I do not own Disney, Newsies, or any of the Newsie characters. If I did, I would have put Newsies on Broadway instead of Mary Poppins.

I am making no money from this story.

A/N: Beta credit for this story goes to the ultra-fabulous pennylayne. Only she would put up with my whining in the middle of the night. (Ooh! I feel a B.J. song coming on.)

Psychological therapy credit goes to the WonderTwins, who took time out from their own writing and the fantastic WonderTwins writing LJ to advise me on this story.

Rated T for mild slash.

--

The Perfect Gift

Specs came to live at the Duane Street Lodging House shortly before his twelfth birthday. His father had died barely six weeks earlier, leaving him completely alone. After a month's stay at the West Side Orphan Asylum, he ran away and never looked back.

Specs spent his first two days of freedom wandering the streets of New York City. By the end of the second day, he was tired and scared and hungrier than he'd ever been. Finally, his hunger and fear gave way to complete exhaustion, so he found himself a bench in a quiet corner of the park, and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Specs was surprised by someone poking him on the shoulder. Before he was fully awake, he rolled over and fell off the bench with a startling thud.

"Hey, kid. Are you okay?"

Specs straightened his glasses and saw a pair of scuffed boots not two inches from his nose. As he pulled himself together, his eyes traced the form of the lanky body standing before him. When he reached the face, Specs was greeted by a large smile with an abundance of slightly crooked teeth. A mass of white-blond hair stuck out from under his cap, and the bright morning sun reflected off a pair of gold-framed spectacles.

"Are you okay?" the boy repeated as he held out a hand to help Specs up.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'm okay," Specs replied, taking the boy's hand and pulling himself to his feet. He swept the grass and dirt from his clothing, then flopped back onto the bench. The cold morning air sent a chill through Specs' body, so he pulled his knees tight against his chest for warmth.

"It's none of my business," the blond boy said as he sat down next to Specs. "But if you're gonna sleep here in the park, you've gotta make sure that you're awake and movin' before people start walkin' through here on their way to work. Somebody will turn you in to the bulls for sure. Then they'll be sendin' ya back to wherever it was that you ran away from."

"Um... Okay, thanks," Specs replied uncomfortably. "I didn't know."

"They call me Dutchy," the boy said, holding out his hand. "What's your name, kid?"

"Daniel," he replied as he shook the boy's hand. "But most people all me Specs."

"I'm gladda meet ya, Specs. So, how long have ya been livin' on the streets?"

"Two days."

"Boy, you are new at this. So where'd ya run away from? Home, orphanage, or the work house?"

"Orphanage," Specs answered, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Me too," Dutchy grinned. "I let outta that place when I was about nine, and I've been on my own ever since," he said proudly.

Dutchy's smile was friendly and kind, and for the first time since his father's death, Specs didn't feel afraid.

"So whadda ya plan on doin', Specs? Ya can't keep sleepin' in the park. The nights are gonna get pretty cold from here on, and you're gonna have to eat eventually. Money don't grow on trees, ya know."

"I'm not sure. I didn't really think about that when I took off. All I was thinkin' about was gettin' away from that place."

"Well, your lucky I found ya," Dutchy smiled. "I've got fifty papes here. They cost me twenty-five cents to buy 'im. How's about I teach ya how to sell these here papes, and then anything we make over my two-bit investment, we split fifty-fifty? That'll give ya enough money to by some supper. Then if we sell the evenin' edition, you can make enough to get a bed at the lodging house, and use the rest to buy more papes to sell tomorrow."

"But that doesn't make any sense. You could sell those papers yourself and keep all the money. Why would you wanna split that with me?"

"'Cause fair is fair. If you sell half the papes, you get half the money. You seem like a nice enough guy. You don't look like you'd try and slicker me. And if you do, I'll just hafta soak ya. You look too skinny to put up a good fight," Dutchy laughed, giving Specs a playful shove.

"Oh yeah? You're gonna soak me?" Specs laughed as he shoved Dutchy back. "You're even skinnier than I am!"

Specs watched intently as Dutchy sold his first few papers. "You wanna give it a try now?" Dutchy asked. Specs took an armful of papers and mimicked what he'd seen Dutchy do. He was a fast learner, and they sold their papers in less time than either had expected.

The boys shared a bowl of soup and some bread for supper, and after selling the evening edition, they went back to the lodging house for the night. There were no empty bunks, so Kloppman agreed to let the boys share a bed, and they split the cost fifty-fifty.

From that first day together, Dutchy and Specs were inseparable. They did everything together and shared everything fifty-fifty. They were the best of friends, and promised to stay that way forever. Mr. Kloppman said that they were truly kindred spirits.

Little more than a year later, on Specs' thirteenth birthday, he and Dutchy shared their first kiss. They were both awkward and uncertain, and the kiss was mostly gangly arms and misplaced noses, but that made it none the less wonderful.

Four years later, the boys were closer than ever. Their knickers were replaced by full-length trousers, and Specs traded in his old newsboy's cap for a slightly newer black topper.

In the winter of 1899, Specs and Dutchy, as usual, saved every spare cent since Christmas in anticipation of Valentine's Day. They didn't care for the hearts and cupids and frilliness that usually went along with the holiday. Still, every year, they tried to make the day special for each other.

Traditionally, the boys would pool their money and take each other out for a night on the town, but this year was to be different.

On New Years Eve they'd both consumed copious amounts of alcohol, and one of them (they both blamed the other) came up with the idea that this year they should split their Valentine's Day money and buy each other gifts. But this was to be no ordinary giving of gifts. This was a challenge. The object of which was to see who would choose the better gift.

The rules of the challenge were simple. First, the gifts should be something that suited the other's personality and taste. Second, the gifts must be something that the recipient would not buy for themselves. And finally, the gift could not be anything practical. With Valentine's Day more than a month away, it gave each of them plenty of time to think and to choose carefully.

Specs gave the matter considerable thought, and within the first week, he'd found the perfect gift. It was something that he knew Dutchy would like. It was something that fit his personality and taste. And it was something that Dutchy wouldn't buy for himself.

Dutchy, on the other hand, was finding it difficult to choose a gift for Specs. He wanted his gift to be spectacular, so he searched all of the shops and mail-order catalogs, but nothing seemed quite right.

With only a week to go until Valentines Day, Dutchy was beginning to panic. He didn't want to lose the bet, but more importantly, he didn't want to disappoint Specs.

Two days before Valentine's Day, Dutchy still had no idea what to buy. He lay in his bunk feeling thoroughly depressed and angry with himself for not having found the perfect gift. Suddenly, Dutchy's brooding was interrupted by a jovial Racetrack Higgins as he sauntered into the room whistling and dancing.

"What are you so happy about?" Dutchy grumbled.

"I won big at the track today!" Race declared. "That horse was the answer to all my prayers!"

"That's it!" Dutchy exclaimed. "That's what I'm gonna do!"

Dutchy grabbed his hat and coat and barreled down the stairs. "Thanks Race!" he shouted as he ran out the door.

Racetrack stood in the empty room, dumbfounded and scratching his head.

On Valentine's morning, Mr. Kloppman didn't have to wake Dutchy. He was dressed and ready to go before Kloppman got out of bed.

Dutchy leaned over Specs and whispered in his ear so that he wouldn't awaken the others. "Wake up, Specs. We've gotta get goin'."

"Whadda you, crazy? It ain't time to get up yet. Kloppman will call us when it's time. Go back to sleep."

"Come on Specs, get up already. Don't you know what day it is? It's Valentine's Day!"

"Well you can go and tell Cupid that if he shows his face around here before Kloppman says that its time to get up, I'm gonna break all his arrows and shove 'em down his fat little throat!"

"Come on, Specs. Please get up. We've gotta get sellin' early today. I've got a surprise for you. We gotta finish sellin' early so I can give you the surprise!"

Specs wasn't happy about it, but he stumbled to the washroom to shave, and then reluctantly got dressed. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep, he could never say no to Dutchy. All it took was one look at that innocent face and those sapphire eyes and he surrendered.

They were not only the first on line at the distribution center; they got there before old Weasel himself. Specs leaned against the brick wall still half asleep as he watched Dutchy pace nervously back and forth. When the window finally opened and they bought their papes, Dutchy dragged Specs by the arm to their usual spot. Fortunately for them both, they sold out in record time.

"This is great!" Dutchy exclaimed. "Now we'll have plenty of time to get your present. Come on! Let's go!"

"We're not going anywhere until I get something to eat" Specs grumbled.

"But what about your present?"

"I'm sure that whatever it is it can wait another fifteen minutes".

"But . . ."

"No buts about it," Specs said as he turned away. He wasn't going to risk looking into those sapphire eyes again.

"Come on, Specs. The sooner we get there the sooner you can have your present."

"Look, Dutchy. If I don't get something to eat soon, there's going to be a great headline tomorrow. 'Newsboy Kills Newsboy on Valentine's Day'."

Dutchy sadly followed Specs to the restaurant and sulked as Specs ordered a bowl of soup and some bread. Less than two minutes later, Dutchy looked at his watch and scowled.

"Don't give me that look," Specs grumbled. "All they have to do is put it into a bowl. We'll be out of here in ten minutes."

Specs got a bit annoyed when Dutchy looked at his watch for the third time. "If you don't put that watch away, so help me, I'm gonna make you eat it!" Unfortunately, for Specs, he made the mistake of looking into Dutchy's eyes, and he immediately knew that his lunch was over.

"Okay, Dutch. If it's that important to you, I'll risk dying of malnutrition, and we can leave now." When Specs looked at Dutchy's wide smile with its slightly crooked teeth, he realized that he'd made the right decision.

With Dutchy leading the way they took a shortcut through the park and came to a stop in front of the livery stable.

"Here we are!" Dutchy announced proudly.

Specs glanced around and looked back at Dutchy with a puzzled expression. "Whadda you mean, here we are?"

"This . . . This is your present".

"Dutchy, what are you talking about?" Specs was trying very hard to understand, but with Dutchy, that wasn't always easy.

"This! . . . . The livery! . . . I got you a horse! That's your present!"

"Whadda you mean you got me a horse? You could sell papes for ten years and not make enough to buy a horse."

"Jeez, Specs. I didn't buy a horse. I rented you one for the afternoon. I remembered ya tellin' me about that last summer before your pop died. You said that he taught you how to ride and what a great time you had. I figured that you'd like to go riding again, so I rented you a horse for the whole day. You don't have to bring him back until it gets dark. Whadda you think about that!"

"Dutchy, I don't know what to say. This is great. This is really great!"

"Good!" Dutchy said proudly. "I'll go inside and tell the guy that you're here."

After a few minutes, Dutchy emerged from the livery. "The guy is gonna bring it out now. You're gonna love him. He's a real beauty."

Dutchy was right. He was a beauty. Specs looked him over and gave him a friendly scratch behind the ear, then mounted and walked the horse around a bit to get the feel of him. "This is great!" Specs shouted, but when he looked back, Dutchy was nowhere in sight.

Finally, Specs saw Dutchy come out of the livery, but to his surprise, Dutchy was walking toward him holding the reins of another horse.

"What is that?" Specs asked.

"It's a horse. What did you think it was?"

"I know it's a horse, but what are you doing with it?"

"I'm gonna ride it! You said that the best part of riding was that you did it with your pop, so I figured that I would go along with ya. Kinda like he did, ya know? To keep ya company."

"But, Dutchy. You don't know anything about riding a horse."

"Well, I have driven a wagon, ya know. And it was horses that done the pulling."

"But riding a horse isn't like driving a wagon, Dutch. They aren't even close to being the same thing."

"What is there to know?" Dutchy grinned. "This is the head. This is the tail. It's got four legs and you sit in the middle. How hard can it be?"

"Don't worry, mister," the stable boy said. "He told me that he never rode before so I picked out a nice gentle one for 'im. This here is Mosey. His name fits his personality, and he's trained to follow the lead horse. You just ride along, and he'll follow."

The stable boy gave Dutchy some quick instructions on riding. "This is how you make him go, this is how you make him stop, and this is how you make him turn to the left and right."

When Dutchy mounted Mosey, his pink cheeks immediately turned white.

"You okay, Dutch?" Specs asked, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah. It's just a lot higher from up here than it looks from down there."

"Are you sure that you want to go through with this?" Specs asked.

"A'course I'm sure. That's part of the present. I'm gonna ride with you just like your pop did."

"Okay then. Let's go."

Specs was in his glory as they rode through the park. All the memories of that last summer with his father came floating back.

Every now and again, Specs would look back and check on Dutchy, to make sure he was alright.

"How ya doin'?" he'd ask?

"Don't worry about me. Mosey and I are gettin' along just fine."

They were riding along at a nice slow pace when Dutchy and Mosey suddenly passed Specs.

"Whadda ya doin', Dutch?" Specs called out.

"I ain't doin' nothin'!" Dutchy called back. "Ask the horse what he's doin'!"

When Specs caught up with them, Mosey had stopped and was nibbling on some tall grass.

"How's it goin', Dutch?"

"We're doin' just fine," Dutchy said with a smile. He was trying not to look as terrified as he felt. "Mosey and I are takin' a little rest. You go on ahead and we'll catch up to you."

Once more, Specs took the lead and Mosey and his rider followed behind.

Before long, Specs was again being passed Mosey and his reluctant rider. This sequence repeated itself throughout the afternoon. Each time Mosey began to trot, Dutchy bounced around in the saddle like big a rag doll, with twigs and branches slapping him as they went along.

When evening came, they headed back to the livery. To say that Dutchy was relieved would have been an understatement. He slid off of the saddle, and when his feet hit the ground Dutchy's knees buckled. He'd been using muscles that he didn't even know he had.

The walk back to the lodging house was excruciating, but Dutchy put on a brave face, and tried to look like he was having a good time. His legs felt weak, his bottom hurt, and he was covered with scratches from the twigs and branches. Even his private parts were hurting.

When they reached the lodging house, Specs took a quick look around to make sure that no one was looking and pulled Dutchy into the alley. He leaned Dutchy against the wall and pressed their bodies together. The weight of Specs against him made Dutchy's already sore muscles hurt even more, but when Specs pressed their lips together the pain didn't seem quite as bad. Then when he felt Specs' tongue pass through his lips, Dutchy's pain seemed to almost disappear. When they parted, Dutchy saw the smile on Specs full lips and couldn't help smiling himself. "That was nice," he said, tightening his arms around Specs' waist.

Specs reached up and removed several bits of dry leaves and twigs from Dutchy's hair. "Thanks for the terrific Valentine's Day present, Dutch. It was the best present anyone has ever gotten. And you win the bet," he conceded giving Dutchy a quick kiss. "You're the most thoughtful person I've ever known. I'm lucky to have you in my life."

When they got inside, Dutchy immediately flopped into one of the chairs in the meeting room. He knew that there was no way he was going to make it up the stairs without help.

"You okay, Dutch?" Specs asked.

"Sure. I'm fine," Dutchy answered, still trying to sound merry. "I'm just gonna sit in here and enjoy this nice warm fire," he said, pointing at the fireplace.

"Okay," Specs said. "You wait here, and I'll be right back." Specs ran up the stairs to the bunk room and immediately returned with Dutchy's gift. It was wrapped in plain brown paper that was neatly tied together with some twine.

Dutchy untied the bow while trying to hold back a painful groan. After the death-grip he'd kept on the horse's reins, he could barely move his fingers.

Specs' heart soared when he saw Dutchy's tired eyes brighten at the sight of his gift.

"Select Poems and Stories of Oscar Wilde," Dutchy gaped as he ran his hand across the new leather binding. "Specs . . . Specs, this is great. I love Oscar Wilde. I've read his stuff in the library a hundred times, but I never thought that I'd own a book like this. This is unbelievable!" he said as he flipped through the pages.

"I knew you'd like it!" Specs beamed as his chest filled with pride. "And look here. There's the story of The Selfish Giant, The Star Child, and - -"

"Specs?" Dutchy asked timidly. "Would it hurt your feelings if I didn't read this right now? Ya see, I'm kinda tired, and I got poked in the eye with a branch, and my - -um - -stuff is kinda sore, and - - "

"It's okay," Specs said, trying not to giggle at Dutchy's condition. Then he took the book from Dutchy, and walked back to the stairs. "Boots, Snipeshooter, Tumbler!" he called. "I want all you guys down in the meeting room right now!"

Specs sat in a chair across the room from Dutchy and assembled the younger boys around him.

"What gives?" Boots asked.

"Well, Dutchy got himself a new book, and he wants to share it with you guys. He's feelin' a little under the weather, so he said that I could read it to you." Specs looked over at Dutchy, who gave him an approving wink.

"What's this book about?" Snipeshooter asked.

"It's about a lot of things. It has some stories and a few poems and - - "

"Poems?" Snipeshooter complained. "Girls read poems. That's a girl's book! I don't wanna hear any girlie stories."

"This isn't a girl's book," Specs said patiently. "It's a book about giants and kings and all sorts of stuff. But the story I'm gonna read you is called 'The Happy Prince'".

"The Happy Prince?" Boots squawked. "That is a story for girls!"

"Well, I'm not a girl, am I?" Specs asked.

"No," the boys all replied.

"Well, it's my favorite story, so it can't be a girl's story if I like it."

"Then what's is about?" Boots asked.

"It's about poor kids like us" Specs replied. "It's about kids that have to work hard and about people who are sick and cold and don't always have enough to eat."

Specs heard a muffled groan as Dutchy shifted his bruised body in the old easy chair. A warm flush moved through Specs' body when he thought about the wonderful present Dutchy had given him. It had cost him not only his money, but a good portion of his dignity as well.

"It's a story about a golden prince who has sapphire eyes and a kind and thoughtful heart. It's about how he was gentle and wise and how one day he met a swallow in the park and gave the bird shelter when he was cold and alone."

Specs looked up from the book and took in Dutchy's wide smile with its slightly crooked teeth, and the eyes that could always melt his heart.

"And it's the story of the prince's best friend, The Swallow, who loved The Golden Prince very, very much..."

--

End

Happy Valentine's Day Everybody!

A/N: The Happy Prince is a great short story that you can read on almost any site about Oscar Wilde. I read it for the first time last year, and I feel immediately in love.

Thanks for reading. Your reviews will be greatly appreciated.