The Moon's Permission

It was New York in the middle of August, 1915. Europe was at war, but that was far away from the unlit streets in the Irish quarter. The darkness didn't bother Gael any. He'd been up and down this street thousands of times, it seemed. Coming off a winning night, he had nearly twenty-five dollars in his pocket. One month past his eighteenth birthday, Galen Francis McNeil owned New York, owned the world. He had a new hat! It was cast off from Alfred, but it was a twenty dollar imported French hat, hand stitched, with an ace of hearts tucked inside the rim.

It was the hat he was going to be buried in, someday. It's not like Irish gangsters have long lives.

The street was dark, and quieter than normal, but not actually quiet. Gael hadn't heard quiet since they'd gotten on the ship in Dublin. He didn't really miss it, mostly. Sometimes though, his thoughts went to the world outside of Dublin, the village where his uncle lived and where everyone was Irish. He ducked into the darkened doorway of the building his family lived in.

There were eighteen rooms to a floor and one of them belonged to his family. Once inside the dark entryway, he toed off one of his shoes, and pulled off his grey silk sock while standing on one foot. The other shoe went the same path. Shoes in one hand, he held his precious hat in the other and ran up the stairs, his bare feet barely making a sound. Three steps at a time, humming music from the club in his mind, he dodged those sleeping on the stairs agilely and made it to the fourth floor. His family was in the back hall, third in. To be honest, they actually had two rooms, which they had made a door between. Alfred had paid for that. Alfred paid for a lot, which really meant Gael was paying.

Pulling the key from around his neck, he danced, bare feet still making little sound as he tapped, dancing to the music still in his head. Before he could turn the key in the lock, the door creaked open and wide blue eyes looked up at him. He slipped inside, shut the door, and put the key back around his neck as he picked Ian up in his arms. Finn took his shoes as Gael set his fancy hat on his little brother's head. In a very hushed voice, barely audible, in Irish as natural as breath, he whispered, "Now there's my fine gentleman, isn't it?"

The little boy giggled without sound. Also without sound, their littlest sister wrapped her arms around Gael's leg and he reached down to pet her slightly strawberry curls.

Finn, who had neatly folded Gael's socks and tucked them into the shoes and then under the bed, out of sight, while carefully pulling out a wash bowl with water in it, looked up at Gael and made hand signs asking about food.

Gael winked at him as he carried the other two to the couch. It was a lovely couch, scrounged like all good things, out of Alfred's cast offs. Once settled, Emily scrambled up into his lap and he gave her a hug, ruffling her hair, then like it was a magic trick, he pressed both hands together, wiggled his eyebrows, and with a flourish, he produced a wedge of cheese. Her fat little hands reached for it and he gave it a kiss before giving it over to her.

She scrambled off his lap, tucked up next to him like he was the safest place in all the world.

The two boys shuffled to get in front of him, and he pressed his hat back from his face, settling it on his head, slightly cocked and jaunty before he did another magic trick and produced two wedges of salami.

Finn took his with both hands, bowed as he imagined a prince might, then ran off to the corner where his blankets were. Ian waited until Gael kissed it and handed it back. Only then did he pull his blanket out from under the couch and cuddle up to eat his treat.

Suddenly tired, Gael sighed, leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. The moment didn't last long. Moment over, he hid his hat behind the couch, in the bag he'd long since tacked there to hide things in. He pulled his own blanket from behind the couch and laid down, bare feet propped up, Emily curled on his chest. He covered them both, whispered a bit of prayer at her almost like a lullaby, then was out before she'd finished gnawing her soft cheese.

Morning came, as it does with the sun, harsh, loud, and bright. The whole couch moved under him, but a couple hours was not nearly enough. He tightened his hold on Emily and rolled over. Sometimes it worked.

This morning wasn't that day. His mother gave the couch another hard kick, flattening it against the wall, then grabbed a handful of his blond curls. "On your feet, you lazy bastard!"

Experience had him on his feet before he lost any curls and before he was well awake. "Ma!"

"Did you bring any money home for your family, you lazy tramp, or did you give it away for free again?"

He held up both hands to the slender, gray haired woman who held him by the hair still. "Ma! I have money and I got ya four wallets," he said in English, with the least Irish accent that he could get away with because he knew it bothered her.

He was right. She gave him a good smack on the face, leaving a red handprint. "Irish in this house, you bugger!" She had her hand out for the wallets and the money.

"Yeah, yeah, I just didn't want to wake you," he said, sweet as mead, as he handed her ten dollars and the four wallets, in which there was another four dollars and seventy-eight cents. "I bring you everything, Ma, just like I always have."

She slapped the back of his head lightly, but let him go. "Liar. Don't you be bringing Kate-Marie anymore of those books neither. She won't do a damn thing until she's finished reading it. She's old enough to be working now. You get back out there now, do a good job. If you want to sleep, you better make it home earlier."

"Yes, Ma," he said, pulling the couch out from the wall so he could fish his hat out. He spent a moment unflattening it and telling himself it had more character now. As soon as she went back into the other room, he pulled three small wrapped caramels from his pocket and gave one to each of the little kids watching him. "It's going to be alright," he promised. "Everything is going to be alright."

Those little candies were gone, wrappers all given back to Gael before he could even start washing his feet. Feet had to be washed before shoes could be put back on.

His fifteen-year-old sister, Kate-Marie, her hair done up in ringlets and a new dress, a touch of blush on her cheeks, stepped into the room.

"Galen will take care of you now," Ma said, patting the girl on the shoulder.

"Yes, Ma," she said with a swallow.

Gael gave her a wink, put his hat on a little tighter, then held out his arm to her. "Come my love! Let us go milk the cow of the morning."

By the time they got downstairs, the handprint on Gael's face was barely visible. There were things he needed to say to Kate-Marie, but he hadn't figured out how to say them yet. 'It's going to be alright' wasn't going to be enough, but he was going to make sure that things were going to be alright. That's what big brothers do.

The light of the sun hurt though as he stepped out of the building. If there was a good god, there'd be no sun. Then his eyes adjusted and there was his favorite thing in the world. Red metal and chrome, the windshield folded down and a polished oak steering wheel. Tiredness forgotten; he was up on the running board with a grin on his face. "Jeffery! What's this? Something going on?"

An older man, at least thirty, lifted his hat and eyed Gael. "Already? I thought you'd sleep at least another couple of hours. You've ruined my nap."

"Our mother doesn't approve of laziness," Kate-Marie said as if that were the female point-of-view and she didn't approve either.

"Shitty," Jeffery said, hat now on his head. "The old man said you were fabulous last night and wanted you to have the car for the day. The tank's full and there's another canister at the back. He would like your company for dinner."

"Of course," Gael said, holding the door open for his sister to get in the back, "His table has the best food in town."

Gael wanted to be behind the wheel, but he knew how to be polite. He went to the front and gave it a good crank, then laid a hand on the bonnet to feel the engine humming to life. Even in the passenger seat, as slow as one had to go behind horse carriages and servants out about a day's work, everything was fine. Soon enough they were flying a bit faster in the more well-to-do areas.

"Where are we going," Kate-Marie asked, on the edge of the back seat, right in the center as the breeze blew out her curls.

"You guys are dropping me off at the estate."

The estate had more front yard than the footprint of a block of the Irish quarter. It amused Gael to see his sister's eyes go wide, even if he loved the car much better than the house. When Jeffery finally let him have the steering wheel, he still hadn't figured what to say to Katie.

Once they got out of that neighborhood though, where people might know them, he pulled over and pulled out his handkerchief. With a bit of spit and some small resistance, he cleaned away the rouge from her cheeks. "I work hard so you can have a different life, Katie.

"Ma will beat us both!" She said, near tears.

"I'll cover for you," he said in a soft Irish promise. "I'll take care of it."

"You're going to get yourself killed. I'm a woman now. I can help you."

"You're not a woman. You can get a job in a shop and I'll never stop bringing you books, Katie. . I'll take care of Ma."

She sighed and settled back to watching the world go by from where she leaned on the car door. "Ma's not as easy as a car you know."

"I'll take care of it, Kate." Two hours of sleep wasn't so bad. Not with the wind against his face. He'd been thinking about what to do about his little brothers and sisters for a while. They were going to have a better life than he'd had.

"I know, Gaely. You always have."

"I love you, Katie," Gael said, a huge smile on his face, his fancy hat pushed back into shape and just slightly crooked on his face.

"I bet you want me to sit in the car, don't you," she said, arms across her chest.

"I'll take care of his chore and someone has to watch the car," she glared at him, arms across her chest.

"Someone's got to watch over Alfred's car," Gael said, straightening his hat.

"You should have shaved."

His blue eyes rolled. "In good time. It's better to look like a traveler for this chore. Just watch the car, okay?"

He wasn't really listening to her complaints as he walked away.

He wanted to get in and out of the pocketbook shop, otherwise known as Grand Central Station, as quickly as he could. He was three up when the world absolutely stopped. The man in his sights was slender, but his suit hung on him like he was firm in all the right places. His hair was red enough to be sunset, but Gael rather fancied the fires of Hell instead. His new little devil had green eyes and soft looking pink lips, and this adorably confused look about him. He was innocence incarnate, decorated with a bit of Hellfire.

Gael side-stepped in front of him, not even thinking about how he'd crossed a quarter of the station without coming to any serious decision about what he was going to say or do. It wasn't the man's wallet that Gael wanted. "Hello," he said in his very best English, not so much as a fog of Irish anywhere.

"Hello," this sweet red headed Cupid said back, his accent very different from New York, an entirely new kind of English for Gael.

Gael held out a hand.

The man looked down at the hand, back up at Gael, judging, sizing. He took Gael's hand in a medium grip shake, polite, but not domineering, welcoming.

Gael's heart beat faster, his mouth going a bit dry. "I'm Galen McNeil, but my friends all call me Gael. And who might you be?" So a bit more Irish slipped in there, rising the tide of Gael's emotions.

"I'm Dr. Jack Walker. I've just come to New York to complete my residency."

"Welcome to New York," Gael said, maybe holding Dr. Walker's hand just a touch longer than he should have. "You've got a lot of bags there. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"I plan to walk," Jack said, "but I could stand some directions." He set down the black doctor's bag he was carrying to pull out a notepad made of plain brown reused wrapping paper. "Do you know where this is?"

"Oh," Gael said, feeling like this was indeed his lucky day, "That's in Brooklyn. That's too far to walk. I'll give you a ride."

"I really should walk, rather than paying, but thank you."

"No charge. It's good to welcome you to New York."

"I had heard people weren't friendly here."

"Well, they also told you that place was in New York, now didn't they?"

The shadow that fell over them was quickly followed by a gruff, "Excuse me, sir. Is this fellow bothering you?"

"Oh, not at all," Jack said cheerfully, such innocent exuberance in him that Gael wasn't sure he could breathe while this guy was talking. "We're friends. He's just about to give me a ride to the boarding house where I'll be staying while I'm in New York."

The police officer tapped his baton against the palm of his hand as Jack spoke, his cap shading his eyes as they narrowed. He couldn't seem to disagree with Jack either though, so he gave Gael a stern look. "Be good, McNeil."

"Always," Gael said with a wink and a grin.

As soon as the officer walked away, Jack gently took his notebook back from Gael. The touch of their fingers caught and held Gael's attention. Lips parted, he thought his skin had turned to photographic paper and Jack was made of the most splendid light, marking him forever.

"Are you a criminal," Jack asked seriously, those pretty green eyes searching Gael's face.

"No," Gael said, and he meant it. He checked over his words in his mind, looking for loopholes and back up plans, but his Cupid had asked if he WAS a criminal, not if had been a criminal. Those were entirely different things, if he wanted to put too fine of a line on it and he really did. He wasn't a criminal. He'd be anything he needed to have that gentle hand touch him again. "I'm not a criminal."

Gael was never short on things to say, usually. His Uncle Darragh, who hadn't crossed to America, had often claimed he'd been born screaming out Yeats, with a tongue stolen from the fair folk. Now that may well be, but he couldn't find three words together to say to the red headed man sitting next to him. Jack was such an English name, but that hair and those vibrant green eyes, said Irish, and it was like he didn't know who he'd lured into his car.

Navigating the roads, nice and safe and nothing at all too shocking for his new companion, it being his first time in a car and all. The naughtier part of Gael's mind was very happy to suggest some other firsts for the boy from Kansas. Those thoughts were quite persistent too, loud little sinners that they were.

Just as they were about to cross into Brooklyn, a wagon full of vegetables got stuck in a pot hole and held up everything that couldn't go around. It let the car be a bit quieter too and Gael was arguing with himself about the merits of reciting poetry or not sounding like a love struck school boy. There was a kindness and kind of magic to Dr. Walker and Gael very much wanted to drink him down. What was the polite way to say to a pretty guy that breaking the law could be fun and did he want his maypole wrapped?

"I'm a doctor," Jack said, out of nowhere, before clearing his throat and pressing his palms together like he was about to pray.

"Ta," Gael asked, caught off guard and forgetting to speak English, "Yeah? I've," and he almost said done, but caught himself, "met a couple doctors."

"And as a doctor," Jack continued, a bit of sweat breaking out at his temple, "I must say that some rules and customs in our society are not fully valid."

Gael's eyebrow twitched. Listening to Jack talk made him realize he was better at Latin than he was at English. "Sure."

"I mean," Jack said, more sweat breaking out on his nose, like a cop was trying to get confession out of him, "Certain things were utterly taboo in Kansas, but they might be more common here."

"You mean like crab? Lobster?"

"No, no," Jack said, turning red. "I just meant that the, well, customs about who one might call upon might be a touch different in New York, if you know what I mean."

"I'm sure you're going to have lots of patients," Gael said, one eye kind of watching the vegetable wagon, the other watching his passenger, wondering if the guy was getting at what he thought he might. There were a lot of men who liked men in THAT way in Gael's circle, but he was getting the idea that might not be true in Kansas.

"No, no, I mean," Jack said, turning to face him just slightly, one knee bent a bit, "I mean, and I mean no offense whatsoever, you understand, I just rather that you I might be friends," he said, with a particular emphasis on 'friends'.

Gael grinned, a slow rising grin that put his whole world right side back again.

Jack blushed about as bright as his hair.

Gael beckoned him closer, one finger up as if he could just reel him in. He also leaned and whispered in that innocent pretty ear, "I rather thought I might just offer to suck your dick, you know, just because I want to."

"Oh my," Jack gasped, redder than the devil on Saturday night. "I've never."

"I hadn't thought so," Gael said, feeling very cheerful as if he'd accomplished the best thievery of his whole life. "That's okay. I'll show you everything."

"Oh goodness," Jack said, his handkerchief out and working at the sweat on his face, "I haven't offended you, I hope. I made no presumptions at all, it was just that when our hands touched, it just felt as if, well, as if there was a connection."

"I felt it," Gael agreed, putting the car back in gear and moving forward. "Even here in New York, you want to be very, very careful. If you let on to the wrong people, you're in for a beat down. I can take you some places, though, if you like."

"I would like," Jack said enthusiastically. "And you'll go with me, to, to these places?"

"Yeah," Gael said, giving him a wink and telling himself there was no cause for jealousy. Doctor boys from Kansas didn't take up permanently with Irish whores. That was just how the world worked.

They didn't have any more words as they zipped along the more suburban streets. Jack was more relaxed and Gael was lucky that there wasn't much traffic because he was much more interested in watching Jack than in watching the road.

The boarding house turned out to be a tidy affair with blue shutters and roses in the yard. Maybe they'd both run out of words, but they sat there saying nothing for a good five minutes, before Gael gave in. "I'll help you with your bags."

"Well, alright then," Jack agreed, getting out of the car almost reluctantly. "You never did tell me how fast the car goes."

"I don't remember you asking," Gael said, irritated that he was going to drop Jack off and drive away.

"Oh well, that does make sense then," Jack muttered as he followed across the street and into the garden of roses.

A grandmotherly woman with white hair and a smile that gave her the temperament of a goose, opened the door and tapped her foot. "Dr. Walker?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, removing his hat. "Mrs. Yancey?"

"None other, Come in," she said, stepping out of the way. "If you'll step into my office to sign the paperwork, I'll be happy to accept the agreed upon deposit. Your man can take your belongings up. The whole second floor is yours."

Gael stood there with the luggage for a moment more, waiting on what Jack had to say.

Jack was nodding and paying attention to his new landlady, another first for him. "Of course, I thought I was to be sharing the space with another gentleman."

"Well, things change, now don't they? It's only a little extra to keep the entire space, but you will not be having any lady friends over."

"No, no, not at all. I would never impose in such a manner." Now that was a fact.

"Good then, right this way," then she paused and looked over at Gael, "Well, get the gentleman's luggage up to his room, you Irish dog."

Teeth grinding, Gael half dashed up the stairs. The space that was going to be Jack's was double the size of the two rooms that his family had. There was a big bed, with four posters and curtains around it, a table, a cabinet for dishes, a washroom that had running water, a bathtub, and a toilet. The floor was polished oak, with several nice large rugs. By the largest window there was a comfortable looking chair with a table beside it and the day's paper folded neatly.

Yeah. Doctors from Kansas did not take up with Irish boys. Nervous, he took a moment to try to straighten out his precious hat, to make sure the crushing of it hadn't really damaged it. Hand shaking just a bit, he combed slightly too long blond curls back and pressed his hat back on. He'd never been one to give up before he'd actually lost, sometimes not even then, but he also didn't want to exchange his memories of a flushed and smiling Jack for one whose eyes had gone cold, maybe with words to match. Slipping down those stairs and away was probably the wiser choice.

Stubborn, he reached into his pants pocket and counted to ten on his rosary. Just as he was reaching for eleven, the door opened and a still flushed and gleeful Jack let himself in. He put his hat on the hat rack, locked the door, then eyed Gael with a fierce determination.

Gael swallowed and actually took a step back. He was used to being the aggressor, the dominant one, because that's what people pay for. Jack was just a little taller than he was, but it felt as if he were inches shorter than the doctor. When love must be secret, it sometimes flashes in the moment of connection and goes dark as a pauper's purse.

"I was wondering, as I can't seem to think of anything else, if it would be acceptable, if I kissed you," Jack said, now so close that Gael had to look up a bit.

This wasn't a kiss like Gael had ever had before. His parted lips trembled, felt like the slightest brush of Jack's breath was a caress. His head started to feel light. "If you'd like," he said, feeling unsure of anything happening now. It was all off script and out of his control.

He watched Jack close his eyes and lean forward, stared at Jack's forehead, and as those innocent, pure, respectable lips kissed his, soft warmth on what he'd thought were almost calloused lips, he realized he'd never been kissed before. Little flicks of light danced around his vision and his heart couldn't make up its mind to keep beating or just claim angel wings and fly t heaven. There was nothing after that moment, no more rules or plans or understanding. Absolutely everything had changed.

"Did I do it alright," Jack asked, smiling, a gentle hand touching Gael's face with a tenderness and welcome that Gael had never felt before, not once in his whole life.

"Sea, is fearr," Gael whispered in Irish.

"What language is that," Jack asked, fingers now touching Gael's curls, tenderly pulling one free of the hat hiding it, "I've never heard it before."

"Irish," Gael said, afraid that that one word would take everything from him, take this tender touch that he now craved more than anything else in the world, "I'm Irish."

"When do you go back to Ireland," Jack asked, nervous, pulling back enough to look at Gael with concern. "I've just found you. I don't want to lose you."

"I live here in New York. I came over when I was eleven, with my family."

"Then we're both American, aren't we?"

"You don't care that I'm Irish?"

"Do you care that I'm a homosexual," Jack asked, using a fancy word he'd learned from a book on the train to New York.

"What's a homosexual," Gael asked, still trembling under Jack's hand.

"It means a person who is sexually attracted to members of their same sex, like I am to you."

"I like that," Gael said, finding a bit of his own drive back as he turned to kiss Jack's palm. "I like when you touch me."

Jack blushed again, pulling his hand back, as if he had to look at his palm to decide what it was he was feeling. "Do you have a telephone number that I can call you at?"

"No," Gael said, not knowing about such things. "But you can come drive with me, for the rest of the afternoon, if you want."

"If you give me your telephone number, I'll call you. It'll be a little while until mine is installed, but they'll have them at work."

"I don't have such a thing," Gael said, stepping away, ashamed to be poor, thinking about what it would be like if Jack ever saw where he lived.

Confused, Jack nodded, "Well, alright then. What about an address so I can send you a note, seeing when I can come call?"

"No," Gael said firmly. "I should go."

"Oh," Jack said, hurt. "It was very nice to meet you, Gael."

"Yeah, Dr. Walker," Gael said, nearly running down the stairs and out the door. By the time he'd made it to the roses, he was feeling like the biggest idiot in the city. He'd left everything he wanted up in that room with no way to go back up and get it.

He huffed as he got ready to start the car. Every task was just as hard as he'd ever found anything. It had to be done, but every movement took him farther from Jack and he didn't know how to go back. He wanted to punch the car, but Alfred would beat his ass for denting it.

So he just put everything he had into that crank, as if he could rip the engine out and beat himself with it. The engine roared to life and he laid his head on the bonnet. He'd ruined everything.

Then he looked up and Jack was sitting in the passenger seat. He looked up a little higher, turning his head, eyeing his passenger like he might not be real.

"You did say we could go driving," Jack said cheerfully

"I did!" Gael said, hurrying to get behind the steering wheel. "I'll show you how fast she goes, how's that?"

"That would be splendid. Also, don't call me Dr. Walker. I'm just Jack."

He'd found an angel. "Jack," he agreed, writing that name into his soul with the light of Jack's smile. "Okay, Jack. Let's go driving."

Jack Walker was never going to be the same. Next to a lake, he sat on a blanket with Gael's head in his lap. Sleeping Gael seemed so young, not like the man with such huge bravado and street smarts now. Marriage had never been something he'd imagined for himself. God had given him a passion for medicine and that was enough, more than many got. Yet here he was, sitting next to the most beautiful lake, having shared intimacy he'd never dreamed possible with the most remarkable and beautiful of men. This was a gift from God, for only the Almighty could move the world in such a way.

Certainly he needed to get to know his Gael more, but as far as Jack was concerned, they were married. Gently, he ran his fingers through those blond curls. They were a touch long, but he couldn't imagine them differently. Before this, Jack had never paid more than a clinical attention to eyes, to anyone's eyes, perhaps in a way of shutting out a world he could not have, but Gael's eyes were the most, utterly breathtaking blue, the very definition of beauty.

If his twin sister Eve could have met Gael, she certainly would have had things to say. Of the two of them, Jack had always considered her to be the better of them. Her loss sat with him as he kept track of the time and the ducks moving around on the pond. He'd never had something more splendid to tell her, so the inability to do so sat with him. In his imagination, he could see his twin sister sitting there too, her long red hair disheveled from whatever she'd been up to, her smile generous and accepting. "It's love, Jackie," he was sure she would have said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

They were going to have to arrange their schedules. He'd have to see about getting a telephone installed in Gael's home so they could speak when they weren't together. In time, when he'd finished his residency, perhaps Gael would be a lawyer by then, and they could set up their practices from the same home. One of them, at least, would have to marry a woman, an understanding and practical woman, to keep up appearances. The place really had to be near a nice little lake just like this.

Perhaps whoever got married, they could adopt children and he could be Uncle Jack or Father, with grand sideburns, and a secret stash of peppermints. Sitting there with Gael on the bank of some lake whose name he did not know was the happiest Jack had ever been. The world was going to be beautiful, every day thereafter.

When the watch ticked quarter-to-four, he laid a hand on his partner's shoulder and gently squeezed. "Gael, it's time."

Whatever Gael replied, it wasn't charitable and it wasn't in English.

Jack thought it was the most beautiful sound. "Perhaps we can go and have some food together?"

"Food," Gael said dreamily. Then his eyes snapped open and he was up on his feet as if he were going to chase white rabbits. He held out his hand to Jack. "We gotta go."

"Do we?" Jack asked, giving his best unpracticed flirty smile.

"We do," Gael groaned. "I have to get to work."

"What kind of work do you do," Jack asked, taking hold of Gael's hand to get up, even though he didn't need it. They'd talked about a fantasy future, but not the present. Once on his feet, he leaned close enough to brush his lips daringly over Gael's, lingering when there was no push back. Gael grabbed him by the back of the head and pressed in, tongue sliding into Jack's mouth, teasing Jack's tongue into dancing.

As if he knew Jack, had known him for years, Gael's hand embraced Jack's rise. To Jack it was a startling and wonderful intimacy that only confirmed that they were destined to be together for life. The kiss settled into Gael's smile against his lips, and a soft whisper. "That's my little devil Cupid."

Still completely on a cloud with joy, he placed both hands on Gael's shoulders and pronounced, "We're going to build the best life together, Gael! You are going to make the best lawyer in the world."

"I thought I was the one dreaming," Gael teased, "Come on, Jack, I have to get to work before I'm in shit I can't get out of."

"Where do you work? Do you work as a law clerk," Jack said.

"Uh," Gael said, straightening his hat, "I'm an odd jobs guy. I take care of guests and run errands, mostly."

"Honest work is honest work. We will get you into law school. I'll help you. I want to see your dreams come true."

"You are my dream," Gael said, a hand on the car's bonnet, smiling wistfully. He gave the crank a good turn, starting the car.

Jack didn't think the trip back into the city took nearly as long as he wished it would. He'd hardly had a chance to say anything else and they were back in front of the boarding house. "When will I see you again?"

"I'll come see you as soon as I can Jack."

"You can always mail me a message at the hospital or here. You've got this address, yes?"

"I got your address. I'll come as soon as I can. I'm going to have to settle some things before it's safe for me to come back."

"So the day after tomorrow? How can I contact you?"

"As soon as I can, Jack. You'll have to trust me and be patient."

"I do trust you, Gael. I love you."

"Well, then," Gael said, head going light, throat dry. "I'm real taken with you too, but you might want to get to know me a bit more, just because I'm the first guy, you know, that doesn't mean you can't do better. You're a doctor. I'm an errand boy."

"Don't talk about yourself like that," Jack said, "You are brilliant. I can tell. You are my first and my only."

"Don't be childish," Gael snapped. "New York isn't a fairytale and it isn't Kansas. If we're honest, I'm not worth your time, Jack."

Jack scowled. "I'm not childish. How old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen," Gael said proudly. "Wait till you've been here a week and see how people feel about Irish. Your landlady is common. Get out, Jack. I have got to get to work and like I said, this ain't a fucking fairytale."

As Gael drove away, Jack knew he'd see him again. The day after tomorrow, he'd see him and they'd talk this through.

Jack slept, had pleasant dreams, then went to the first day of his residency, which lasted what felt like a hundred years. It was three days later that he got to go home for a few hours of sleep in a real bed. There were no messages from Gael, but he was too tired to do anything about it.

Surely his love would find him at the hospital the following day.

Except he didn't.

There were also no messages, but there was a polio outbreak and mumps.

It was four days later that he got home again. There were still no messages. At his most tired, he could hear his father's voice telling him that it was nonsense, that a man accepted the truth of the world and moved on. It wasn't like his father was ever, ever going to know about Gael or the utter wonderful beauty of his touch. That thought sent him into a twelve hour nap with lovely dreams.

When he woke, he was more determined than ever. He had the whole day off. He shaved, spent just a moment thinking about how nice his sideburns were going to look when he did get to start a family. First things first though! Hat on neatly trimmed red hair, he set off in search of Gael McNeil.

The first real lesson of the day was that New York was big without a car. After a couple of miles, while still finding himself in the same residential neighborhood, he got lucky and got a ride in the back of a wagon. The closer they got to the city itself, the more cars there were, the more shops, and people on the street. Everything was new and wonderful. He wasn't even really paying attention to where the wagon was going, just soaking in all the splendidly new world of New York.

Without hardly knowing how he'd gotten there, he found himself at the docks. Having never actually been to the ocean, he fairly leaped out of the back of the wagon. The air smelled heavier somehow, unknown things layering over other things, mixed in with soot, sweat, and cigarette smoke. At the edge of the pier, he could look down at dark churling water, a slow movement to it, almost like the Earth herself was breathing. New York was full of things that Kansas barely dreamt of.

Seemingly the only person who wasn't working, he strolled in front of warehouses, places of manufacture, various groups of men moving through the workflow that men who work with their hands do. It was fascinating!

He bought a hotdog and a glass of lemonade. There was no reason for it to taste entirely differently than those from home, but it did. It was unbearably delicious and he considered that he might need to be mindful of his waistline. Just as he put the last bit in his mouth, he felt very determined. He would walk every street in New York until he found Gael. He would spend every free day looking for him until he found him.

Then a man screamed in Irish, well, it wasn't so much the scream, as the words that came after. It was an entirely different context than when Gael had said them, but he knew them nonetheless, as long as he didn't have to say them. Moving with a very quick step, he returned the glass to the hotdog seller and went in the direction of the Irish.

What he found was certainly not Gael, but a group of men built more like Atlas than Apollo. One man sat to the side, face pale, shoulder clearly dislocated. That would be a problem to solve. The activity was mostly around a very large crate that had fallen on the leg of another man, which was much more problematic as the edge of the crate went all the way to the cobblestone path beneath him. The other men were about to lift the crate, so Jack ran. "No! Wait!"

They looked at him, quickly decided he wasn't the supervisor and went back to what they were doing. Jack tried his best to repeat some of the words Gael had said, not even knowing what they meant, but following them up with, "Wait! Please."

"What you want, English?" One of the closer men said, dark hair and a ruddy face, a nose broken enough times to give it a lightening shape.

"Doctor," Jack said. He pointed at his chest, "Dr. Walker." He bent over and touched a finger tip in a splatter of blood, them mimicked lifting the box, shook his bloody fingertip at them, then spread his hands apart, "Blood!"

Lightening nose shrugged and scowled.

Jack pulled his belt off, showing it to them, before working his way in and using it as a tourniquet on the man's leg. The man was unconscious, which was probably a blessing. Jack tightened it as much as he could and made a raising motion. The crate lifted.

Lips pressed thin, Jack gently touched the leg. "Ice. Is there any ice?"

One of the other men nodded and ran off. Jack checked the man's pulse, opened and looked at one eye, which was rolled so far back there was nothing, but white.

A little girl ran up then, maybe ten, but somehow looking more adult than Jack thought he'd ever been. She knelt by the unconscious man, her hand on his cheek as she silently prayed.

"Do you speak English," he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Will Papa be okay?"

"Good Lord willing, I hope so. Will you please ask these men if there is a blanket to wrap him in? We need to keep his leg chill, but wrap him in a blanket around his shoulders. He needs to go to the hospital."

She repeated that just as the man who went for ice came back, axe still in hand. He had a cotton back of ice chunks.

"Very good," Jack said.

Another man had a couple of blankets and a wagon was already arriving. Jack helped roll the man and use one of the blankets as a stretcher. the other wrapped around him. The ice when around the damaged shin, to slow the bleeding that was bound to continue over the bumpy road.

As soon as that was resolved, he moved to the man with the dislocated shoulder. "I'm Dr. Walker," he said as he approached. "I'd like to examine your shoulder."

"How much money?" The man said, dark eyes looking up at Jack with unnerving desperation.

"None. I am just fortunate to be here to help."

Those dark distrustful eyes narrowed. "Later?"

"No charge, free. May I help with your shoulder?"

The man gave a curt nod.

"Thank you." Jack very gently examined the shoulder by touch. "It is dislocated. This may hurt just a bit, but I am going to put it back in place for you. Will that be alright?"

"Probably better than hitting a wall," the man growled.

"Very well." Just like he'd done it a hundred times, Jack took hold of the man's shoulder, with a sharp and precise roll and jerk, he had it back in place with barely more than a grunt from the man. "There you are. Are you in pain elsewhere?"

Rolling his shoulder gingerly, he said, "I am well. Thank you. I want to pay you. I am Ian."

"That's very kind," Jack said, "I am looking for a gentleman, Gael McNeil?"

There was a snort of abruptly swallowed laughter behind him. Ian stood up, held out his hand to shake.

Which Jack was happy to take. "It's nice to meet you Ian."

"Your boy, about this tall, blue eyes, yellow curls almost like a girl?"

Nodding, Jack said, "Yes. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Yeah," Ian said. "Jake! Get a wagon, take Dr. Walker to Alfred's."

"Yes, sir," the teenage boy said, running to do as he was told.

"If you listen to me, you don't go in there. It's dangerous," then with a disgusted curl of lip, "unclean."

"Thank you so much, Ian. I work at the hospital, most days. If you ever need any medical help, please don't hesitate." And just like that, Jack was off to Alfred's.