Charlie Bird, you're so honest it hurts. Actually, it doesn't hurt, it feels rather good, and I appreciate it more than you'd believe. Everything you said was exactly what I thought, but I figured I would give it the go-aheadregardless even if the end of the first part didn't exactly click for me. This entire story feels terribly skeletal for me, but what the hell, I might flesh it out later. Thanks so much, your comments always help. That's the best gift for a want-to-be writer.

entropic order, I am so glad you decided to read this fic and then review it. Apparently it got 36 hits but only 6 reviews. Watch this fast math: that's 1 review for every6 readers (you won't ever see math that quick from me again). I always love when people drop me a good little line. Thanks so much.

Liams Kitten: Hope this part satisfies your curiousity and ties up all those loose ends that might be visible to you. Also hope that you like this conclusion. Happy reading!

PeliculaJane -- Sparkling is just a smashing word. Glad you felt it could be used in reference to this here fic I wrote at work (at work!). I pray that this last part doesn't let you down. Frankly, I like it much better than the first part, but who the hell knows. Hopefully it sparkles for you as well.

Kid Blink's Dreamer: I absolutely hate to say this, but the other part was just the beginning, and now this is just the end. I would have written more, but it would have just gotten crappy. College has just sucked the life out of me and my creative genes are all ashambles. I'm trying for something a bit longer than just two parts next times, so wish me luck, eh?

And last but not least, to my darling Jilly: gimme a call sometime and we'll have a chat at Starbucks ... it's difficult not living above one now like I did in New York. Love you endlessly.

The Night the Lights Went Out in NYC

Part Two of Two

Everything stopped at once – the microwave, the television, the lights. It was sunset, and I threw open the windows of my apartment on the fifteenth floor. Outside the city was as hot as an oven.

No lights anywhere. What the hell was this, some kind of huge practical joke? The streets began to clog with cars and with people on foot, and I realised that there must be no power at all in the city; I had barely any time at all to think before my cell phone rang. The number was unfamiliar and although I usually left unknown numbers for the voicemail, I felt some pull to answer.

"Anthony?"

"Sean?"

"I can't get back to Brooklyn – the subways are down and I have my stuff with me. I never expected to have to ask you –"

"Where are you? I'll come get you," I volunteered.

"The Astor Place downtown station." As if he needed to make amends, he said, "I'm sorry."

"I'll see you in twenty minutes."

No elevator and fifteen flights of stairs let me know, quickly, just how out of shape I had let myself become. Working as a new stockbroker did not leave me time to boost my physical fitness, however, and I suddenly realized the toll it had taken on my. In a flash, I hated my life and all the useless work I had done.

I had to fight my way to Sean who was sitting on the balcony surrounding the gaping whole of the stairs. People were pouring out of the station and I shouted for him. When our eyes met he leapt down and pushed his way to me.

"Where are your bags?"

"I travel light," he said, turning to reveal a backpack, almost yelling above the din of the crowd. "Listen, if I'm inconveniencing you —"

"Follow me," I called, and reached to take his hand. He pulled back instantly, then allowed our palms to touch. His hand was much rougher than I remembered and I could feel the calluses on his fingers.

Together we struggled through the thousands, perhaps millions, who'd filled the streets and knew themselves to be lost. We were lucky to have to place, close, to which to return. I was glad that Sean was with me. Fifteen flights of stairs, I noticed, did not wind him.

The air conditioning had long since passed away, of course, and it was hotter in my apartment than it was outside. I flopped down on the couch. Sean followed suit.

"I thought you'd have been gone by now." I said.

He shrugged. "I wanted to hang around a bit before I went back. If Michael and I really are going to save for our pub, I don't know if I'll ever see New York again."

"You could really do that? Leave for good, I mean?"

"I think it's about time I move forward and stop looking back. I told Mam. She understands, too."

"So you're really that happy in Ireland?"

"I'm happy with Michael, and he's happy in Ireland."

I was silent. If I looked at him again, I knew, with terrible certainty, that I'd fall in love with him again.

No. I already had.

"So you own this place?" he asked.

"I have a controlled rent."

"Split it with anybody?"

"I live alone."

I could feel his eyes on me. Oh, God, I'd forgotten, forgotten what it was like, what he was like. Why had he come back into my life like this?

"What?" he asked.

"I didn't say anything."

"Aye, but you want to. What is it?"

"Do you really honestly love Michael?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What are you on about?"

"Nothing. I'm glad you're happy at last."

"Thank you."

"What are you going to call your pub?"

"Sean Dempsey's. It's my name and Michael's surname. Sounds nice, no?" He paused. "Tell me something about you."

"There's nothing to tell."

"What have you done with your life?"

"Not much, that's for damn certain."

"Something, at least?"

"I work on Wall Street as a stockbroker."

"Always one to gamble with money."

"This time it's not my own, though. I don't have much of my own. I always wanted horses but that's a stupid dream."

"It's not stupid. You should try for it."

"There's no use. This apartment costs too much and I don't make nearly enough."

"You sound miserable."

"I never stopped hoping that you'd come back, one day." I told him suddenly. There was a burning behind my eyes.

"How does it feel, then?"

"What?"

"That I'm back, under all these terrible circumstances."

"Oh, no, these are miracles that've brought you back."

He let me take his hand and push my fingers through his.

"I meant it when I said it," he told me softly.

"What?"

"When I said I loved you, all those years ago," he whispered.

I turned to look at him, and his blue eyes were not full of malice or deceit. There was honestly, and sadness, and a childhood he had buried along with his mother.

"Sean," I said, leaning toward him. I could feel his breath on my neck, could smell the sour alcohol on it. For a moment I paused, embarrassed by my former self, but when my lips met his, my old cover fell away and there was only him and me alone together.

He did not kiss back and I put my hand on the nape of his neck which was covered in soft down. The skin of his face was smooth against my cheek as he, confused and unmoving and stoic, let me touch him, caress him, kiss him. Then, with an intensity that took me by surprise, he answered back, and opened his lips like a flower against mine. I felt him tug at my shirt and I pulled away and gasped for breath as I slid it over my head.

In the darkness of my apartment we lay together on the cool floor, against each other, although I dared not violate what was no longer, and would never again be, mine. His hands were hot against my back and our clothes lay in tangles beside us, wet with stifling heat. At long last, he pulled away, and in a breathy low voice said, "I'm leaving tomorrow night."

My eyes were still burning with passion, with anger, with hopelessness and despair and loneliness. "How could you love me and leave me?"

"It was a long time ago," he whispered and put his tender fingers against my chest. He did not meet my eyes.

"What's different now?"

"Och, Anthony," he said and for the first time I could hear Ireland in his voice. "Everything's different. A long time ago I was simple. Now everything's so complicated."

"Did you have other people before Michael?"

"A few. They didn't mean anything," he added. "I only ever loved you, and Michael."

I wanted to cry. "Sean –"

He gently pressed his lips to mine and I could feel his hands on my body. This was my salvation, this simple tangled connection.

"You were my entire reason for life," he whispered and kissed my eyes that were leaking tears without permission. "All I ever had, just not all I ever wanted."

I withered against him, at last devoid of any energy. He put his arms around me and kissed me one last time. Alone together, the night the lights went out in New York City, we lay sleeping on the floor, dreaming each of different lives and different hopes.

………………………………………………

He wasn't there the next morning; all traces of Sean Conlon had disappeared with that chaotic night of complete and total darkness in the city. No note, no call, no nothing. Sometime later, I received a Thank-You card in the mail with an Irish postmark, but the signature was so scribbled that I couldn't be sure Sean had sent it and that it wasn't just some mistake.

I never saw him again after that night, although he was always in my thoughts and part of the foundation of my hopes. But he'd changed me because he himself had been so changed, and I understood that when the lights went out in New York City, we'd found a certain light in each other.