Interstices

Sometimes the most surprising stories hide in the tiny in-between spaces.

Author's Note:

This is a one shot collection focusing on the little "in-between" moments, those snippets of story that easily get lost in the shuffle of the main narrative. Everything here is part of the Something Worth Winning universe, but most installments may be read without prior knowledge of that particular work. OC-centric stories will be marked as such in an author's note so that you may skip them if you wish (though I hope you'll give them a chance as well ;)).

At the top of each story, you'll find a summary; this is included so that you can browse through the collection and pick and choose what you'd like to read.

Thanks for checking this out! I hope you find something that you enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: The stories contained in this collection are non-commercial works of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me, though the original characters are mine.

Hidden Kindness (formerly "Ritual")

Summary: "Hey fellas," Romeo ventured. "I got a question...do you think Mr. Kloppman might be Santa Claus?"

A/N: This pre-canon story takes place during the winter of 1893, some time before Race, Jack, and Crutchie arrive at the newsboy lodging house. Ensemble-centric with Specs as our point-of-view character and Kloppman appearing in a supporting role.

"Hey, Specs! You gonna finish your gingerbread man?"

Without a word, Specs passed the remainder of his half-eaten sweet across the table to Buttons. The younger newsie beamed, then promptly devoured the gingerbread man's legs and feet, brushing the crumbs from his mouth and sitting back in his chair with a contented little sigh that made the not-quite-satiated hunger in Specs' stomach lessen just a little. Treats were rare commodities at the newsboy lodging house, and he'd been slowly savoring his cookie, wanting to make it last as long as he could, but the wiry and energetic Buttons probably needed the nourishment more.

"It sure was nice of the ladies from the Childrens' Aid Society to drop off some bakin'," Mush remarked, polishing off his own cookie. "Guess with Christmas just around the corner, everyone's in a givin' mood."

"Yeah, that's the truth! This mornin' while I was sellin', some swell gave me a dime for my pape and told me to keep the change," Jojo grinned, kicking back in his chair. "Sure must be nice to be rich and not haf'ta worry about anything. Imagine havin' your own mansion on Fifth Avenue with a big ol' Christmas tree in the window decked out all pretty with ornaments, pies and plum puddin' bakin' in the oven - "

"And presents under the Christmas tree!" Romeo piped up, his eyes alight with excitement. "I bet'cha the kids in those mansions gets all sorts of presents from Santa Claus, since they's probably real well-behaved and proper."

Finch snorted. "You mean you still believe in Santa Claus, Romeo?" he asked. It was more of a disbelieving snort than a derisive one, Specs thought, but Romeo - the youngest newsie of the bunch and still relatively new to the Duane Street lodging house - looked crestfallen.

"You mean...you fellas don't?"

The newsies sitting around the table shifted uncomfortably.

"It ain't so much that we don't believe, Romeo…" Mush hedged. "It's just that...well, I don't think Santa Claus has time to come 'round to everyone, ya know? There's lots of kids in New York, and he's only got one night."

"And even if he had time, he'd probably skip us anyway," Jojo added practically but not unkindly. "We's newsies - hawkin' headlines means we's lyin' to folks every day of the week. Pretty sure that don't exactly qualify as good behavior."

Romeo was silent, and Specs could see the disappointment on his face. He didn't know much about the newest member of their company, only that Romeo had come from a family but had been recently orphaned. After a brief stint begging on the streets, he'd somehow stumbled upon the newsboy lodging house and had taken up carrying the banner with the other boys of Number 9 Duane Street, his natural likability and innocent face predisposing him to modest success, even though he was still learning the ins and outs of the trade.

It seemed that the news that Santa Claus was not going to visit him this year would be another harsh dose of reality, and Specs felt a trickle of sympathy for the younger boy who had already endured so many losses that year.

"Well, well, these are some long faces." The voice of Alfred Kloppman, the lodging house superintendent, broke the silence. He'd been cleaning the table next to the one the newsies had been sitting at and had likely overheard the conversation, but hadn't said anything until now. "Was dinner not to your liking?"

"Nah, the dinner was good, Mr. Kloppman, and that gingerbread was first rate," Buttons declared. "We was just tellin' Romeo that Santa Claus don't usually stop by our place on Christmas night, on account of us not really bein' the best behaved." He winked (rather obviously, Specs thought) at the superintendent, who listened to the disclosure with a grave look on his face, apparently willing to continue the charade rather than fracture Romeo's reality even further by breaking the news that Santa Claus wasn't real - though Specs wasn't sure if it was actually worse to be told that Santa Claus wasn't coming because of bad behavior that was, at least partially, inherent in the job that they'd taken to support themselves.

"Is it true, Mr. Kloppman?" Romeo asked quietly. "Does Santa Claus skip us 'cause we's newsies and he thinks we's bad 'cause we's always stretchin' the truth about the headlines?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Kloppman answered. "Old men like Santa Claus have seen a lot of life. When you've had a chance to rub shoulders with plenty of folks, you realize that sometimes good and bad aren't always what you see at first glance." He smiled a little. "But I wouldn't worry about that tonight. You boys ought to head upstairs and get some rest. You've got a full day of selling papers tomorrow." So saying, he turned to pick up the rag and the tub of dirty dishes he'd cleared from the adjacent table and walked off in the direction of the kitchen.

"You heard the man," Mush announced, getting to his feet and stretching. "Might as well go upstairs." He smiled at the rest of the newsies. "Any of you bummers want to have a friendly game of poker 'fore we turn in? I got some pennies to wager, and we know Jojo's rollin' in the dough after his stroke of luck sellin' today."

"You ain't gettin your dirty fingers on a cent of that money," Jojo declared, grinning even as he swatted Mush's cap off of his head. "But I got some hard candies I nicked from the grocer's cart that I can throw in, so I'm game."

The rest of the newsies began chattering as they made their way out of the dining hall, and Specs silently followed them, catching sight of Kloppman watching them thoughtfully from across the room as the older man began his nightly sweep of the floor. Their eyes met for just a moment, and Specs nodded respectfully, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning to walk out the door. Ever since he'd accidentally dropped them a week ago, they'd sat unevenly on his nose and pinched his left ear a little, and he was constantly re-adjusting them on his face. He'd tried bending them back into shape himself, but couldn't see well enough without them to know if he was actually improving the situation or making it worse. Paying to get the spectacles repaired properly was out of the question, so he'd made do, and consoled himself with the reminder that at least this way he could still see, which wouldn't have been the case if his glasses had been broken altogether.

If he actually had believed in Santa Claus, asking for a new pair of spectacles would have been at the top of his list.

The next day, Specs was hawking headlines over on Broadway and Worth when he caught sight of a familiar figure walking down the street, his slightly hunched-over figure and gray bowler hat making him easy to spot even amidst the afternoon foot traffic.

Wonder where Kloppman's off to, Specs thought to himself as he counted out change for a customer. Normally the elderly superintendent would be at the lodging house, doing routine cleaning and maintenance around the property or working on his bookkeeping at his desk on the first floor. The cook did the grocery shopping, and most of the other supplies were delivered, so Specs found himself curious as to what would have enticed Kloppman outdoors, especially on a cold day like this where the icy sidewalks made walking slightly precarious.

As soon as he'd finished giving the proper change and thanking his customer, Specs started off down the street, his eyes darting here and there as he tried to locate the older man in the crowd. He was almost sure he'd lost him, when he suddenly caught sight of Kloppman's familiar gray bowler, and watched as the man entered Schuster's General Store.

A less discreet newsie than Specs probably would have followed just to satisfy his curiosity, but he wasn't the kind to stick his nose into other people's affairs. Kloppman was entitled to his privacy, and if his routine this afternoon was a little unusual, that was his business.

(Specs did glance through the windows of the store as he passed by, but when he failed to locate the superintendent amongst the store's visible patrons, he turned his attention back to selling his papers and kept walking).

That night at the dining hall, he watched silently as Kloppman went about his usual routine, helping the cook serve dinner to the boys, then following his usual routine of cleaning while the newsies ate. He seemed to be moving a little slower than usual, and Specs wondered if the afternoon's errand had tired the old man out. Kloppman was energetic enough for his age (and in the mornings could be positively vigorous if he had to rouse an especially sleepy newsboy from repose), but Specs had observed how he sometimes dozed off at his desk in the afternoons, and how his hands shook a little as they carefully recorded numbers in the notebook where he kept track of lodging house fees.

There was no further talk of Santa Claus that evening around the dinner table. Most of the newsies were in good spirits, as the following day was Christmas, which meant that there would be raisin rolls from the nuns in the morning and a heartier meal than usual for dinner at the lodging house. Even if their routine would be much the same as it was any other day, these little things gave them something to look forward to, and Specs - normally not one to get particularly upset or particular excited about anything - found himself anticipating the morrow with eagerness as he finished his dinner with the rest of the newsies and followed them back to the bunk room.

The poker game from the previous night continued well into the evening, Jojo and Finch eventually edging the good-natured Mush out of the last of his pennies, and everyone retired to their beds, some dropping off to sleep almost immediately and others quietly going about their bedtime routines. After washing up, Specs removed his cap, setting it in the same spot he always did within arm's reach slightly under the bed, then carefully placing his glasses on top of his cap.

Rolling over, he pulled his blanket over himself and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander. He'd been living at the lodging house now for almost four years, and memories of Christmases past had faded with time, the way the world looked when he took off his spectacles, but a few images lingered, and it was these visions that filled Specs' mind as he slowly drifted off to sleep...

Some time later, he was drawn from his slumber by the sound of a quiet rustling. Rubbing his eyes, Specs turned to look over his shoulder, blinking sleepily at the dim light that was glowing from the opposite corner of the room.

Had someone forgotten to extinguish their lamp? he wondered, fumbling for his glasses in the dark and setting them clumsily on his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he saw that it was not one of the newsies, but rather Kloppman who was kneeling next to one of the bunk beds, setting a round object about the size of a baseball down on the floor next to a paper-wrapped parcel.

The rest of Specs' drowsiness quickly melted away as he curiously watched the lodging house superintendent make his way around the room, placing packages at the foot of each of the beds.

As he got closer, Specs was about to close his eyes and feign sleep, when suddenly, in the next bunk over, Romeo stirred, and Kloppman turned towards the sound, his eyes meeting Specs' before the newsie could look away.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Kloppman raised a finger to his lips, a slight smile stretching across his face, and

Specs nodded in silent understanding. He carefully took off his glasses, closed his eyes again, and rolled over in bed, listening to the gentle creak of the floor as the older man moved about the room, completing the rest of his task. After only a minute or two more, Specs heard the sound of footsteps fading away, and when he cracked open one eye to glance over his shoulder again, he saw that Kloppman was gone.

The next thing Specs knew, he was being woken from sleep yet again, this time by an excited squeal of glee.

"Specs, Specs, wake up! Santa Claus came! You got a present!" Romeo clamored. "Look there, by your bed!"

Specs pushed himself up, reached for his glasses and positioned them on his nose, then looked in the direction that Romeo was pointing. There, leaning against the bedpost, was an orange, and a little paper-wrapped package with his name written on it.

"Open it!" Romeo demanded.

Specs did, and found that the package contained a handful of coins along with a little note written in slightly-shaky letters: For your spectacles. Under the words, the address of an eyeglasses repair shop had been written, a place not three blocks away from where he usually sold his papers.

"Everyone got somethin' different, and we all got oranges, too!" Romeo continued, breaking into Specs' thoughts. "Buttons already ate his, and he said it was real sweet, like eatin' a burst of sunshine in the middle of winter!"

Specs looked around the bunk room to see that the rest of his fellow newsies were all already awake, eagerly partaking of their fruit or exclaiming over their unexpected gifts, and as he quietly observed the different presents that Kloppman had picked out, he found himself surprised at the thought that had gone into each one.

There was a roll of chocolate candy for Mush, the kind he liked to spend his extra pennies on, because he said it was the perfect way to start a conversation with a pretty girl.

Finch had received a small bag of ball bearings, an upgrade from the irregularly-shaped pebbles that he normally scrounged from the sidewalks and alleyways to arm his ever-present slingshot.

Buttons had a case filled with little spools of thread, dyed in shades of blue and green and purple.

Jojo was given a packet of peppermints, his favorite thing to pop in his mouth to dissipate the sour taste of the coffee handed out by the nuns every morning.

And Romeo had been gifted a brand new wooden peg top. He'd arrived at the lodging house with nothing but the clothes on his back, some pennies, and a battered finger top, a toy he'd played with incessantly and kept on his person at all times, perhaps the only tangible reminder of the home and family he'd lost. But now he was beaming as he watched his new wooden top spin on the floor, looking like he'd just been given the world.

They were small, simple things, these gifts. But they were remarkable in their specificity. All of the boys chatted with Kloppman from time to time - shooting the breeze here as they paid their lodging house fees or rattling off the happenings of the day there while waiting in line for their food in the dining hall. But what surprised Specs was that the old man had remembered these seemingly insignificant details, that he knew and observed each of the boys at his lodging house well enough to be able to pick out meaningful gifts for each one of them.

Before he could ruminate any longer, the morning bell sounded, and the newsies hurriedly began their preparations for the day, pulling on their caps, tucking in their shirts, and bundling up the best they could to prepare for a brisk day hawking headlines outdoors.

The conversation on the way to the circulation gate was lively. Specs trailed along behind Jojo and Mush, who were bent close together in conversation, discussing the morning's events in voices low enough where he could tell that they were trying to be secretive, even if they were speaking far too loudly for him not to overhear.

The crux of their exchange seemed to center around whether or not Romeo actually believed that Santa Claus had brought the gifts to the lodging house the night before. As far as Specs knew, none of the older boys actually believed in the myth of Father Christmas anymore, but he also knew that none of them - not even the plain-spoken Finch - would intentionally hurt the youngest member of their group by directly shooting down his enthusiastic belief, though they might be hesitant to encourage it themselves. It was apparent that Mush and Jojo didn't particularly care about where the gifts had come from (though it sounded like they assumed Kloppman had been behind the act); they were happy to have gotten something, but were more interested in conjecturing on how the scenario might play out, and whether or not they should acknowledge reality or attempt to keep up the charade for the sake of Romeo's happiness.

Specs had his own thoughts on the matter, but he kept them to himself, content to listen as he trudged after the older boys on their way to the distribution center.

Dinner that evening was beef stew, savory and filling, with a chunk of hearty bread and a sugar cookie for dessert. Specs wolfed down the meal, mopping up the remaining bits of stew with his last bite of bread before starting in on the cookie, munching away on it with gusto (having learned his lesson with the gingerbread man - that you couldn't linger too long when enjoying a sweet, or one of the younger boys was liable to ask for it).

Romeo appeared at the table, his own bowl of soup and bread in hand (and a tell-tale scattering of cookie crumbs clinging to his shirt), the last of their group to arrive. Scooting over, Specs made room for him, and the newest newsie dropped down beside him on the bench, tucking into his dinner and chewing thoughtfully for a moment before suddenly breaking the silence around the table.

"Hey fellas," he ventured. "I got a question." He stole a quick look over his shoulder, then leaned in, saying in a low voice, "Do you think Mr. Kloppman might be Santa Claus?"

Most of the newsies stopped eating.

"Kloppman?" Finch echoed, sounding reluctant to completely shoot down the idea, but unable to suppress his inherent no-nonsense sensibility. "Ain't he a little lean-lookin' for that? Pretty sure he's Jewish, too. Don't that mean he ain't the type to celebrate Christmas?"

A few of the other newsies murmured incoherently, unsure of what to say.

"I dunno," Romeo confessed, sounding a little dismayed at this new information. "But last night I had a dream that he was sneakin' around the bunk room with a bag of gifts, leavin' 'em for us, and this mornin' the gifts was actually there, so it kinda seemed to line up. I've been thinkin' about it all day."

"Maybe Kloppman was Santa's helper," Mush suggested tactfully, doing his best to bridge the gap between Finch's unwavering pragmatism and Romeo's hopeful look. "Bet'cha Santa was in a hurry last night, so he asked Kloppman to drop off the gifts for us just this once so we'd know he didn't skip us but he could get goin' to wherever he needed to be next."

Specs said nothing, but when a little smile crossed Romeo's face, he felt himself relaxing.

As the boys left the dining hall that night, their bellies full and their spirits merry, Specs noticed that most of them took the time to bid goodnight or "Happy Christmas" to Kloppman, though none of them mentioned the gifts outright. The elderly man, for his part, responded much the same as he ever did, with a simple smile and a nod, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Specs was in his usual place at the back of the group, and as he approached the superintendent, he found himself slowing down and coming to a stop beside Kloppman, who looked at him in question.

"Thank you," Specs said quietly.

The older man's expression softened, and for a moment Specs thought that he was going to speak, to acknowledge what had happened the night before and his part in the simple if significant act of generosity.

But instead, Kloppman only nodded, a smile stretching across his kindly face, and Specs smiled back, touching his cap respectfully before turning to walk out the door.

After that, every year on Christmas night, Alfred Kloppman quietly made his way upstairs to the bunk room of the newsboy lodging house to perform this ritual, and every year Specs silently observed him and kept his secret, for he knew that it was more than just a roll of candy or a simple toy or a few coins being doled out. It was love. And generosity. And a reminder that someone cared. To the rest of the world, the newsies might have been just a bunch of scruffy nobodies whose manners were lacking and who left messes everywhere and who didn't always behave...but Kloppman saw them as more than that, and believed that they were worth remembering.

And his small act of kindness brought a warmth to even the most meagre and cold of Christmastimes.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this pre-canon glimpse into the newsies' life. It's fun trying to imagine what their younger selves would have been like, and this won't be the first installment taking us back in time. Thanks for reading, and if you have a moment, I'd love to hear what you thought of this!