Chapter 1
August 21st, 1899
One month after the strike
Finally finished. Jack leans back against the railing which wraps around the lodgehouse roof and rests his head against the cool metal bars. He'll drop it off tomorrow evening, but now he can finally sleep. Opening leaden eyes, he looks down once more at the finished drawing, a practically meaningless political cartoon. Yeah, he thinks, but a meaningless political cartoon that will pay for Race's bed at the lodgehouse for the next month. He folds it carefully, tucks it under his pillow, and blows out the candle stub, protected from the night-time winds by his rolled up blanket. He has three hours before the bell rings in the morning.
He wakes up to the circulation bell ringing and something wooden poking at his side. He wafts a hand and manages to grab hold of it, whatever it is, jarring his wrist in the process.
"Hey, get off my crutch!" Damnit, Crutchie. "And get off your lazy butt 'nd all. Them papes won't sell themselves."
"I's up, I's up." Jack throws up his hands in mock surrender, wincing at the ache in his back as he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"You look awful, Jack." The younger boy looks down at him, face morphing from amusement to concern.
"Gee, thanks, Crutchie. Jus' what every guy wants to hear." He snarks back, pulling on his blue shirt and fiddling with the buttons. He knows that Crutchie's right, of course, that his cheeks are more drawn than they used to be, that the dark circles under his eyes are darker, that old wounds from more than a decade of street fights are hurting him more than they used to.
"I's serious. When did you get to sleep last night?"
"Why's it matter?"
"'Cos you's doin' too much, that's why. You don' needs the papes money no more, why ain't you just sittin' 'nd drawin'?"
"And miss out on the fun o' sellin' papes? You crazy?" He stands up, snatches up his cap and stuffs last night's drawing in his pocket. "C'mon, lemme help you down."
…
Jack is coming out of the offices of The World when he sees her. He has his pay in one pocket, courtesy of handing in his latest political cartoon, and the list of new drawings they want for the next day. He doesn't even need to look at it to know that the list will be painfully long.
He hurts, he hurts all over, and he's exhausted. He hasn't eaten since his morning coffee and half a stale donut, courtesy of the sisters. He's just tired; the kind of tired that settles deep down in your bones and that you can't shift even with a week of sleep. It's been a slow news day and even his charm hasn't managed to shift the papes. It was quarter past five when he'd finally sold his last one and he'd had to run to Davey's to get him to check the spelling of his cartoon and then run over to the offices to get it on the desk for six. He knows that he could ask Katherine to check them, that she'd be more than happy to, but he just can't stand to remind her of the kind of guys she's with. Girls like you don't wind up with guys like me. And then he sees her and he can hardly think. She's sat on a bench on the opposite side of the street, reading a book in the orange glow of late afternoon sunlight, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to check that the street is clear before he sprints over to her.
"You waitin' for someone to walk you home, Miss?" He adjusts his cap and then shoves his hands deep into his trouser pockets, unable to keep the grin from his face.
Katherine looks up at him and hops to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck. An elderly man walking by gives them a dirty look and she somehow remembers her propriety, dropping her arms, a little embarrassed.
"I've missed you." She smiles.
"I missed you too, Ace. You know what it's like though, life o' a union leader, hotshot illustrator for The World-"
"And so very modest." Jack laughs at that, offering her his arm. To his surprise, she links arms with him only to turn them both around, in the opposite direction from her home. This is unusual. Whenever she ever meets him after work, whenever he's ever lucky enough to step out of the office to see her on that bench across the street, he always walks her home. He's hardly a gentleman, but he's trying, damn it, and here she is again turning his plans upside down like she always does, all soft smiles and sharp wit.
"I, uh, think we're goin' in the wrong direction, sweetheart."
"I don't." Katherine replies shortly. Jack raises one questioning eyebrow. "I hate my father. I don't want to go home and talk to him yet. So, I'm coming to the lodgehouse with you." Jack stiffens. She falters then, looks nervous rather than determined. "I mean, if that's alright?"
"Shoot, Ace, you's always welcome, you knows that," he manages to mumble out, trying to quell the embarrassment he feels at the idea of Katherine Pulitzer, high society lady, spending more than five minutes inside the lodgehouse; it's bad enough that she's been up in his penthouse before, but to have dinner with them… "but I's gotta pick up some stuff for the boys' dinner on the way, 'nd then I's gotta make it, 'nd then I's got to work." Her face falls and he could kick himself. "I means, you can come, but it ain't gonna be the Ritz."
"I hate the Ritz." She replies, her face lighting up.
It hadn't occurred to Jack, not until that very moment, that she might have actually been to the Ritz. It was at times like these that he wondered what on God's green earth he was doing, stepping out with a girl like her. She needed someone better, someone like Darcy, someone who could buy her pretty dresses and take her to fancy dinners and take her to stay at the Ritz. Not someone like him, someone who could offer at best a hot meal and a blanket, and at worst not even that. But she's oblivious, of course she is, and she tells him about her day and the story she's working on. She tells him about her fight with her father and-
"Katherine?" Jack snaps out of his half-listening, half-worrying trance as Katherine unlinks her arm from his and stops to greet another woman around her age, accompanied by a man a little shorter than himself.
"Eliza, how lovely to see you!" Katherine is glowing, having put on her high society mask. "And Mr. Vanderblit, it has been quite a while – last year's Christmas party, I believe? May I introduce Mr. Jack Kelly."
Jack shakes Mr. Vanderblit's hand firmly and relishes in the realisation that his grip is substantially stronger than the other man's. That said, Mr. Vanderblit had the appearance of a man who had never picked up so much as a teaspoon in his entire life. It's when he turns to Elizabeth, presumably one of Katherine's friends, and sees her outstretched hand, that he gets it wrong. He knows it, too, the second he reaches out and shakes her hand as well, only for the woman's expression to turn a mixture of confused and derisive. He was supposed to kiss her hand. Of course he was. Jack inwardly curses his own stupidity. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Katherine's hand covering her mouth, stifling a giggle. He knows that her sense of humour is one of the best things about her, that he loves her ability to find humour in any situation, but damn it if he doesn't feel patronized. He's not some performing monkey, some low class toy she can introduce to these snobs so that she can laugh at the consequences. He withdraws his hand.
"Pleasure to meet'cha both."
"Likewise." Mr. Vanderblit's mouth presses into a thin line below his carefully trimmed mustache and Elizabeth tosses Jack a scornful look before turning to Katherine.
"I presume you're still coming for tea on Saturday, Katherine, dearest. I do have so many things to discuss with you. I feel as though I haven't seen you since you started that job at the New York Sun."
Jack has to bite his lip to stop himself calling this woman out for sounding so judgmental about Katherine's career, but Katherine, at least, thanks Elizabeth politely before linking arms with Jack once more and setting off down the street. He's in a black mood now, if he wasn't already.
"Jack, please don't be sullen. It was really rather funny-"
"Funny to you, maybe," he snaps back, "to you and your friends who looks down their noses at folks like me, who don't know nothin' about you and your fancy words like 'sullen'."
"It means bad-tempered."
"See? I clearly ain't smart enough to fit in."
"Jack, please, I didn't mean to upset you-"
"I ain't upset, alright?" He forces himself to release his hands from the fists they've balled into. "I ain't upset." He rolls his shoulders back and glances over to her. There's a strange expression on her face, concern with just a hint of amusement. That's all it takes, then he's chuckling. "It was pretty funny," he grins at her, "did you see her face when I shook her hand? 'Magine if I'da spit on it first!"
And then Katherine's laughing with him and they're okay again, just like that. These little fights happen often and always because of their class differences. Jack can't help wondering how long they'll be able to fix their problems so easily.
…
"Grub's up, boys!" Jack yells.
With that, thirty newsies come barrelling around the corner from the bunk room and cram themselves into the tiny lodgehouse kitchen around a table meant for ten. Katherine follows in their wake, looking a little dazed from the poker game she'd been dragged into. There's a big blackened cookpot on the middle of the table full with something that looks like beef stew, though Jack wouldn't be surprised if it turned out the butcher had given him dog meat instead. Next to it is a plate of stale brown rolls, but big ones, and enough to go around. When he's trying to give thirty hungry boys at least one meal a day out of paper money and his salary, it's quantity over quality. The boys are practically drooling into the pot when Jack stops them.
"Hey, boys. We ain't animals." He spreads his hands wide, then glances up at Katherine. "Ladies first?" Katherine looks around at the boys' hunger-drawn faces, then at the slop in the cookpot.
"I'm fine, thank you, I've already eaten." She lies over the sound of her stomach grumbling, but lucky for her, Jack just shrugs it off.
"Go ahead then, you lot." Jack hugs the wall of the kitchen and edges around to Katherine, guiding her back into the bunk room as the meal is set upon by the crowd of newsies. "And you lot," he yells over his shoulder, "are doin' the washin' up. I want it spotless!"
When he walks into the bunk room, Jack realises, for the first time in his life, that it smells. It smells of sweat and unwashed bodies and sickness and though he shouldn't expect anything else when it's two boys to a bunk, he feels a sudden wave of embarrassment at what Katherine must see this as.
"Come with me," he whispers to her, mouth up against her ear in the way that he knows sends shivers down her spine, and leads her over to the window, hopping out onto the fire escape and offering his hand to help her out after him. Leading her up the fire escape, he asks "they didn't scare you too much, did they?"
"Not at all," Katherine says, and he can tell from the smile in her voice that at least she wasn't disgusted by the boys themselves, "they're really very sweet."
"That's one word for it." Jack snorts, helping her up the last few steps to his penthouse, also known as the blanket, pillow, and bag stuffed underneath the water tank on the roof of the lodgehouse.
Jack sits down, back against the water tank, but Katherine looks around, surveying the city spread out below them. The warm August wind whips her auburn curls across her face and Jack will be damned if she doesn't look like an angel, stood there, serene in a dress so pale blue it might as well be heavenly white. He can't keep his eyes open though, he's just so bone tired, and he's almost asleep when she next speaks.
"This view is incredible." Katherine says, still looking out.
"Sure is." He replies, looking her up and down.
She turns, blushing when she realises he's looking at her, then wanders over and slides down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. She smells of honey and ink and expensive perfume. Jack could just drink her in, but the moment doesn't last because she's shifting against him, looking up at him with those big green eyes, giving him that look that lets him know that she's just itching to be kissed. And damn it if he doesn't comply.
It's got none of their usual passion, the kind that leaves Jack feeling that if he sees her just one more time he's going to snap and rip the pretty little pearl buttons right off her blouse. No, this is long and languid and oh-so very comfortable. It feels easy somehow, in a way that it hasn't with any of the other girls he's been with, in the way that he doesn't feel like he wants to run for the hills as soon as he's got what he wants. It's not even Katherine, the challenge, though it was at first. It's Katherine, herself, affectionate and smart and talented.
"Jack, we- oh." At the sound of Elmer's voice, Jack breaks their kiss. He doesn't pull away though, just closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Katherine's.
"This better be good, Elmer." He growls.
"I, uh, I ain't tryna interrupt, it's just, we's, uh, we's tryna get the little ones inta bed and it ain't goin' so well. Little Carl, he says he won't have nobody but you."
"I's on my way." Jack sighs.
He lets go of Katherine and she feels bereft, her body aching for him in the places where he's had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other cradling her face. But he retreats still, scrambling to his feet and offering her a hand. As they descend the fire escape, Jack is practically walking backwards in order to keep holding Katherine's hand (he says it's so she doesn't fall – she doesn't believe him), and he keeps hold of it until he's helped her back in through the window. Jack can hear the sobbing as soon as he enters the bunk room and makes a beeline for Carl's bunk.
"Hey, Carl," he perches on the end of the low bunk that holds the small boy, who can't be more than seven or eight, and ducks his head to avoid hitting it on the bunk above, "Elmer tells me you ain't feelin' too bright." The boy, whose thick black curls, not unlike Jack's, hung down over his puffy eyes, shook his head tearfully. "You wanna tell me 'bout it?"
"I's 'fraid o' the nightmares. I don't wants to go to sleep." Jack smiles softly and adjusts himself on the bunk so he can lay down facing Carl.
"I gets nightmares too sometimes."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, and you know what I do?" The boy shakes his head again. "I thinks 'bout Santa Fe."
"Whassat?" Carl mumbles around his thumb.
"You close your eyes, an' I'll tell you's all about it." Carl closes his eyes obediently. "There's this little town out west an' it's called Santa Fe. All 'round it, there's just green, green as is bigger than the whole o' New York. And there's people there, and they're building a city, right up from nothin', just with the clay they's pulled outta the ground."
As Katherine looks on, the bunk room slowly falls silent, each and every newsboy rolling over in their bed to listen. Her heart swells, because that's her Jack and she has no idea what she did to deserve this egotistical, flirtatious wonder of a man.
"They's always happy," Jack continues, "'cause they's all gots their own land and they's plantin' crops to eat. An' on Sundays, they don't do nothin', they gets the whole day off. And when we comes along, they asks us, 'Hey, Carl, Jack, come and sits wi' us 'round the fire, we gots some mighty fine tales to tells you' and they ain't just friends, then, they's family. Everybody always wants you 'round in Santa Fe. You'll gets there someday Carl, you will."
By this point, the little boy's mouth has dropped full open, and his breathing is heavy. Slowly and carefully, Jack slips off the bed and gently pulls the scratchy woollen blanket up over the younger boy. When he turns around, he feels the heat of thirty pairs of eyes on him and the softness he'd been wearing is quickly exchanged for his usual cocky façade.
"What you all lookin' at, 'ey?" All of the newsies mumble unintelligibly, turning their eyes down, and Jack shakes his head. "Jus' get outta here so's the little kids can sleep, alright." With creeping feet, the boys flee the room.
Katherine reaches out for his hand from where she's stood, but he flinches away the instant her fingers brush his hand, jerking away like he's been burned and whipping around with something dark flitting behind his eyes. But seconds later, once he's realised it's her, he's relaxes, plastering on a charismatic smile.
"Hell, Ace, you's makin' me jump." He laughs softly, but there's little humour in it. "I'll just go check on the kitchen, then I'll walk you back." She nods, half-smiling, and follows him as he heads into the next room.
The kids have done a good job, scrubbed the cookpot clean and left it to soak in the sink. There are two brown rolls left on the sideboard, one with faint teeth marks in the side that's slightly crushed from being snatched away. Jack's fairly sure that Crutchie's behind them being left and he's more grateful than he'd like to admit. Just at the sight of them, he feels his stomach flip over. He's never known what its like not to be hungry, though he'd be lying if he said that he isn't tempted every night to go into the bakery just down the street from the Pulizter Building and spend his whole day's pay on gorging himself silly. He'd be lying, too, if he said the thought didn't make him feel guilty, guilty for wanting and guilty for being able to afford, when the kids back here at the lodgehouse couldn't even dream of such things. And he'd be lying if he said that the thought didn't terrify him too, the thought that he one day might not be strong enough to resist the smell of fresh doughnuts wafting out the open door, and that he might eat up his dollars rather than storing them away.
He's storing them away now, all his salary, in what used to be his Santa Fe fund. Sure, he has to dip into it now and again when the soles of Buttons' shoes wear out or Albert gets sick and can't sell papes, but he's trying, hell, he's trying. He doesn't know what it's a fund for now, though. An apartment, he supposes, when he ages out of the lodgehouse. Somewhere with two bedrooms, so he can bring Crutchie someplace dry, someplace where the cold won't get into his bum leg and they can both sleep in beds with blankets. And after that, well, a future. A ring, for Katherine. A house. Kids, kids of his own, with as many uncles as they can count and then some.
He shakes his head as he takes a rough bite out of the stale roll. As if. He knows what he has with Katherine won't last that long – how could it? He sure as hell can't give her everything she needs, everything she's used to, everything she deserves. Just like always, he's living day to day, hoping just to eke out another few hours before she realises that she's making a mistake.
"You're so good with children." Katherine's voice snaps him out of his reverie and he laughs around a mouthful of bread.
"Well, shucks, I's raised nearly every boy here, Ace. I should hope I knows how to get a kid to sleep." He rubs at the back of his neck, looking down.
Katherine rolls her eyes, crossing the kitchen and pressing him up against the wall, kissing him with such ferocity that Jack doesn't even know what to do with himself. Then, just like that, she's turned away and is starting to walk away towards the stairs. Without thinking, he catches hold of her wrist and pulls her back to him.
"The hell you playin' at?" He breathes. "You can't jus' kiss a guy like that with no explanation an' then go wanderin' off!"
She looks him dead in the eyes.
"You, Jack Kelly, are the most wonderful man in the world and I wouldn't change you for ten thousand dollars. Explanation enough for you?" She turns away once more.
"I think I could do with a little more explanation." Jack tugs her back again and pulls her into a blistering kiss, his right hand coming up to tangle in her hair, cushioning her head as he spins them around and pins her against the wall, his other hand bracing himself against its brick as she melts into him. She's kissing him back, her fingers trailing fire across his shoulders, the taut muscle underneath his shirt, up into his hair, gently tugging on his dark curls in the way that makes him moan into her mouth just a little, and he can't think.
"I think I understand now." He says, breaking away from her with a breathless grin and taking her arm. It's a good job he does, or Katherine thinks her knees might just buckle underneath her. "C'mon, I'll walk you home. 'S gettin' pretty late."
…
Author's Note: So, I'm about a decade late to this fandom, but I recently watched the film of the Broadway production that is on Disney+ and I cannot stop thinking about this musical (and by musical, I mean Jeremy Jordan's arms *fans self*)! I have trawled through pretty much every Jack/Katherine fic I can find (and there is certainly not enough), so I decided to write my own, detailing their lives and relationships after the end of the musical. I'm only going off the musical here, so I'm adapting the character of Sarah for my own purposes, which explains why she's a bit OOC. I really hope you've enjoyed the first chapter and I'll be posting again soon. If you feel so inclined, please do leave a review – they're so encouraging and I welcome constructive criticism.