Disclaimers: You all know what I'm going to say, but for fear of a lawsuit, I feel the need to be repetitive. Don't own the newsies, just Moira, and the plot. Also, thank you soooo much for the crazy-awesome reviews you've all been doing. GRACIAS!

Chapter Eight

Moira sat in the office, apathetically sketching the mail cubbies on the back wall of the office. They weren't hard to draw, mail cubbies weren't, just rows and column of little boxes, but it was something to do. She drew little envelopes in the shadowy holes, and then moved on to the surrounding items on the desk. She drew the books stacked up next to the mail slots, the files that she was in the hopeless process of organizing. Kloppman had kept a file for every single newsie that had ever worked for him. Moira had just discovered his drawer full of them, and had taken it upon herself to sort though them.

"Hey, what's dat?" Jack asked from behind her. Moira tucked the paper under the sign-in book.

"Nothing." She fibbed, not caring to her mediocre drawings with anyone who wasn't David or Les.

"No, I saw ya doin' sumpin. What was you doin?"

"I was just sitting."

"No you wasn't. C'mon, show me." He prodded, leaning further over the desk. Sighing, Moira pulled out the drawing and handed it to him. He raised an eyebrow, "You're drawing da mail slot?" He asked, slightly confused.

"There were hardly any people worth drawing." She explained, pointing to the window, where the wind was howling and there were newspapers, dust, and small children everywhere.

"I didn't know you was a artist." Jack said, after a few moments of contemplation.

"I'm not."

"Well, ya draw stuff, doncha."

"I can only draw what's in front of me. Real artists can draw just by using their imagination."

"Says who?"

"I don't know. I just know that I'm not an artist." Jack thought about this for a minute.

"Come wid me."

"Why?"

"Cause we're friends now, remembah? Dat's what friends do. Dey go places togethah." He reminder her, sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He pulled her to her feet.

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"It'll ruin de element of surprise."

"Please, Jack, just tell me."

"If I were Davey, would ya be askin' all dese questions?" He asked, glaring at her. She thought about it for a minute.

"No, I guess not."

"Den come on." It took a minute for Moira to put her coat on, wrap her scarf around her neck, and pull on her gloves, but she managed to be ready before Jack's patience ran out.

"What about the office?" She asked, as he hurried her along the windy streets of New York.

"It'll be fine. What was you doin dat was so important before I came back?"

"Well, you never know. Something might come up, and what if I'm not there to ward off disaster?" She asked, eyebrows raised. Jack gave her a cynical look.

"When was da last time dere was a disaster at da LH?" They both fell silent, thinking about Kloppman. It was obvious everyone considered that a disaster. They turned a corner and Jack ducked suddenly into an alley, dragging a confused Moira along with him.

"What are we doing?" She hissed as he crouched low to the ground and pushed open a window.

"Follow me." He slid through the open window and landed on his feet, looking up at Moira, he beckoned for her to follow.

"Why? I don't like the way this looks."

"C'mon."

"I'm going to fall!"

"I'll catch ya, I promise. Besides, it ain't far. Just…close your eyes or sumpin." Jack ventured, holding his arms out to her like one would to a child. She chewed her lip in thought for a minute before deciding to 'live a little' and gathered her skirts around her. She stuck her feet though first, like she'd seen Jack do, and slowly slid the rest of her body through the opening. Jack grasped her waist, making her giggle, and guided her the rest of the way down, so that she landed on her feet, unharmed. "See? Dat wadn't so bad." He scoffed, receiving a glare from the young lady.

"Fine, fine. Are you going to tell me where we are?" She asked, noticing that they were in a rather dark and scary room, where large, shadowy objects jutted out of the darkness at them.

"You'll see. We gotta be quiet though." He warned, leading her through the room and up some marble stairs. There was a door at the top of the steps, which Jack opened just slightly, looked around before leading her through that as well.

"Hey! Excuse me sir, you can't be in here, we're just about to close." A guard dressed in dark blue told them, making his way over. His expression changed, however, when he came closer and realized who Jack was. "Kelly? Is that really you?"

"No, stupid. You'se just seein' t'ings. Of course it's me- in da flesh." The two men looked at each other a moment longer before embracing like brothers.

"So, who's this?" The guard asked, pointing to Moira.

"Oh, dis is Moira. She's Kloppman-you remembah Kloppman?"

"Of course I remember him. I'm sorry, by the way. I heard about what happened." Jack nodded solemnly before continuing.

"Anyway, dis is his granddaughtah, Moira Bailey." Moira extended her hand politely and greeted the guard with a timid 'how do you do.' She gave Jack a confused look, as to where she was, why she was there, and who this awfully large man was that was talking to Jack. "Oh, Moira, dis is an old friend 'a mine, Brian Morgan. We used ta be bunkmates at da LH, Brian's like me oldah brudda."

"So what are ya doin' here, Kelly?" Brian implored.

"I gots a point ta prove to da young lady here. You won't tell nobody if we snoop around a bit, would ya?" Jack asked, in such a way that even Moira knew Brian wouldn't say no.

"Go ahead, just be careful. And leave the same way you came in." With that, the man left them, and Jack turned to Moira.

"Close your eyes." He instructed.

"Why?"

"Honestly, woman. Don't you trust me at all?"

"Well, no, not really. Given your record." She informed him, after a second.

"Just do it. Please?" She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to be pulled through the building quickly by Jack Kelly.

"Won't you at least tell me where we are?" She asked, growing tired of the silence and mystery. Moira was not one for surprises.

"We're at da Met." He told her. "No! Don't open your eyes. We'se almost dere." Jack warned, as Moira felt herself be pulled around a corner. He stopped suddenly. "Here. Open your eyes."

She did and had her breath taken away. In front of her was a wall full of absolute beauty. Paintings of everyday New York life. She was amazed. "Oh my." She breathed, unsure of what to say. Though astounded, Moira couldn't help but be a bit confused. "What are we doing here, Jack?" She asked, after a few minutes of silence. Jack had to think for a second.

"Well, look at dese paintings. In all of dem, I bet in da whole museum, most of dese artists just painted what dey saw."

"All right…?" She was still confused.

"Doncha get it? Just because you can't draw from your imagination don't make ya any less of a artist dan what you'se seein' right here."

"Jack, I draw mail boxes."

"Yeah, I know. But dat's not all you draw. Les shows me dose pictures you make him all da time."

"I thought you said you didn't know I drew."

"Eh, I know lotsa t'ings you t'ink I don't." He smiled devilishly. Moira looked around again. Once she understood what he was trying to tell her, she was deeply touched. Going over to one of the painting, she held her hand just centimeters away from the canvas, it was beautiful, of a woman in a hammock, surrounded by clothing strewn about the yard, and a man. If she had known anything about art, Moira would have known that it was The Open Air Breakfast by Chase.

"How did you know about this place?" She asked, suspiciously.

"'Ey, Moira. I'm not da culturally ignorant pig dat you take me for, ya know." He defended himself. Moira laughed and looked at her watch.

"I should go."

"I should walk you. Don't want your mudda gettin' hyped up ovah nuttin." Jack led the way back through the museum and the basement, boosted her out the window before climbing out the small opening himself.

They hurried through the city, quicker than they had come, and Jack managed to have Moira at her door just before six-o-clock.

"Well, thank you, Jack. That was lovely." She told him, wrapping her coat tighter around her.

"Eh, no problem. We're friends- dat's what friends do." He patted her shoulder before jogging back across the street. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and half ran up the stairs to the apartment, where her mother was waiting.

Moira heard none of the things that Kathryn said while they ate. She cleaned her dishes and went back to her room, where she put on a warm nightgown and crawled into bed, thinking about what Jack had said. An artist, he had called her. She smiled at the thought of it. An artist, she'd never even considered it.

***

October faded quickly into November, which brought more cold air, higher winds, and more miserable newsies home to the lodging house each night. Apparently, no one wanted to buy newspapers unless they were being sold inside a nice, warm building. And selling inside was a risky business, because if the cops found you, you had a choice of a hefty fine, or a few nights in jail. This didn't go over well with the newsies.

On a more depressing front, Thanksgiving was coming. Normally, Moira didn't mind this holiday, but this year, she knew, it would simply be miserable. It was, after all, her first Thanksgiving without her grandfather and only the second one she had spent without her father.

Thinking about spending holidays alone made Moira very sad. Oddly, these thoughts occupied most of her mind, thus making her sad for a good portion of the day. One of the few bright spots was David, who was constantly doing things to try to cheer her up.

"That's nice." He complimented, one morning, on a sketch she was doing of an old woman outside.

"Thanks." She answered in a monotone, not looking up.

"Come on, Moira. What's wrong with you lately?" David asked, coming around to her side of the desk and pulling up a chair. She added a few finishing details and put the pencil down.

"I don't know. I just wish the whole holiday season would hurry up and be done with."

"Is this about your grandfather?"

"It's about him, and my father, and my mother, and the fact that I have no one to spend holidays with and it is making me absolutely miserable!" She exclaimed. It actually felt good to let her feelings out. David thought for a few minutes.

"Have Thanksgiving dinner with my family." He offered.

"David, you can't just invite people to eat with your family all the time. I've only met your parents that one time."

"They would like you, I'm sure." Moira laughed.

"I don't think so. Thank you, but I don't think that would help."

"Why not?"

"Isn't Jack going to be there?"

"Well, yeah. But I thought the two of you were getting along better these days."

"We are, we are. I just don't think it would work out. So, thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline." David gave her a sad smile.

"The door's always open." He reminded, standing up. She smiled at him,

"You're very sweet, David Jacobs. Very sweet." David smiled again and went back into the cold to finish his stack of papes. Leaving Moira to her own, rather confusing thoughts.

"Moira Elizabeth Bailey, you are coming with me and that is final!" Kathryn exclaimed, Thanksgiving evening, glaring at her daughter from across the room.

"No, I'm not, and that is final!" Moira yelled back. "Besides," she added haughtily, "I'm not properly dressed."

"We can change that, Moira dear. I know the perfect thing you could wear. In fact, if you'll stop being such an infant about this whole thing, you can go and put it on right now and we'll still be able to pass for fashionably late."

"I'm sorry, Mother, but you'll just have to go without me. I'm not in the mood for false conversation and petty gossip tonight. You have my apologies."

"But what am I going to tell the Beckman's?" Kathryn asked, exasperated.

"Tell them that I'm in a hospital for the criminally insane. Tell them that I ran away with a newsboy, tell them whatever you like just as long as you understand that I'm not going!"

"Moira, dear, I don't understand you. Theresa Beckman has been a dear friend of mine since we were little girls, and she's invited us to her house for Thanksgiving dinner. How would it look if I went without you?" Kathryn asked, trying a more gentle approach.

"Once again, I'm sorry. But I don't feel well, I've got a bit of a headache, and I don't think that going out would improve my condition at all." This was almost true. Moira had not had the headache when she'd returned from work that day. It was brought on by the argument that had been going on for the last fifteen minutes. Kathryn threw up her hands.

"Fine! Stay home and wallow in your depression. I'm going and getting on with my life." She snapped, sweeping out of the apartment and slamming the door behind her. Moira sighed, and began to straighten up what little mess there was in the apartment. She made herself some hot chocolate, gathered her legs around her and sat down on the sofa with A Mid Summer Night's Dream, one of her favorite plays. As she got comfortable, Moira glanced around the empty room,

"Happy Thanksgiving." She muttered, raising her cup in a pseudo-cheers motion. Sighing, she opened her book, skimmed the first few pages and read Helena's first monologue, following her exchange with Hermia. She smiled, remembering how her father had changed his voice and acted out some of Shakespeare's comedies. Helena had always been her favorite, though, out of all of the play he had read to her.

By the time the clock chimed seven, Moira had gotten to the first argument between Oberon and Titania. (She would have gotten further, but she kept going back and re-reading certain parts.) Just as she turned the page, there was a knock at the door.

Wondering who it could be, she got to her feet and pulled open the door. Much to her surprise, Mush, Kid Blink, Skittery, and Boots stood in front of her. "Hello, boys." She greeted, uncertainly.

"Hiya, Moira." Kid Blink began, sounding out of breath. "You gotta come wid us."

"What's wrong?" She asked. "Is something the matter?"

"You just gotta see for yourself. C'mon. Get ya coat, ya gotta hurry." Mush panted, motioning with his hands. Not wasting any time, Moira grabbed her coat and shut the door behind her, following the four boys down the stairs and across the street to the lodging house. It was deathly quiet when they got there, Moira felt herself seized with panic, expecting the worst as the boys led her into the back dining room where-

"HAPPY THANKSGIVING!" A chorus of over fourty voices called, turning the lights up to reveal their version of a Thanksgiving feast. Her jaw dropped as she took in the food that was set out on the table before her: Stuffing, salads, hot dogs, bread, a bowl of unidentifiable red stuff, and a mulitude of other things. In the center of the table sat a turkey that looked like it had been over cooked for a few extra hours- it was burnt to a crisp- as, Moira noticed, was most of the food. She had to smile.

"We figgered you was gonna be alone, and we t'ought you'd like ta join us." Jack informed, coming forward, smiling. She noticed David in the backround,

"They had an anonymous tip." He confessed, also making his way to the front of the group, greeting Moira with a hug and a 'Happy Thanksgivng' whispered in her ear. She felt tears coming to her eyes.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." She told them, fanning her flushed face. They all laughed.

"No need ta get soft on us." Crutchy scolded lightly. Without much adeu, they were all seated around the house, Bumlets led them in a blessing, and they dug in. The food was awful, but Moira smiled and said nothing. It was purely the thought that counted.

As she tried ripping apart her turkey, Jack came and sat down next to her. "Surprised?" He asked, quite pleased with himself.

"Most definitely. I thought you were spending Thanksgiving with the Jacob's?" She wondered aloud, deciding that the only way to atempt to eat the meat was just to gnaw on it.

"They'se bringin' desert." He told her, smiling as she pulled at the turkey with her teeth and her hands. Finally breaking off a piece, Moira began to contentedly chew.

"So tell me, Moira, how does this Thanksgiving rank, in comparison to the upper society shindigs you must have attended in the past?"

"One of the best." Moira decided, after a second of thought, "one of the best." And the newsies seemed satisfied with that.