Translations:

Deartháir… tá súilaithne agam ort Brother… I know you can

Go gcoinní Dia i mbosa a láimhe thú. May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Beyond Repair

"Giddy get up… Giddy, get up," Aidan repeated from the other side of the door. He knocked again, still no answer. "Listen you stubborn Irish bastard, you've been in this God Damned room for near a month now… get up!" he bellowed at the door trying to reason with him. Aidan listened at the door… still nothing, just the sound of his older brother repositioning himself on the bed. "Deartháir…tá súilaithne agam ort" He said softly resting his forehead on the door.

It is hard to give up on ones brother. Ever since the 'accident', as the others calls it, Aidan was at Gideon's door asking him to come out every morning. One would even say begging- if they did not know him better. Ever since Aidan was younger he seemed to depend on Gideon, even if it was a silent dependency. No matter how long the door would be closed or how long his brother would sulk Aidan would not rest. It was his fault his brother was blind. He should have stopped them; he should have made sure they were home earlier. He didn't, and now he was forced to pay the consequences… a blind brother who was stubborn as a mule, with words that could kick like one also.

"I brought you breakfast," he said then headed down the hallway leaving the tray of cold oatmeal by the door.

"Aidan…. c'mere boy," Mike McGloin called to him when he walked down the stairs. Mike McGloin- he was a dangerous man. He would stab a man in the eye just for looking at him. Aidan let go of the door handle and walked over to the table he was playing poker at and cleared his throat. Mike glanced up then smirked back down at his hand. "He eating today?" he asked from around a cigar stub clenched in his teeth.
"I don't know, Sir," Aidan said trying to sound less concerned then he was.

"Well… it's hard on him." He said. "My pap was blind towards the end…and he was a stubborn ol' git 'til the day I killed him," he said, his Wexford accent coming out more when he talked of the old man. "Go gcoinní Dia i mbosa a láimhe thú…" Mike said taking a hold of his cross necklace. He gave it a small kiss then looked up the heavens to bless his father.

Mike played his hand and smirked that he had won again; he knew all the men were letting him win but that's how the game is played. He was the best. "I need you to do something for me today Mcfee," Mike said not looking up as he collected his earnings and shoved them in his pocket. He got up and put his hand on Aidan's back walking with him towards the front door. "There is a man by the name of Shooter Fallon…"

"Shooter?" Aidan asked he knew that name. Everyone in Manhattan knew that name.

"Yes, do I have a stutter? Shooter- Shooter!" Mike snapped then clapped a hand on his back again. "I need you to go to him and give him a message."

"That's Gid-

"- Must you back talk everything I ask?"
"Sorry Sir," Aidan said quickly and looked away from the older man in front of him.

Mike grinned again and took an envelope out of his vest handing it to him. "I wouldn't let me own Mother read that note- you got me?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

Aidan nodded once and tucked it in his vest.

"I asked you a question,"

"I heard you," Aidan said pulling the door open and walking out. Mike stood there for a few moments after the door had slammed in his face. "Did you see that boys? No one slams a door in my face accept for him. A boy has more balls then the miscreants' of New York," he chuckled and walked towards the kitchen liking the fire in Aidan when he was hurting. Imagine what he would be able to do when he was hurt beyond repair.