Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It was cold, New York in the winter, much colder than winters at home. David gave a small smile at the thought; even though he’d lived in the United States for over forty years now, he still thought of Wales as home. And yet, he had no desire to return there. Why was that he wondered? It probably just proved what a sentimental old fool he’d become.
He slipped suddenly, almost losing his footing on a patch of sheet ice. He righted himself carefully, heart racing a little as he clung for dear life to the side of an overflowing dumpster. It was treacherous walking in these alleys and back streets. Few of them were cleared of ice and snow, and the sun couldn’t penetrate these narrow passages enough during the day to make a difference. Despite them being less than twenty yards away from the bustling main streets of Manhattan it was like another world. It didn’t look like this one had been cleared of garbage for quite a while either. All the dumpsters looked to be full, and they stank, even on a cold night like this one. Not a good thing when you considered the number of trendy bars and very expensive restaurants these rear kitchen exits belonged to. There had to be vermin…
Not his problem.
He released his grip on the steaming dumpster, checking the soft brown leather of his gloves for detritus before carefully picking up the two large holdalls he’d been carrying. Then, cautiousley, he made his way down the alley, concentrating on where he was walking, instead of musing on thoughts of where he belonged. That could wait until he was back in his apartment, warm and showered, with a brandy to hand to banish the last of the chill from his bones. For now he had work to do.
Miriam had acquired a plastic tiara, a children’s fancy dress item by the looks of it, that had snapped somewhere near the middle, been repaired, and was attached to her green bobble hat by what looked like used packing tape. The tape was probably ripped from the collection of boxes that she’d shaped into her night's shelter.
David crouched down in front of her, his knees protesting slightly at the strain, and tipped his hat to her.
“Hello there Miriam,” he smiled. “I like your tiara.”
The smile she gave him in return showed more gaps than teeth, and she reached into her little shelter, pulling out a stick with a glittery silver star at the end. She narrowed her eyes in a look of concentration and tapped him on the shoulder with what, he then realised, was a wand.
“I’m hoping you’ve turned me into a virile young prince,” he told her, “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to find my skin green and my feet webbed.”
She laughed, not making a sound.
He’d never known her to speak, but her shoulders shook with mirth, and the rheumy grey eyes crinkled at the corners. He wondered what she’d looked like when she was young, before the ravages of street life had taken their toll on her. It was almost impossible to imagine now, except for her eyes... She had the kindest eyes.
“It’s a cold night Miriam,” he told her, digging into the heaviest of his bags, “I thought you might be able to use an extra blanket.” He pulled one out and handed it over, together with a packet of sandwiches from the other bag.
When he’d first started doing this he’d misguidedly handed out money, but he’d soon discovered his error. Money didn’t go on a hot drink, or a bed for the night, it went on alcohol and drugs, or it was taken from the weak by the strong. It was a hard learned lesson the night it was taken from him. A night he would never forget. He had been left beaten and bloody in a dark, wet alley until he was found by a young policewoman.
Officer Diane Jolly, over coffee and a very nice slice of cheesecake a day or two later, had put him right over a few things. She’d suggested far more practical ways for him to help the homeless than handing out money, and she had managed to do it without making him feel too much of an idiotic old fool.
These days they met for cheesecake every Wednesday, her treat, and had dinner once a month, his treat, though she refused to go anywhere she deemed ‘too fancy’. If it wasn’t for the fact that she refused to call him David, insisting instead on calling him "Prof", Officer Jolly would be well on her way to being the daughter that he’d never known he wanted. Instead she was his buddy, which he supposed would have to do.
David exhausted his supply of blankets fairly quickly and the packs of sandwiches not long after. He wished that he were able to carry more, do more for these people, but realistically he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t have the resources to do more, and frankly he didn’t have the energy. As much as he hated to admit it, he was no spring chicken these days.
He made his way back, the cold already biting at his bones. The weatherman had warned of a severe temperature drop in the early hours of the morning and you could feel it on the way. The likelihood of some of tonight’s unfortunates never seeing the dawn disturbed him, despite knowing it wasn’t something he could prevent.
Although he was only a few blocks away from his apartment building David always used his car on these delivery runs. It meant he didn’t have to carry his heavy bags too far before he’d even started, and on cold nights like this the heater was always welcome, even if it did make him feel incredibly guilty at times.
As he was about to round the corner that led him away from the back streets and alleys, and was just a stones throw away from where his car was parked, he heard the sounds of a scuffle from nearby. There were shouts, angry raised voices that spoke a language he didn’t understand, but was fairly certain had to be Eastern European.
He followed the sounds of the commotion towards a group of smartly dressed and somewhat menacing looking men. They were circling another man, homeless judging by the state of him. They were pushing him from one to the other, sneering, clearly angry, their slaps and punches becoming increasingly more violent as the mob mentality took over.
David heard one of the attackers say something that sounded like “F.S.B not so fucking tough!” as he landed a hard kick to the small of his victim's back, that sent the man sprawling into the arms of one of the others. That man grabbed handfuls of his victim’s long, unkempt, dark hair and slammed his head down onto a waiting knee, forcing a cry of pain from the previously silent man. He was knocked to the floor and tried desperately to protect himself as the group moved in, raining merciless kicks down on him.
“Stop that! Leave that man alone!” David shouted, as he hurried towards them.
Diane Jolly’s regular admonishments to stay out of this kind of situation were reduced to a nagging voice in the back of his mind saying, ‘You’re gonna get yourself killed you old fool!’
To his surprise the men stopped and turned to look at him. One of them addressed him in what he was certain this time was Russian. That it was a threat that he uttered was clear from the expression on his face, even if David didn’t understand the language. Then he turned back to the downed man and aimed a kick at his head.
“Get away from him and get out of here!” David tried again. “I’ve called the police on the lot of you!” he lied.
The notion that these men could very easily turn around and also attack him occurred to David almost as soon as the words left his mouth, but to his relief they hesitated. One of them turned and started moving away.
“Know your place, you piece of shit!” another called out in heavily accented English, before letting loose a last, half-hearted kick to the man’s abdomen. The remainder of the group spat at the fallen man, and for some reason that incensed David even more than the beating.
As they all finally turned and sprinted away, he gave no more thought to them, rushing over to their motionless victim instead, dropping awkwardly to his knees so that he could assess the extent of his injuries. His car wasn’t far away, and he had left his cell phone inside it, he’d contact the paramedics from there once he…
The man groaned in pain.
“It’s alright, they’re gone,” David assured him, “You’re safe now.” The young man was truly filthy, and the stink coming off him made David want to gag.
A stream of Russian slipped from the man’s lips and although David didn’t understand a word, the pain, and surprisingly the anger, was more than evident. He looked to see if those things were reflected in the man’s face but most of his features were hidden behind an unkempt mass of matted, long, dark hair.
“Do you speak English?” David asked him gently, and to his relief he received a nod of reply.
“Thank heavens. You have nothing to be afraid of I’m not going to hurt you. My name is David Williams, I’m a doctor. I just want to take a quick look at you and we’ll send for an ambulance, you’re going to be…”
“Niet!” The man tried to move away from him, though the movement clearly caused him pain. “No, not ambulance, I don’t need… d-don’t want…”
He slowly began to pull himself to his knees, his body shaking with the effort. “Just… Stay away from me,” he told David in heavily accented English. He was swaying, even on his knees, but he staggered awkwardly to his feet.
The fact that David caught him as his legs gave way was nothing short of a miracle, but catch him he did, supporting him until the man managed to get his feet beneath him once more.
“You need help, you can’t stay here,” David told the shadowed face. “Will you let me help you?”
“Why?”
It seemed the strangest thing to ask.
“Because you need it.”
“Good S-Samaritan,” there was a hint of amusement in the pained voice.
“If you like. Do you want some help?”
“No hospital? Just you?”
Reluctantly David was forced to agree. It was an issue he couldn’t force, and he wouldn’t leave the man here, even though he was severely limited in what he could do for him. He understood the fear the majority of the homeless had for hospitals, they lived this way for a reason. So many of them were running away from something, many had severe mental health problems coupled with alcohol or drug dependency. As long as they weren’t a nuisance they were allowed to slip under the radar by the authorities, and were not the focus of individual and unwelcome attention.
Knowing all of this, ignoring the nagging voice that was screaming at the stupid risk he was taking, David more or less supported the limping, injured man as he guided him on a slow and exhausting walk to the car. There was a moment, just a moment, where the effete snob in David cringed at the thought of this stinking, wet, filthy individual soiling the pearl grey leather interior of his beloved Jaguar, guiltily wondering if he would ever be able to get the smell out. The caring man took over however, and shook his head in disgust as he helped the injured man into the passenger seat.
David felt sure that his passenger would pass out during the drive to his apartment. He would have liked to turn the car around and take him straight to the hospital, where he would be sure of getting the help he needed, but he was fairly certain that the man suspected that might be his intention and was therefore hanging onto consciousness with what David already recognised as a considerable force of will.
They pulled into the basement car park of his apartment building and, as he helped his charge out of the car, David found himself grateful for the proximity of his particular slot to the elevator.
The man leaned against the side of the Jaguar for support and was illuminated by the lights in the underground garage. David saw for the first time just how young the man was, early thirties at a guess. He was tall too, over six feet, and he was able to catch a glimpse of the battered and bloody face beneath the hair. His gaze was met by one eye swollen almost shut, the other dark and fighting to focus on him.
“I should go,” the accented voice was soft, but surprisingly deep.
“I thought we had a deal, I thought you had agreed to let me help you,” David reminded him gently.
“No one can help me. You don’t know…”
He broke off, frowning heavily, and David noticed a rivulet of blood move slowly down beside his right ear.
“I know we need to get you inside before you pass out on me.” He moved beside the young man to lend his support once again. “Almost there now, we just need to get into the elevator. I have the fourth floor.”
David didn’t get any kind of reaction so he tried again. “Come on, come up to the apartment and let me see if I can help. At the very least it’s warm up there.”
“You… You should not invite strangers into your home.”
David smiled, finding the warning strange and oddly rather endearing. “I know, but just this once I’m willing to take the risk. Are you coming?”
His words didn’t seem to cheer the young man, but he gave a slight nod, moving away from the car and allowing David to support him as they made their way to the elevator.
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