Disclaimers: Don't own anything. Okay, thought I'd clear the problem/solution issue up. I'm not really sure what that means right now, because when I wrote it, I meant it to be viewed as Jack seeing Moira as a general solution to whatever problems they were having. I might delve back to the Pre-Moira era of Newsiesdom, but as of right now, there's no specific reason for it. I just needed a way to end the chapter. =)

Chapter Twelve

January 14, 1900

Dear Diary,

Today, I was presented with an interesting proposition. Jack asked me to help him propose to Sarah. As excited as I am for him, I have absolutely no idea where to begin. Something tells me she wouldn't be impressed with big words or expensive gifts…so, I'm at a bit of a loss. I'm sure that whatever he does, she'll say yes. She's madly in love with the boy, I wouldn't worry about her acceptance. I'm off to have a think about this…May write more later, but more than likely not, I'll just go to sleep. So, good night, Diary, good night.

Moira

Moira sat back on her bed and began to think of all the ways she could set up some sort of romantic atmosphere for Jack and Sarah. Romantic settings were not easy to find in lower Manhattan, that was for sure. As she thought, her mind wandered back across the street, to earlier that day…

"Heya, Boozy." Jack had called, sauntering into the LH, grinning. Moira rolled her eyes. Jack was one of the only ones who had remembered her drunken from New Years. She didn't really care, he was, after all, the reason she hadn't passed out in the gutter.

"What's up?" She'd asked, looking up from polishing the countertop.

"I gots a question ta ask ya."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, actually, it's more of a favah dan anyt'ing." He looked at the ground, unsure of what to say next.

"Come on, I can't help until you tell me what it is." She prodded, smiling. Jack didn't say anything, but produced, from his pocket a small, velvet box. Moira's eyes grew wide. He popped open the top, exposing a golden band with a small, sparkling diamond on top. Her breath caught in her throat. This was the favor? What was he implying? It wasn't what she thought…it couldn't be.

"I need your help." Jack said, breaking her thoughts, as she looked up at him, realizing he had said something while she'd been staring at the ring in shock.

"I'm sorry, pardon?"

"I wanna ask Sarah ta marry me." He said, seeming to repeat himself. Moira's jaw dropped and she practically leaped over the desk to hug him, quite relieved he hadn't been doing what she'd thought he was doing, which wouldn't have made sense anyway…Nevermind, she didn't want to think about it anymore.

"This is wonderful, Jack! Congratulations! But, what can I do?" She asked, pushing curls from her eyes.

"Moira, I love her, ya know?" She nodded, "But…whaddo I say dat'll…make her wanna marry me?" He asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Well, in my personal opinion, I don't think it's going to matter what you say, she'd going to say yes no matter what."

"Ya think?"

"I know."

"Still, I wanna do somet'in…special, ya know?"

"Yes, well, if you would still like my help, let me set something up for you. It would be my pleasure." She smiled at him; he nodded, but eyed her suspiciously,

"Wad are you thinkin'?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. But Moira only shrugged her shoulders, flipped her hair, and gone back to work without another word.

Now, however, as she sat in her room, racking her brains, Moira couldn't think of a single thing. It was too cold for a picnic, Sarah couldn't ice skate, and she had no money to send them out to dinner… She looked at the ceiling,

"Hello, God. I need a favor. You probably know this, already, but Jack's going to ask Sarah to marry him." She told the Lord, still looking up. "Anyway, I need a bit of help, finding an appropriate proposal atmosphere, do you understand? I'm sure you're very busy, wars, hunger, sickness, but, if you get around to it, just give me a little push in the right direction. I think that's it. Thank you." Moira blessed herself with the Sign of the Cross, and retuned to her contemplative state.

"Whom were you talking to?" Kathryn asked, not bothering to knock before entering her daughter's room. Moira sat up with a start.

"Oh, hello, Mother. When did you get home?" She asked, surprised.

"A few moments ago, whom were you talking to? Is there someone here?" She repeated, looking around the room.

"No, Mother. I was talking to…" She stopped, figuring her mother wouldn't get it. "My self. Just talking to myself." Kathryn eyed her steadily.

"That's not a good sign, Moira, dear. It's a sign of insanity." She paused for a minute, shook off the thought of having a crazy daughter, and sighed. "I had quite the afternoon. Mary Lennon decided today that she absolutely abhors Shakespeare and gave me these two ridiculous tickets to the theater in a week." Kathryn held up two tickets. "What in the world am I to do with them? I can't stand Shakespeare, all that insufferable droning on and on about love and death and the next thing, utterly insane, the man was, if you ask me." She turned and began walking back down the hall, still talking. "So now, I've got these two tickets, and no one to give them too." Moira couldn't believe her luck. She looked at the ceiling,

"Thank you!" She whispered, before taking off after her mother down the hall. "Mother, do you think I could…have those tickets?" Kathryn looked up, surprised.

"Have them? Whatever for?"

"Well, I've always enjoyed Shakespeare, you remember how Father used to read it to me."

"Oh, yes. He always was rather poetic, wasn't he?" Her mother vaguely remembered about her late husband, who had adored poetry.

"I would rather like to see the play, which is it?" She asked, hoping it wasn't something incredibly tragic like Othello or Macbeth. Kathryn checked the tickets.

"Oh, Lord. It's…Mid Summer Night's Dream." Moira's jaw dropped. She didn't want to give those away! It was her Mid Summer Night's Dream, her Helena and Demetrius, her Puck and Oberon. She had to give those up? Still, her resolve was strong.

"Mother…do you think I could have those?" She asked hopefully.

"Just tell me, Moira, who on Earth would you take with you? That foul Kelly boy?"

"No Mother, I have another person in mind." Her mother sighed and handed them over.

"It's not natural for a woman to enjoy theater the way you do. Just like the way you read. Why does a woman have to read?" She exclaimed, throwing herself onto the chaise lounge in a very dramatic way. Moira wasn't listening. The Lord had provided a way for her to keep her promise. She smiled,

"Thank you, Mother." The younger of the two thanked her, before flouncing off giddily to her room. Kathryn followed her with her eyes, sighed and shook her lovely head.

"That girl is on the brink of utter insanity." She muttered, under her breath.

***

"A play? Whaddya tryin' ta do, kill me?" Jack exclaimed, the following week, when Moira finally had a chance to tell him the news.

"Keep your voice down. And no, I'm not trying to kill you, Sarah loves Shakespeare, she told me herself." She lied, figuring that Sarah, if nothing else, would enjoy a night out.

"How do ya know she's gonna like dis play?"

"Because, this is a very, very good play. Humorous, romantic, light hearted, exactly what you're looking for."

"But…I'se gonna fall asleep. You knows I don't undastand all dem fancy woids he uses in all dem plays." Jack complained, sounding like a little boy.

"Yes, you will. It's very easy to understand." She told him, dismissively. "It's one of my favorites."

"Den why don't you go see it?"

"Because! I'm not the one trying to propose to someone! If I were you I'd stop complaining and start acting a little more thankful!" Moira huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Jack softened, just a little, and shrugged.

"Sorry. Have I said thank you?" He asked, know that he hadn't.

"No, but you're welcome." She told him, going behind the desk and retrieving the envelope where she'd been keeping the tickets.

"When is dey for?" He asked, taking them from her and checking the date.

"I think they're for the twenty-fourth."

"Aw, Moira! Dat's in t'ree days! I ain't gonna be ready." He exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

"Shush, shush. You will be ready. And confidant, and this evening will go off without a hitch." She promised, taking the envelope from his dirty hands. As she did so, Moira took in Jack's tattered appearance.

The shirt and vest that only got washed every other week, the pants, with the patch in one knee, that had been mended at least a dozen times since she'd known him. And then there was that bandana. Oh, that bandana. It really was a filthy piece of cloth, covered in sweat and grime from the streets. She realized, in an instant, that she was going to have to dress this boy as well.

"Jack, would you mind if I asked a question?" She began, trying to tread lightly.

"Shoot."

"What are you planning on wearing?" Jack looked down at his clothes,

"Wha-sa'mattah wid whad I got on?" He asked, Moira rolled her eyes.

"I'll find you something, not to worry. Come to my house on Friday, I will have something for you."

He nodded, muttered another 'thank you', and went back on his rounds. Moira sat down to continue her filing, wondering why she cared so much. At least for this part of her "favor", she had a slight idea as to what the hell she was doing.

There were three sharp knocks on the door to the apartment at six on Friday evening. Moira opened it to find Jack, looking bored. She pulled him inside.

"You supposed to be here half an hour ago." She told him, leading him into the kitchen.

"Yeah, sorry bout dat. Dere was dis fight down at Tibby's between two big fellas from da mills-"

"Okay, enough." She held up a hand to stop him.

"Why we in da kitchen?" He asked, looking around.

"I have to wash your hair."

"My hair? What's wrong wid my hair?" Immediately, Jack's hands flew to the greasy tresses.

"It's filthy, and it's bothering me." Moira told him shortly, rolling up her sleeves and turning the water on in the sink. He eyed it cautiously, none too keen on having a girl wash his hair. "It's quite safe, I assure you." She laughed, running her hands under it to show him.

Carefully, Jack leaned forward and put his head under the faucet. Moira, trying to maneuver around him, managed to soak his hair and pour some shampoo into the palm of her hand. She began to methodically work the lather into his hair.

"Hey, don't use too much a' dat stuff, I'se gonna smell like a goil."

"Shush." She finished shampooing and turned the water back on, figuring if he was trying not to swallow soapy water, he wouldn't talk.

"Ah! You'se tryin' ta drown me!" He yelled as she poured a pitcher of cold water on his head.

"If you stopped talking I wouldn't get any in your mouth!" She exclaimed, not paying any attention to his protests. Instead, she finished rinsing the soap out, and turned off the water. He straightened up and shook his hair like a wet dog, soaking Moira. "That's lovely, Jack, I thank you." She quipped, wiping her hands on a nearby towel. Sighing, she led the way down the hall to her bathroom.

"Here is a towel, the left lever is for hot water, and the right is for cold. I've put a new bar of soap in the dish, and that door leads straight into my room." Moira pointed to the door on the opposite side of the bathroom. "I'll be in the hall if you need anything." She told him, leaving him alone.

"Hot watah, whadda nice change dat'll be." Jack muttered, before Moira closed the door behind her. She ran into her room quickly, while she still heard the water running, and pulled the big, black trunk that had traveled with her from Boston, out of her closet. Popping open the little gold latches, Moira dug through a few items of memorabilia before she found what she was looking for, at the very bottom. A dark blue, man's suit. She took it out and brushed it off, amazed that there was hardly a wrinkle or crease to it. Finding this utterly fascinating, she held the jacket up to her face and breathed in deeply, smelling the familiar scent of pipe tobacco and peppermints. This particular article of clothing was one of the many things she was hiding from her mother- the suit had belonged to her father, and was one of his only things that she'd hid when her mother had purged the house of his memory. She looked at it for a minute, smiling sadly, rubbed the soft material against her cheek, and set the suit on her bed.

Sitting out in the hall, Moira heard the door open, and Jack walk from the bathroom into her bedroom. It was a few minutes before,

"Moira?" Jack called, from behind her closed door.

"Yes?" She got to her feet.

"Can you come in here?" She popped her head into the room, finding Jack fiddling with the tie. "I, uh, I don't t'ink dis is woikin'." He told her sheepishly. She shook her head and went over to him, quickly untying the knot he had tied in the blue silk.

"You forgot to button the top two buttons."

"Yeah, dat explains it." Jack looked down at her busy fingers, slightly embarrassed.

"You're not nervous, are you?" She asked, smiling as she finished the tie, with professional precision.

"Nah- not really." He answered, shrugging into the jacket, which fit like a glove. Moira raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Well, maybe a little." She still said nothing as he took the ring box from his pants pocket and placed it in the pocket of the jacket. "Yeah, I'm really noivous. God, Moira, what if she says no?" He asked, beginning to sound frightened.

"Don't fret. She won't say no. She'll agree, and you get married, and live happily ever. Just like in all of the fairy tales." She told him, smoothing out any rogue wrinkles in the suit.

"You're sure?"

"Positive." This seemed to calm him down, as he looked in the mirror, admiring how nicely he had cleaned up.

"Where'd ya get dis suit, anyways?" He asked, examining a sleeve.

"Oh, it was my father's, I wouldn't let my mother sell it." She explained, sitting on the bed.

"You nevah talk about your pop, why not?"

"He died a few years ago. I'm never sure if it's right to talk about him."

"Well, tell me about him."

"He was a poet, an English teacher, in Boston." Moira smiled at the memory. "He loved Shakespeare, constantly quoted one play or another." She sighed. "He was a good man."

"So, dat's why you wanted ta be a teachah?" Jack asked, sitting next to her.

"It's the reason for everything. The reason I read so much, my love of theater, I get it all from him." Jack nodded, with understanding. "So, what was your father like?"

"A crook that drank too much and slept around…great guy." He added, sarcastically.

"So, where is he now?"

"Da big house, upstate somewhere, I don't care."

"And, your mother?"

"Uh, she died, long time ago. Went straight ta heaven, dat one did." Moira smiled,

"Maybe your mother and my father are friends up there. I'm sure they would have gotten along." Jack looked at her and shared her smile before Moira caught a glimpse at the time. "Lord! You've got to go!" She exclaimed, leaping to her feet, and pushing him out of the apartment. He managed to give her a quick hug before leaving.

"I owe ya somtin, Moira. I owe ya!" He called, hurrying down the stairs. She laughed and watched him sprint down the street through her window. She was still wondering why she cared so much. It wasn't because she was waiting for comeuppance from Jack or any of the other Newsies, or some sort of unearthly reward, she just…did. It was an odd sort of caring, a kind she couldn't explain. But she was glad that it was there.