characters and situations from Newsies belong to Disney and not to me.

No. 2

Title: Rationale

Summary: It was easy to forget that scabs had names and stories and reasons for crossing the picket line.

A/N: This short sketch is told from the perspectives of the three scabs who are persuaded by Jack, Davey, and the other newsies to join the strike during "Seize the Day."

I. Jesse

Jack Kelly could definitely talk a good game.

I'd heard about him - heard he was a bit of a hot-head, a bit of a smooth-talker, and that he kept Lower Manhattan in check with his charisma and a few loyal accomplices. I could see it playing out in front of my eyes as he stood appealing to the scabs, his band of boys tense and on edge behind him. They outnumbered us easily three to one, but I wasn't afraid of them. Word on the street was that Manhattan talked a good game...but they weren't Brooklyn.

I'd been hawking headlines for a while, all over New York - no ties to anyone or anywhere, just selling wherever the prices were lowest and the papes were moving: in Queens one week, Staten Island the next, then over to the Bronx for a spell...everywhere except Brooklyn. It worked better when I didn't stay in one area too long, because then folks weren't used to seeing me, and the tricks I used to sell the headlines never got old.

I was on my way down to Manhattan when I first got wind of the strike.

It turned out to be a lucky break - the newsies weren't selling, which meant I could step into the gap and make some extra dough - and scabbing, it turned out, paid pretty well. The World had stopped printing the afternoon edition when I arrived, so there wasn't much for me to sell that day, but the manager at the distribution center promised me a full stack of the morning edition the next day, as well as a generous bonus for my trouble, since there was a chance the striking newsies would retaliate against anyone showing up to cross the picket line.

The next morning, sure enough, there they were, all bunched together in a defiant group, shouting in outrage as we brushed past them to get our papes. The newsies began to rush us, and I braced myself for a fight, but surprisingly, their charge was quickly halted. And that was when Jack Kelly began his speech.

I didn't expect to be moved by it...but I was. As soon as he brought up the kids - the kids who should have been outside playing or going to school but were stuck slaving away for mere pennies, pennies that weren't enough to even keep them off the street - I knew I had no chance of crossing that picket line with my papes.

I had no ties to anyone, not anymore. But not too long ago, I had - ties that had been broken when an accident claimed the lives of two breaker boys barely old enough to master a game of Jackstraws or marbles let alone lose their lives trying to scrape together enough money to survive.

For the sake of all the kids…

The words of Jack's appeal settled like a weight upon my shoulders. And then the smallest newsboy, barely more than a kid himself, stepped forward.

"Please…" he added.

And I knew then that I was done.

But I wasn't going to break down. I strode confidently up to Jack, staring him down for a moment, bold and unflinching. Then I cried out, "I'm with ya!"

My stack of papers hit the ground with a loud thud of finality...and I left them there without looking back as I went to join the newsies.

II. Tucker

Words didn't convince me.

Words were just words. Anyone could say them - what I cared about was who meant them.

So I didn't really listen to the speech of the blustering newsboy in the blue shirt. He was passionate, I'd give him that. Passionate and angry - and scared. But anyone could say anything when they were angry and scared; I knew that well enough. So his words meant nothing to me.

And when the taller one confronted me, deliberate but equally forceful, I didn't so much listen as look. I didn't care what he had to say, either. I wanted to figure out if he meant it, because I wasn't going to throw away a day's pay plus a little extra for just a bunch of words.

I wanted to see sincerity. And trustworthiness. And when you were trying to parse that out in a fella, you didn't listen to their words. You looked at their eyes. And you watched their hands.

So he spoke, and I scrutinized him, trying to find deceit in his expression, shiftiness in his gestures, manipulation behind his words...

I expected to. I wanted to.

I really wanted to.

But I couldn't.

So I started cautiously listening.

And as I listened, I weighed his words against the ones that had been spoken by the weasel-like manager of the distribution center. The man had promised me and the other scabs a bonus - and a generous one - if we completed the job. But would he actually keep his promise? And would his fidgety henchmen with their bold stares and brass knuckles, actually back us up if it came to a brawl? Or would they leave us to fend for ourselves?

At the end of the day...who was I going to trust?

I looked over my shoulder at the distribution center employees.

I looked at the newsie in front of me.

I looked at the band of boys behind him.

And then I made my decision and threw down my papes.

III. Artie

My father hadn't been joking when he'd said he'd kill me if I didn't come back with the money. The newsies seemed to think that it was some kind of exaggeration, but it wasn't. Of course, Pa had been drunk when he'd said it, and even sober, it was doubtful he'd be able to follow through on the threat - but that didn't mean there wasn't a little truth hidden in those words.

I knew I couldn't go home without the money.

Not that home was great to begin with - it was a place to stay at night, not really much else. But it was all I knew, and Ma and Jo were there, so I planned on going back...eventually. Once I got the money.

I thought that scabbing would be the way back - it paid well, and I could sell papes as easily as the next fella, so it made sense to throw in my lot with the distribution center employees - but I hadn't expected the striking newsies to show up in protest, and I hadn't expected the other two scabs to turn tail so quickly.

What choice did I have? Stay the course and get soaked for my troubles, maybe soaked so bad that I wouldn't be able to sell papes for the next few days? Or join up and see if I could find another way to come up with the money?

It was a lose-lose situation, and in the heat of the moment, with the newsies and the ex-scabs breathing down my neck, I did the only thing I knew to do - and gave in.

I knew that I wouldn't be able to go home now. Not without the money. But I'd figure something out. And in the meantime, I'd see what kind of family I could find among the Lower Manhattan newsies.

A/N: In the narrative of Something Worth Winning, the first scab, Jesse, ends up disappearing after the brawl at the distribution center, but Tucker and Artie elect to stay with the newsies, and both will have a part to play in the story as it progresses. Thank you for reading this; please let me know what you thought! The scabs don't get much stage time in the musical because they're basically there to move the plot along, but I thought it could be interesting to try to think about what might've been going through their heads during "Seize the Day." :)