Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.

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O'Malley's on 12th

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Jack Kelly was not what you would call a religious boy. His mother, rest her soul, had done her best to read him the scriptures and instill in him the good and honest fear of the Lord. An Irish woman born and bred, Maggie Sullivan was a god-fearing Catholic but she left this world before her only son had understood the depths of her devotion. Now, at near seventeen, Jack thought nothing of belief or hope; for the street boy, it was just enough to rely on a charming smile, a loud mouth and a quick set of fingers.

Not to mention, of course, a good friend or two…

It was on this day, the 23rd of December, that he was standing out in the cold, waiting for one particular friend of his. He had no pocket watch but he did not need one to figure how late it had gotten. Living on the street had given him the innate sense of being able to tell time just by the actions of the hectic world around him. Though the streets were emptier than he'd thought they'd be, he could tell that afternoon was slowly waning away into another long evening.

That, and that she was late. Again.

For the first time in days the snow had granted a brief reprieve for the beleaguered New Yorkers—but the wind and the cold remained. Jack felt the chill deep in his bones and he huffed impatiently, wondering where in the world Stress could be.

Stamping his feet against the frozen dirt ground and blowing on his hands in a bid to warm them up, he stood fidgeting across from the Bottle Alley Home for Girls. Her shift at Ol' Man Williams' textile factory started even earlier than the release of the morning edition of the New York World and ended after most of the newsies had done their best to sell through the afternoon press. He'd already finished his works for the day; by now, so should she have.

On days when they could manage, Jack met her just outside the entrance to Bottle Alley—boys were expressly forbidden from entering and if Mrs. Cook wasn't up to enforcing the rule, then Rae Kelly certainly was—and waited for her to arrive. If the headlines had been good, or good enough to stand a little improvement, then a bowl of piping hot soup and some bread at Tibby's was in order. If not… well, there was always Medda's.

It was bound to be Medda's again that night. With a grimace that had more to do with a light pocket than the wind in his face, Jack lowered his head and looked back on that day's selling. He found it best to sell alone—a partner would mean some sort of split of the profits and he couldn't have that—and even his God-given talent was unable to bring in the customers.

Probably too busy with the Christmas hooey, he thought ruefully to himself, absently running an ink-stained hand through the lengths of his greasy brown hair. Jack patted his head once before letting his hands fall to his side, hugging his torso for warmth and wishing that he'd had a hat to wear to keep the heat from escaping.

He'd had a hat, too, but it wasn't doing him any good now. Nicknamed "Cowboy" by his fellow newsies for his desire to head out West, the old, crushed cowboy hat he normally wore was all part of the act. He'd had it so long—ever since his father got tossed into Sing Sing and his dreams of Santa Fe were born—that it didn't seem right, not having the hat perched smartly on his head or hanging down his back. But one practical joke courtesy of Racetrack Higgins and years of wear had meant that the cord that kept the hat in place had finally snapped. And, without the cord, it was useless to try to wear the cowboy hat.

Jack refused to part with it; one day he hoped to earn enough to get it repaired. Until that day, though, he stubbornly went out without any sort of hat—not even the cap a guilty Race had offered in return for a few cheap laughs.

The memory of his broken hat, kept safely at the foot of his bunk at the Newsboys' Lodging House on Duane Street, coupled with the impatience he felt at still standing outside in the cold waiting, caused a sneer to cross his handsome face. Spitting on the dirty, crunchy snow once and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jack braved the wind and lifted his head in order to eye the foreboding Girls' Home before him.

"Jack! Hey, Cowboy!"

There was someone crossing the street, waving his hand frantically as he called out to Jack. It wasn't Stress, of course—the voice was far too deep, all too happy… and, of course, he was a he—and, if it wasn't for the nickname, he would have known that he was meeting another newsie by the stack of newspapers the other boys had tucked under his arm.

He was fast in pace and, as he grew closer, Jack recognized the smiling olive-skinned boy immediately. He nodded his head in greeting, a small crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was almost impossible to remain in a gloomy mood when Mush was around. Ever since Mush Meyers had found his way to the Lodging House at the end of last year Jack had really appreciated the younger boy's happy and sweet—if not hardened by the street, just yet—outlook on life.

"Hey, Mush. Whatcha up to?" He got another look at the ten or so newspapers his new friend was holding onto. "Ya ain't still sellin', are ya? It's gettin' dark out, ya know."

There was a red tint to Mush's cheeks that made Jack curious. It was hard to tell if that was just a reaction from the cold or if he was excited about something. Knowing Mush, it was probably the latter.

When he spoke, his voice was quick and held a touch of disappointment—but also hope. There was no denying the hope. "Yeah, Jack, but I still don't got enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Blink's present. He's been real good to me, ya see. Showin' me around, teachin' me how to be a newsie… I just wanna get him something to show him that I 'ppreciate it, but I haven't made enough yet."

Jack's brow furrowed in ill-disguised confusion. He was beginning to think that the cold was beginning to affect whatever sense he had left. "Why get him a present? It ain't his birthday, is it?"

"For Christmas, of course," Mush answered matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

The snort was out before he could swallow it back. "People still do that?" Jack asked disbelievingly. "I thought Christmas was just an excuse to have another feast down at the Lodging House."

Mush's smile flickered only for a moment. His dark eyes went wide but there, hidden away in the depths, was a knowing expression. "Are ya tellin' me that there ain't no one special that ya want to give a present to, Jack?"

Though he would never admit it, Mush's simple question made Jack's breath hitch for just a second. He recovered nicely, though, before muttering, "Maybe. I… I don't know."

He was lying and they both knew it. Jack Kelly, where he wasn't religious, could be very selfish. If there was one person, however, that could sway his attention away from himself, it was his old friend, Stress. Even now, late as she was, he found himself unable to escape from the cold. Just yet, anyway…

Mush waited a moment to see if there was anything more that his friend had to say but Jack's mouth was clamped shut and his eyes were trained unblinkingly on the large Home across the street.

Smiling to himself, Mush broke the quiet, "Anyway, I still gotta push a coupla more of these papes. I saw this great cap over at O'Malley's the other day. It's real cheap and I just might have enough to buy it tomorrow."

The mention of the shop's name broke the sudden trance that had fallen over Jack. He gave his head a small shake, narrowing his dark eyes on Mush's face. O'Malley's… the name didn't sound familiar at all. After countless years on the street, Jack prided himself that he knew almost every inch of Manhattan—but he'd never heard of a shop with that name before.

Raising one of his eyebrows, he asked, "O'Malley's?"

"Yup. O'Malley's on 12th. It's a great place, Jack, especially at Christmas."

Maybe it was the way Mush was beaming at him—or perhaps it was because it irked him more then he could say that Mush knew all about a place that he didn't know of—but Jack couldn't help himself. "Christmas? Humbug!"

It was only too late that Jack remembered that Mush had spent his first Christmas at the Lodging House last year—and, as such, had sat with some of the other boys as Kloppman told the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and the three ghosts of Christmastime. The reference was not lost on the other boy who smiled impishly and said, "Aw, c'mon now, Jack. Ya ain't gonna be a Scrooge, are ya?"

Jack just rolled his eyes and changed the subject back. Something was nagging at him. "What was you sayin' about this O'Malley's joint?"

"Ya never been?" Without even waiting for Jack to answer, Mush continued, "It's this great little shop, over on 12th, right? They got something for everybody and they don't cost all that much. I'm definitely gonna head on over there to see about gettin' Blink's cap tomorrow. The man who runs the place is a real good guy. Always willin' to help a fella out, I think."

"Really," Jack said, clamping his teeth shut again once they started chatter. In the few moments where he let his attention wander he'd forgotten to pretend he wasn't as cold as he was. He nodded to himself, a plan forming. "On 12th, huh?"

"Yup," Mush said happily.

Before either could say anything else, another person came running out towards them. Wild curls escaping out from under the kerchief she had tied haphazardly around her head and her skirt billowing out in the wind, Stress Rhian rushed out through the front doors of the Bottle Alley Home and hurried right over to where Jack and Mush were still standing.

Though she'd only just emerged out into the cold air, she pulled her loose blouse close to her as she shook her head apologetically. Her words came out in a tumbled rush. "Oh, Jack, I didn't know if you'd still be here! It's my necklace, ya know, it just… I don't know, it just broke! Right in my hand, ya wouldn't believe it. And—"

There she paused, catching her spent breath as she ran her eyes across Mush's friendly face. She hadn't noticed the second boy at first and, when she did, she waved one of her hands at him. "It's you, Mush. Hey, whatcha doin'?"

Mush's smile was pleasant and friendly. "Just talkin' to Jack. 'Bout Chris—"

"Stress," Jack said suddenly, speaking much louder than he had been before, "I gotta tell ya that I—I got something to do tonight. I ain't gonna be able to do anything else. You… you understand, don't ya?"

Her golden eyes dimmed and inwardly she cursed her foolish fingers for breaking her old tarnished chain in half. Not only did she lose something that was very near and dear to her but, for some reason or another, the action of her being so late had upset Jack in a way that she couldn't understand.

But she lied anyway. "Oh… of—of course, Jack. It's kinda too chilly to go down to Tibby's besides."

"I thought so, too," he said firmly but his agitated actions—long, thin fingers were absently pulling at the ends of his shaggy, sandy-colored hair—gave away his true mind. "I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever ya say, Jack."

Jamming his hands in his front pockets and turning his head away before either Stress or Mush could read his sudden indecision, Jack walked straight into the wind. It was still not so dark that the night swallowed his retreating back up in the oncoming blackness; shivering slightly in the force of that wind, Stress watched him go.

It was only when he'd turned the corner and disappeared out of her sight that she turned to look at Mush. The younger newsie still hadn't moved from his place.

"What was that all about?"

Mush shrugged his shoulders. "Can't really say, Stress. I just told him 'bout me gettin' Blink a present."

"You were talkin' to him 'bout Christmas gifts?" she asked, clarifying his words. When he nodded, her heart sank. She'd been kind of hoping that Jack, as he was every year, was still oblivious to the tradition of exchanging gifts during the holiday season. Pay at the factory was just enough to cover her lodging, another skirt every other month and a meal or two every day. She had wanted nothing more than to buy Jack a present for Christmas, she really had—but there was no money.

It was no wonder the way that Jack had looked at her—or, rather, not looked at her at all. In the three years that the two of them had been friends they'd never spent a Christmas together the way that Stress remembered from her childhood back in Ireland.

Lush lips formed into an unwilling pout, she bowed her head into her chest. What was she going to do? There was only two days left until Christmas—what then?

Oblivious to her frown, Mush offered his own winning smile in response as he explained, "Yup. Told him all about O'Malley's. Say, you ever hear of it?" When she shook her head, he said, "O'Malley's on 12th, tiny shop. But it's the only shop to buy a good Christmas present at, if ya ask me."

"Christmas presents?" Stress lifted her head up, her eyes wide with interest. "Is it… ya know, costly?"

"Not as much as some other places." His smile widened, pleased as he was with himself, as he lifted his near-forgotten papers up high. "Once I finish sellin' my papes I should have almost enough money to afford a good cap for Kid Blink. And, even if I can't get it all, the ol' fella who runs the join says he's willin' to work out a trade, too."

Her mind was already hard at work, even before Mush had finished his sentence. A contemplative and appreciative grin stretching her freckled face, Stress spared one hand to pat him gratefully on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mush! You're a real pal," she called back to him as she scurried away, halfway across the street to the Bottle Alley Home by the time her voice reached his numb ears.

And Mush, not having any idea what his innocent and heartfelt words had just set into motion, pulled his cap down over his ears, hefted up his newspapers a little higher and tried his darn best to finish selling them all before tomorrow.