Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.

A/N: Like I promised – the next installment. There is only one more after this one. Then I should be back to updating Loving Brooklyn. I needed to get this idea out of the way before I could focus on LB again. I finished half of the next chapter before this idea just completely consumed me. So, if you haven't read that fiction – consider this my shameless plug. It really is good, oozing Spot!fic – and will be what I am working on after this fiction is finished. So if you like me, or you like Spot (who doesn't?)… even if you hate me and like Spot head over in that direction. It's worth it.

Warning: PG-13 (suggestive language, angst)

Chapter 2: Fumbling Towards the Unavoidable

Her husband was a fisherman. Sometimes he was gone for days and it was lonely in their one room tenement apartment. After being used to the endless nights of men and the dizzying colors of the dresses after a few too many glasses of alcohol – it was hard to adjust to staying in that little room and caring for a littler baby. It wasn't that she didn't love the child. She did! It was just that she found herself wanting to put back on those garish orange curls and tie her corset strings as tightly as she once did. She had hated the abuses she had taken a whore, but she missed the attention. The open stares and knowledge that she was wanted, though degrading to some, was something she had grown so acclimated to it was difficult to adjust.

She had no other skills.

Her education was so limited that she could barely read. Her seamstress work was absurd as was her cooking. Anything but the most basic of adding and subtracting was lost to her in the field of mathematics. When she was a little girl she had sold flowers, sometimes apples, on the street. That wouldn't get her anywhere now. The skills that she possessed lay in the realm of fantasy and passion. She knew how to swivel her hips, paint her face, and fake her pleasure. She knew how to lace her corset, bat her lashes, and saunter around a room. There was an artistry in her movements that spoke highly of her training to be high-dollar, but none of that would help her now. All she could do was please men – and sing.

Yes. She could sing. Her voice had never had the training of an opera starlet, and it showed, but she had a gift. The resonant tones of her voice rang true and clear in the hours she spent alone with her little boy. Every time she sang the little boy would focus his eyes on her. The chubby little neck would turn and try to find from where that sound was coming. When his smiles finally came – her singing always managed to coax a little grin out of him; if she tickled him while she sang – he would giggle.

He was a dear little child and with each passing day he looked more and more like his father. The soft dark down that had crowned his head at birth fell out and grew in thicker and blonder. He was a quick and alert baby. In his first months he often would try to stuff his whole fist into his mouth, but would cry out in frustration when he was foiled by a mouth that was just too small. She would laugh and sing to him until he smiled. When he could sit up Jack found great joy in playing with his toes. She would set him up on a ragged blanket and he would stare at his feet in utter amazement. Then, as quickly as a clumsy baby could, he would reach out a pudgy fist and grasp the foot as if to surprise it. Most times he would lose his balance and fall to his side while still holding tightly to his toes, but eventually he learned to stay upright.

He was six months old when he was first able to crawl, and then only a few paces at a time. She wasn't sure when the appropriate time was for this to happen, but an older woman in their tenement told her that this was about the correct time for mobility to increase. As Jack's mobility increased so did her desire to get out of the tiny apartment. For the first few months she'd busied herself at scrubbing every teeny-tiny crack of the apartment. Though it was only one room it has been absolutely filthy. Then with one of her dresses from The Pike she had created makeshift curtains of sorts for their one window. The garish, faded, purple satin looked odd in the otherwise bleak apartment, but it was her best attempts at making the place feel like a home.

One day warm spring day she took a walk while holding Jack tightly to her chest. The previous months had been too cold for such an outing, but now as the warmer weather arrived she was grateful for the opportunity for fresh air and open surroundings. She walked down the streets with her baby in her arms. As always her little Jack was busy taking in his environment. His hazel eyes scanned the streets for something new and different. It felt wonderful to get out of that little box of an apartment and stretch her legs. Even though the streets were busy with people and merchants she enjoyed the hubbub. It was a refreshing change from the quiet room that she called home.

As she walked along the sidewalk, watching for pickpockets and unsavory characters, she noted a sign upon the door of an establishment only a few blocks from her tenement. It read of the resident vaudeville and melodrama performing troupe which was holding auditions in that very building. The bright colors and swirling letters on the poster were intoxicatingly reminiscent of the overall feel of The Pike. Shifting Jack from on arm to the other she continued to the read the advertisement. It took her a greater amount of time then most to pick out the words and comprehend them, but once she did she understood their desire for singers. In the same moment that her hopes rose to the skies – Jack began to whimper. He was hungry and she knew that she needed to return home.

For the next week all she could think of was that poster and its bright colors and glittering promises.

The truth was that even though she had hated her live in The Pike and was thankful for every day she spent out of that terrible hell hole – she harbored a desire so secret that even she didn't know that she had it.

She craved the attention and exhilaration of being desired, and she wanted to go back to that life of performing. If it hadn't been for the chubby cheeked cherub that now nursed from her breast she would have auditions in a heartbeat. The time at The Pike had reduced her timidity of performing considerably, but as she looked down at the face of the content infant she knew her place. It was here with her child and her husband.

Though it never did any harm to think about it – did it?

Her husband came home whenever he could. Working on a fishing boat had its perks as they often had fresh fish for dinner. She'd become proficient enough in cooking them and he was obviously proficient enough in catching them. They were lucky that they never went hungry. Though, it could be said without the slightest reservation that, they did get quite bored with fish.

In their first few months of marriage she had learned that the language he spoke over her in his passion was Gaelic. She learned that he had moved over from Europe after his first wife had died as had his child from what the doctors had called "consumption" and, like her, had no other family to speak of. She learned that he had a temper but was not violent. She learned that he was protective of her but he was far more proud. She learned that he favored her natural hair to the orange curled wigs she had worn at The Pike and he preferred her face not painted like a clown. She learned that her son wasn't the only one who appreciated her voice.

Often times she caught him staring at her as she sang to their child and it brought a flush to her cheeks. Blushing was not something that had occurred to her too regularly before this man and his piercing stare had come into her life. Every night he was home when she sang their child to sleep he would sit in a chair at their table and just watch her. It was unnerving as it was flattering. It was in those moments that she remembered what it was like to perform and to be desired. It was in those moments that she felt like she was a whore – and she liked it.

Perhaps it was the dysfunctional family she had when she was a girl that made her so wanting of attention and praise. Perhaps it was the conditioning that she went through at The Pike. Perhaps it was the intense desire she had to please her husband. Perhaps it was simply her nature. Whatever it was she knew that these feelings, no matter how much they disgusted her, truly were appealing. Even when he husband took her in his arms she returned to the ways she knew the best and in the back of her mind an idea always tickled.

Would this always be enough?

They'd been married for nearly two years. Ever since the birth of young Jack she had taken to drinking the vinegar and herbs so she wouldn't conceive unexpectedly. She'd heard stories of women having children too close together and the complications that came. If it wasn't at the birth then it was with the raising of the children in the crowded New York tenements afterwards. She never told her husband of this though she knew he probably expected it. Her husband was quiet, but he wasn't dumb.

It wasn't that she didn't want more children. She adored her child, but something held her back. The tiniest voice in the back of her head whispered to her menacingly that this wasn't where she belonged. Dreams for far ago echoed in her mind. That poster taunting her still even though auditions were long over and every time she took a walk with her son she found herself walking past that theatre. Sometimes she even ventured into the vicinity of The Pike. Even though she knew the abuses that took place inside of those walls part of her wanted to go back. Was she made for the life she was leading? Then she would look at Jack, her constant companion, and she would see his father reflected through him and she pressed the thoughts away from her mind. It didn't matter if she were made for this life – it was the one she had chosen.

The one room apartment seemed to grow smaller as young Jack grew bigger. The purple satin curtains had been replaced with more practical fabric since their earlier days and there was a little more furniture. Out of necessity, little Jack had his own small cot now instead of a basket filled with a pillow and rags. He was a year and a half and walked everywhere by himself. The words that he spoke were total gibberish, but she found it inescapably endearing whenever he managed to associate her with the word "mama". His father grew increasingly proud of him everyday and she couldn't help but feel the tiniest twinge of guilt whenever he mentioned "giving young Jack brothers and sisters".

That twinge of guilt grew to an overwhelming tidal wave a week later when she received news that he husband had drowned in an accident. There wouldn't be a funeral because is body hadn't been recovered and she couldn't think of a single person who she would invite. They really knew no one in the city besides work partners, and those who had worked with her husband would be out on the ship in the next few days once more. Those she had worked with… she wouldn't invite them. No, a ceremony would be a pointless gesture that was too expensive to afford.

Her whole world spun out from underneath her feet but she could not afford the luxury of grief. Mourning was for the rich who could spends days, weeks, or even months pining away without missing a meal. This was not the case for her. She allowed herself one half hour for tears but that was all she could afford. Even as she grieved she took care of Jack who was quite puzzled by the tears on her cheeks. The toddler gave awkward, sloppy kisses to her tear stained cheeks – imitating the way she comforted him when he cried. It healed and broke her heart at the same time. She was now a widow and though she had provided for herself before she had never had to provide for herself as well as for a child.

Was she going to be able to?

The little voice that had lived in the back of her head for so long was now speaking louder than it had previously. Idea after idea pounded through her mind and she knew that he options were limited. Since Jack had been born she had lost the weight she had gained in pregnancy and returned to her thin figure. The Pike would take her back if she wanted them too. After all she was not quite twenty and still had several years left as a prostitute if need be. Though the idea appealed there was that small voice in the back of her head again reminding her of that poster at the theatre company.

She hadn't seen any advertisement for another audition since that first day, but she knew that in her current state she didn't have any time for hesitancy or shyness. The fact was that her life did depend on her finding a job and so did her son's. So even though her heart felt pulverized and every move was heavy and hard – she performed her duty. She laced her corset as tightly as she could manage and painted her face a bit with the little bit of cosmetics she had remaining from her time at The Pike. It wasn't anything impressive, but enough to hide the fact she had been crying. Then before she could lose her courage she bundled up Jack and herself and set into the chilly fall day.

There was an advertisement for their newest show on the wall by the door. She would have paused to read it but she knew that if she did she would lose the courage she needed to go inside. So she pressed onward to the door. It was locked and her heart initially sank and her courage waned, but instead of giving up she looked at the toddler who held onto her fingers by her side. She was doing this for him and for the father he had unknowingly lost. Determination marking her stride she went into the alley along side the building. At The Pike she had always entered from the back as had all of the other whores – so perhaps these performers entered in the same way. If the unlocked door she found was any indication – apparently they did.

Swallowing heavily she went inside and kept Jack close. Picking him up she rested him on her hip as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. This was the kind of ill lit surrounding that was familiar to The Pike and she felt a connection immediately. The confident determination that had moved her feet outside was now replaced by a quiet shuffling of feet. She could hear people talking and laughing and as her eyes adjusted to the dusky interior she could see what seemed to be racks of costumes and tables littered with smaller knickknacks. Large cut outs from wood took the shape of flat trees and bushes. Thick cables and oversized pulleys were everywhere. This had to be their backstage area.

Biting back the nerves that were raising her stomach she didn't allow herself the choice of turning around and leaving before anyone knew that she was there. Instead she took a few more steps in an attempt to identify from where the voices were coming. In only ten steps she was encountered by a man who didn't seem overly happy that she was in the theater. Quickly she explained her story of wishing to perform on stage to her seeing the poster months ago and how she was finally asking about the position. It spilled from her messily in an overwhelming wave even though she excluded the fact that he husband had just died that day.

That exclusion was partially from her still adjusting to the idea and also from her not wanting this job out of pity. She wanted to earn this job. She wanted to prove to herself that people still wanted – desired her. She wanted to prove that this was her dream and no one else's. All the while Jack sat on her hip and stared at the new man in front of them as stoically as the man who looked back at his mother.

The man was tall and burly with a greased black handlebar moustache and exaggerated features. He stood every inch of six feet five inches and possessed shoulders which looked like they wouldn't fit through a doorway. In the dim light of the backstage area his age was hard to make out, but if his slightly receding hairline was any clue he, assumedly, was near thirty.

"We have no room." Was his burly reply at the end of her labored confessional.

"What do you mean we have no room?" A shrill voice came from the shadows before she could protest for herself and a woman as small as the man was big emerged.

"We have no room." He repeated as he turned to the voice that now stood beside him. The small woman's arms were akimbo and she looked up at him. Because the man was so tall – the small woman had to crane her small neck back to gaze up in his face.

"Have you at least heard her sing?" the woman shot back to his short reply and the man shook his head. "We always need singers! We must hear her sing before we make any decisions." She deduced reasonably and grasped her by the arm. "Come with me." The small woman ordered and pulled her and Jack along with her in the direction of a bright light.

So with Jack on her hip she went followed the small woman out into the light. The light happened to be the stage where there were other men and women standing about. Some were in a state of undress. Men were clothed only to the waist and women only in their shift and corset while others were in what appeared to be their costumes. A few wore wigs and rouge on the stage while others climbed above on ladders to adjust mirrors that had been put up to reflect the light from the candles away from the audience. Looking at the bright swirling skits and colorful curled wigs she knew she had found the place she belonged, and now was her time to prove it.

The small woman obviously had a lot of sway in the running of the operation and it was apparent in the way that the people on stage and above it paid attention when she entered. Initially she blinked in the bright lights. Their shine was a sharp contrast from the dimness. Jack made a funny little noise of what could have been described as distaste and she hummed in his ear comfortingly. All eyes were on her and she felt very much the intruder. Nevertheless she held her head high and when she was asked to sing – she did so with gusto. Jack laughed and clapped. He still loved his mother's voice.

The rest of that encounter was a blur. The small woman and the large man talked in quick hushed tones in a language she didn't understand while she stood awkwardly shifting Jack from one hip to the other. Then the large man in a gruff voice asked if the child she held was hers and she froze for an instant. She may not have been educated, but she wasn't dumb. She knew why he was asking her this.

This was a decision between a job and her child.

It was as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Without this job she knew that she would be locked up in a factory or go back to The Pike. She'd rather die than be in a factory and even if she did go there – who would look after Jack? She didn't have anyone that would and even if she did she wouldn't be able to pay them. This job was what was supposed to support her and Jack, but apparently she couldn't have them both. Looking at the baby in her arms – he looked back at her with those hazel eyes that looked so much like his father and her heart absolutely disintegrated.

She wanted to keep him and watch him grow up. She was looking for a job so that she could buy him food, clothing, and possibly send him to school. If she said yes to this job she wouldn't be able to keep him and give him more a chance than she had. Everything within her wanted more for him than she had when she had grown, but she knew that if she took a job at The Pike he would never be able to exceed the poverty stricken level he had been born into. The same was with a factory. She couldn't give her son the life she wanted him to have.

If she lost this opportunity she would lose the only chance she had to better her life and possibly even his. She'd heard of couples who were slightly better off that adopted babies because they couldn't have their own. A friend at The Pike had set up these sorts of arrangements for a few of the other girls who hadn't taken their medicine and gotten pregnant. They couldn't survive with a baby and now she knew that neither could she. She could be selfish and keep her child and watch them both slowly starve and freeze to death in the upcoming winter – or she could give him up with the hope that he would have all of the opportunities that she never had.

She looked at the strange couple in front of her; the woman being so small and the man being so large. Her mind was so set in her decision that even when she heard Jack begin to prattle softly in her ear she was able to say what she needed to say. Even though, it broke her into pieces to small to be imagined.

"No. He's not mine. I take care of him while his mother goes to the factory." She spoke robotically and then it was done.

They gave her the job and told her that she would be able to live with the troupe in the theatre but the child could not be with her. The workings of the theatre were too dangerous to have a toddler stumbling about. Someone else would have to care for it. She thanked them both and told them she had to settle a few things before she could move in but that she would be there by the end of the week; and she was.

After she left the theatre she went to The Pike and sought out her friend (knowing that she'd lose her courage if she waited another moment). The adoption went much more quickly than she expected. She never met the couple; she didn't go when they took Jack to them; she didn't ask what their names were or where they lived. She just sang to Jack one last time as her friend took him from her arms and carried him away screaming to go and meet his new family.

She didn't cry.

She didn't have time.

Her child cried, however. He cried for months after he switched households. Eventually however, as all children do, Jack forgot. He forgot the songs that his mother had sung to him when he was going to sleep. He forgot the mother who had given him up for what she believed to be his benefit. He forgot that his name was Jack and that small apartment that had been his home for nearly the first two years of his life. He forgot to cry because he forgot to miss the first mother he ever had.

The woman he would learn to call "mother" couldn't sing. The man he would learn to call "father" was a manager at a factory with the last name of Sullivan. They lived comfortably in an apartment which was small, but large compared to his old one. They never went to the theatre or to any such thing and when he was old enough Jack went to a small primer school for the neighborhood children privileged enough not to have to work. They didn't call him Jack, however, because that was not his named any longer.

The ones he called parents as well as the ones he called friends addressed him as Francis Sullivan.

A/N: Perhaps this makes a bit more sense now – but it isn't over yet. There is one last part that I am still writing. Any guesses what could happen? I'd be really surprised if someone got it (not because you're dumb, but because I think I have a really nice twist coming up)! At the risk of sounding desperate: PLEASE REVIEW! Constructive criticism will be appreciated, blatant praise will go straight to my head, and flames will be ignored. smiles really big