Whatta up? So, I was watching Rent Live last night like the Broadway trash I am, and during the "I should tell you" chorus of Another Day, my Newsie brain immediately thought, "oooo, what would Jack and/or Katherine be hesitant to tell each other when they were first meeting and getting to know one another?" The obvious answer, of course, is Miss Katherine Plumber/Pulitzer. So, I've whipped up a fun little one-shot that happens during those few measures of music between Watch What Happens (Reprise) and The Bottom Line (Reprise), and I think it's pretty good!

I realize that this is probably more of an explanation for the inspiration of this story than you needed, but I think acknowledging Rent as what gave me this idea is fitting seeing as Newsies also performed at the Nederlander Theatre. Again, more information than you needed, but I'm nothing if not a spouter of random facts!

Well! Enough lecturing! If anyone's still reading this, I thank you for listening to my rambling, and I hope everyone enjoys the story!

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or its characters, I just let them consume my soul! (Please help!)

Katherine POV

"And I got a date!" Les exclaimed. Davey scoffed and whacked his little brother with his hat, and Jack took off his own hat to do the same. Les yanked his hat back and smacked Jack right back. I laughed, and Jack told Davey to start spreading the word about the rally while he talked to Medda. I was about to take my own leave when Jack caught me by the shoulder.

"Plumber, hold up a minute." I turned to find him holding the newspaper with my story, his eyes scanning it rapidly. "You really wrote this?"

"Yes, I did," I replied. "Took the better part of the night, but I think it's pretty decent. Um, Jack?" He still looked distracted, but maybe that was better. "You can call me Katherine, you know." His attention snapped to me, eyes questioning. He did have really nice eyes.

"We're gonna have to come up with a nickname for you eventually," he decided. "Kat for now?" I smiled and nodded. The only nickname my family ever used for me was Kitty, and it sounded so...childish. "This is very good. A hell of a headline."

"That's what the others said." I couldn't help the note of pride creeping into my voice. Jack gave me a slight smirk.

"'A modern-day David is poised to take on the rich and powerful Goliath, with the swagger of one twice his age, armed with nothing more than a few nuggets of truth, Jack Kelly stands ready to face the behemoth, Pulitzer,'" he read. Heat crawled into my cheeks; I knew what was next. "'Picture a handsome, heroically charismatic young man, all of seventeen, preparing to stand up for the chance to a better future for himself and for his brother.' Gee, I'm touched."

"Oh, hush." I pulled away the newspaper, trying to ignore the way that Jack's smile was making my heart flutter. "Those aren't the only adjectives I could describe you with, believe me." He chuckled, then his expression turned more serious.

"You really think this Strike could lead to a good future for me and my boys?" he asked, sounding almost like a child in need of affirmation.

"Absolutely," I promised. "If the publicity alone wasn't enough, I mean, if you can get to the point that my...mmMr. Pulitzer is willing to bargain, I'd bet you can negotiate to improve your salary or something." I felt a pang of guilt, but not towards my father. Jack should know. He deserved to know. Better I tell him now than he finds out down the line and... oh, what was I thinking? I was a reporter, even if I was currently blacklisted. I was supposed to be non-partisan. There wasn't going to be a down the line.

"It's amazing, Kat," Jack murmured, having not noticed my near slip-up. "You've known us, known me, for all of two-ish days, and you still believe in us so much."

"Of course, I do," I replied simply. "It's people like you who are going to change the world, Jack."

"You know, I think this is the first conversation we've had when we're on a first name basis," he said. I suddenly noticed how close we were standing, how we both held on to the newspaper, how his face was barely a foot from mine, how his eyes were fixated on me, on my... "Your voice sayin' my name sounds real nice." His hand was on my cheek, his thumb gently caressing my face.

"Jack." What was he doing? What was I doing? He didn't have any right to be touching me like this. I should push him away, I should punch him in his perfect, gorgeous face, I should pull him down and kiss him right now and see if his lips were as soft as I suspected.

"Katherine." His eyes were searching mine, searching for permission, I realized. I wanted to give it. What was wrong with me? "I'm sorry."

"Wh-what?" Jack gave me a gentle smile before leaning in and kissing my cheek. His lips lingered for a few seconds longer than they probably should have. But then it was over, and I stood frozen as Jack started towards the catwalk.

"I've gotta go, Kat. You gave me an idea. Thank you!" Jack gave me a wink before darting off.

"Jack Kelly, you get the hell back here right now and explain what the hell that was!" I called after him. I collapsed onto the crate by Jack's canvas, burying my face in my hands.

"You all right, sweetheart?" I glanced up to see Miss Medda Larkin. She came and sat down next to me and put a comforting hand on my back. "Did you fall under Jack Kelly's spell?"

"No!" I blurted out. "I, I wouldn't, I'm, no, oh, God, I don't know." Medda gave me a squeeze. "I thought Jack was going to ask you about using the theater for the rally?"

"Darling, I've been listening since that young man, Davey, came barreling in with his idea. Jack knew they could have the theater, he didn't stay to ask me anything." Medda lifted my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. "He stayed for you." My heart seemed to be beating in my throat.

"Why me?" I wondered. "There are probably a thousand girls who'd love to have someone like Jack look at them the way he looks at me, so why go after the girl who doesn't swoon when he smiles? Who talks back to him, who doesn't have any, any interest..." My voice faded as I realized the lie I was telling Medda, and myself.

"I suspect that's part of the reason," she admitted. "But, sweetheart, look at yourself. You're strong, you're brave, caring, witty, selfless. You're his match in every way."

"Selfless?" I echoed, doubt filling my voice. A truly selfless person wouldn't hide her identity to be trusted.

"Yes, Miss Pulitzer. Selfless." The blood ran from my face as I jerkily turned towards Medda. "Don't fret, sweetie, your secret is safe for as long as you want it to be. But you know you've gotta tell him?"

"Of course. I want to," I replied. "But he, he all but hates my father, he blames him for everything, the strike, Crutchie being taken, all of it. Jack, he'd despise me."

"Katherine, when you love someone-"

"We're seventeen, Miss Medda," I murmured. "How can he possibly be in love with me?"

"Katherine, you said that there are plenty of girls wanting someone like Jack looking at them the way he looks at you." I nodded. "You have seen the way he looks at you, right? The way he looked at you just now, when he wanted to kiss you." I ducked my head, hiding my blush. "What did you see?"

"He used that line on me once," I remembered. "I asked him what he wanted, and he asked if I could see it in his eyes. I thought he meant my... well, you know. But it was me. Just...me." Medda nodded, a bit of pride in her smile. "I have to go! I have to tell him everything! Thank you, Miss Medda!"

I didn't hear her good bye as I ran from the theater, onto the street, and-

"Hello, Katherine." I came to a screeching halt and turned. "The Delancey brothers informed me that you might be here." My father stood like a statue, tall and imposing, his eyes colder than I'd ever seen them. "I never thought I'd see the day that my own daughter would turn against me."

"And I never thought I'd see the day that my own father would blacklist his own daughter from every news desk in town," I retorted. "What do you want? And why have you been having those horrible brothers following me?"

"Now, now, dear. 'Horrible' is an awfully strong word, don't you think?"

"I saw what they did to the Newsies!" I exclaimed. "At the Strike! On your orders, no doubt. Little Les, poor Crutchie, they showed no mercy, took pleasure in causing pain!"

"Those boys were damaging private property," my father replied coolly. "But I'm not here to discuss my career, I'm here to discuss yours." He gestured to a Hansom cab that I hadn't noticed waiting on the side of the street. "Get in."

"This feels an awful lot like kidnapping," I noted as I climbed into the cab. My father simply scoffed. "So, will you be confining me to the house? Forbidding me from ever reporting again? Or, no, I've got it! You've found a wealthy husband for me to keep me in line." My father raised a brow at my sarcastic tone.

"Not at all, darling. I'd like you to come and work at The World." My jaw dropped.

From the moment I'd decided to be a reporter, my father had made it very clear that he would not hire me because I was his daughter, but because of my reputation, which I would have to build alone. It was something I'd actually been rather grateful for; a chance to prove myself. Was it possible that I had...impressed him? He was my father, despite everything, and his approval, not just as my father but as a world-class editor, was something I craved.

"You're...you're serious?"

"Very. I even have your first assignment for you. Write against this Strike." Of course. Of course, there was a condition. "It's very simple. I know you've been spending quite a bit of time with those street urchins over the past two days. Write about their rash ways, their selfish attitudes, their disrespect towards-"

"No." My voice was small but it seemed to echo through the cab. "They aren't, Father. Do you know what Jack said at the Strike? To keep the boys from scabbing? He said that you think he and his brothers are gutter rats with no respect for anyone, and that you are right, unless they stand together. And they do, and they did, and they will. And I will be standing with them, and we will change the game. So, no, Father, I will not be taking your deal." He narrowed his eyes. "I will also not be cast to the side while you try and fatten your precious bottom line by destroying those boys' livelihoods. If I have to break into the press room and print the papers myself, I will make sure the entire city knows that you are the selfish one."

"I see." We rode on in silence. "In that case, perhaps keeping you close would be ideal."

"You can't do that!"

"While you are under eighteen, you will do as I say." No. No! The cab rolled to a stop, and my father pushed the door open. "After you, dearest. You may either join me in my office, or these young men will escort you home." I stepped out of the cab, ready to make a break for it, but the Delancey brothers immediately flanked me. I clenched my jaw.

"Your office."

"Very well. I'm expecting a visitor I think may be of great interest to you." The smirks on the Delanceys' faces made my blood run cold. "You may have heard of him. He runs that establishment that, I believe, Mr. Kelly's crippled friend was sent to. Mr. Snyder."

Oh, God. What on earth did my father have planned for the Newsies?

Yay! Well, I mean, not yay, of course, but I did finish writing this in less than a day! Sorry to leave you with a bit of a cliffhanger, but I'm pretty sure you have a faint idea of what comes next. I know I said this would be a one-shot, but I think I'll add another chapter soon, depending, of course, on the feedback I get on this. I hope everyone enjoyed it! Please review, I welcome all constructive criticism, general compliments, and gushings about how Newsies should still be on Broadway! (I mean, shouldn't they?) But until next time, signing off, and may the mouse be with you!