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I feel dizzy with relief. I am practically slumped over in my chair, devoid of all ladylike manners. It is as if I was carrying a yolk around my neck for the past week and someone has finally lifted it off. I need a massage, a vacation, or at very least a drink. I am seconds away from suggesting it when I remember that there is a recovering alcoholic in the room.

Looks like I will be drinking alone tonight.

Still, after so much stress, the idea has appeal.

Brendan is seated to my left, his head practically in his lap, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Did you see it, baby?" he is asking into the receiver. His face is split virtually down the middle with a huge grin. "I know," he is saying. "He did great."

Paddy is ringing his newsboy cap in his hands. It is probably bent completely out of shape by now. He does not seem like he cares at all. He is shuffling around, burning off nervous energy.

"Tommy did it," he says to no one in particular.

I feel a sudden stab of affection for him.

"Your boy did good," I pat his back.

"It'll be our turn next pop." Brendan hangs up his phone. He still looks elated.

"You'll coach us too?" Paddy asks, a tone of desperation in his voice.

"Of course," if my smile does not quite reach my eyes, no one notices. Paddy and Brendan are happily chatting away. I feel exhausted. The idea of flopping into bed or taking a long hot bath are so appealing right now, I would happily pay for the privilege.

The two men hurry out of the door, shouting their thanks back to me. I know they are going to talk to Tommy. I do not bother following. Instead, I kick my shoes off in the blessedly empty room, throw my feet up on the chair next to me and rest my eyes.

Despite my attempt to relax, I begin pulling apart Tommy's interview in my mind. The first 15 minutes of the show were hell; my stomach was clenched in knots, my muscles balled tight. Every commercial break felt like an eternity, but finally, Tommy's interview arrived.

As he was introduced, the show cut to a split screen with the satellite image of Tommy on the left and the impeccable Anderson Cooper on the right. Tommy looked as unaffected as ever, though I was pleased to see he had straightened up in his chair. Anderson started off with the basics, a short explanation as to who Tommy was, and a brief video montage of his fights during Sparta. Then the questions began. His camp had emailed a list of nearly 50 potential questions that might be asked. But ultimately, it was the reporter's choice. Cooper did not disappoint.

"Mr. Conlon," he had begun. Tommy interrupted.

"Tommy is fine, sir," he said.

"Tommy then," Cooper looked amused but quickly sobered. "Tell us what led to your decision to desert?"

There was a silence where I feared that Tommy would not answer. Then he began.

"When you're over there, the Corp, they become your brothers." He shifted slightly in his chair, "You live with those people, you eat with those people, you even kill with them. They're you're family. And in my case, you know, that was almost literally true. I'd spent years with them. And to see them get wiped out, I was prepared for that. We were ready for the possibility that an enemy might pop out, kill us at anytime. That a bomb might go off, a suicide bomber might take us out." He trailed off for a moment, "But we weren't ready for that. We weren't trained for that, you know?"

"You are talking about the incident with the friendly fire?" Anderson prompted him to continue.

"Yeah. It was a pretty normal day. We thought we were in the clear. We were ready to head back to base, and it started. Bombs raining down everywhere, bullets. We could see the planes, we knew they were American. We were waving our flags. Guys that I knew for years were falling around me, blood everywhere." He broke off again, licked his lips. "And Manny and I, we were running, screaming, and then it happened. Bullets went right through him. He fell, hit me and we both went down. We were the last two. The planes left, but it wasn't over. Manny was bleeding, coughing, asking for his wife." Tommy's eyes were shiny. He focused on a place on the ground. Anderson gave him a second to get himself together. "What do you tell your friend," Tommy asked, "when he's screaming for his family and you're in the middle of some desert, trying to stop him from bleeding with just your hands? How do you sleep at night when everyone's dead, and just you survived? When you have to walk out of the desert and leave the bodies of your friends out in the sun for the birds? And what do you tell yourself when the people who did that are supposed to be your brothers?"

Anderson did not have an answer. "We are being told that the Marines are launching an investigation into how it happened."

"Doesn't bring anyone back," Tommy shrugged. "I'm not making excuses for what I did. I deserted. It was wrong and I know that. I take responsibility. But they need to, too." Tommy looked into the camera. "Those families? They're owed an explanation. A real one, not some impersonal apology note and some battered dog tags."

Just thinking about his words gives me chills. When the interview ended, the whole room was silent. The moment the camera was off though, the crew in the room with Tommy gave him a round of applause that we could hear through the wall. My phone is still exploding with text messages, some no doubt from Gavin and maybe a few from my producer. I will answer them later. I just need a moment.

There had only been enough time for one question. Tommy had answered it with the brutal honestly I expected, but also a vulnerability I thought he would try his hardest to hide. It is a side I have only been privileged enough to get glimpses of, and he just put it on display for the whole country. I will need to get the tape of that interview. I make a mental note to email Cooper's people for it. But it can wait until morning.

I resign myself to a few minutes more work. I put my uncomfortable shoes back on and totter back next door. The crew is packing up lights and cables and dragging them back outside to their truck. I slide in past them. One lone man remains, Mr. Uppity-Cameraman, his camera rolling and pointed at something in the middle of the room. I slowly approach and peak behind him.

What I see nearly floors me. Paddy and his sons are locked into what could only be described as the manliest group hug I have ever seen. I do not know what brought it on, but I feel incredibly humbled to just be witnessing it. Tommy is in the middle, sandwiched between his big brother and his father. I cannot be sure, but I think they might be crying. Even the cameraman seems to realize that this is a private family moment. He switches off his camera and slowly begins to back out of the room. He throws me a final look over his shoulder as he leaves, giving me a respectful nod. The door shuts behind him and I am left alone with the Conlon men. I contemplate following the CNN crew out, but Paddy calls me name.

"Nicole," he gestures wildly towards me, beckoning me towards them. I shake my head, but then Brendan joins in. I approach slowly, the way someone might approach a wild animal.

All at once I am being sucked in, like their hug is a black hole. It is dark and I cannot tell one person from the other. I reach around tentatively, grasping an arm and someone else's back. The smells of Old Spice deodorant and the scent of cologne I cannot quite place overwhelm my senses. I am trapped between three men that I did not even know knew how to hug or even express emotion.

"I have to get back," Brendan pulls away first. "Tess and the girls are waiting for me." He looks seconds away from crying. "But we'll see you tomorrow, before we leave, all right Tommy?" He looks at his little brother, their arms still around one another.

"See you tomorrow." Tommy pulls him in for one last hug. The two stare at one another for a long moment.

"Pop?" Brendan says finally. Paddy nods, embraces his youngest son and then heads out of the door with his eldest.

"See you back at the hotel, Nicole." Brendan calls as they leave.

The door swings shut and it is just Tommy and I.

"You did really well, Tommy," I tell him. We are standing alone in the room, facing each other.

"Yeah, that's what Brendan and Pop said." He looks uncomfortable with the praise, but happy.

"I'm proud of you," I say honestly. He smiles, looking so boyish that I feel my heart swell.

His eyes are a little puffy around the edges. I can see faint tear stains cutting down his cheeks. That he can find a reason to smile at all, especially with his trial impending, moves me. Without thinking I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. I can feel the muscles in his back flex under my palms as he moves his right arm. His left arm, still sore, hangs loosely at our sides, but the right encircles me tightly. His hand grasps my waist. I press my face into the warm cotton of his shirt, feeling the soft texture against my cheek. His chin comes to rest on my shoulder and he leans down, burying his face in my hair. I vaguely reflect that washing it this morning was an excellent idea.

We stay locked like this for a few moments, just basking in the silence. I can hear his heartbeat; it pounds a strong, steady rhythm beneath my cheek. After all he has been through, he is alive, and for the first time since we met, he looks like he realizes it.

"Thank you," his voice is so soft it startles me. His mouth is pressed near my ear. I can feel the slight pressure of his lips on the sensitive skin there.

"Of course." I nod against his chest.

"And for helping Pop too. And Brendan."

I continue to nod. I am feeling overemotional. If I do not get control soon, I will be sobbing into his shirt. Pulling myself together, I finally disengage from his embrace. He allows me to step back, but keeps a light grip on my waist.

"Your trial is Monday." I know that he is aware of this, but I need to say something.

"Pop and Brendan are going to be in New York for that show." He says. It is clear that he is anxious about this.

"I'll be here." I tell him.

"They're not going to let me see you, after tonight." He swallows hard. "They're only allowing immediate family tomorrow, and then no one." He has a weekend of hellish anticipation ahead of him.

"But after the trial," I am trying to sound confident, but a sense of panic is snaking its way into me, "I'll see you."

"If you're still here." When I look a bit affronted, he clarifies. "I mean, depending on how the trial goes, I might be free to walk or…"

"I'll see you Monday," I say. My hand slides down to his at my waist. I give it a firm squeeze. "Right after your trial ends."

"All right," he is trying to hide his smile.

"Ah ha!" I triumphantly gesture with my free hand, "That's two smiles in one day."

He tries to coax his face back to indifference but fails miserably.

"It's a special occasion," he says seriously but the grin remains.

"I told you your smile would be beautiful," I mean to sound teasing but I actually mean it. It is not very conventional; his teeth are not perfectly straight, lending his grin a lopsided tilt. But it is uniquely his. I will have to keep in contact with him and find ways to bait him for his smile more often.

Tommy blushes again. His modesty never fails to surprise me. He looks down at the floor, shifting his grip around my waist. My skin seems to tingle at his touch. I suddenly become aware that if someone were to walk in on us now, our behavior would certainly not look professional. Perhaps Tommy comes to this realization as well because he is looking at me hard, his ears still tinged pink.

He unexpectedly leans forward while simultaneously jerking my hips toward him. His lips come crashing down on mine. I freeze up, mentally weighing the pros and cons of kissing him back. Certainly the action would be unprofessional, but we have been slowly crossing that line anyway over the past few days. Besides, I am not even working, so it is not a conflict of interest.

The most important point, however, is that I want to kiss him. So for once, I stop thinking and just go with it.

The kiss is relatively tame, a chaste, closed mouth affair. But just the feeling of his lips, so warm and firm, makes me want more. I am tempted to pull him closer to me but the sound of loud footsteps coming down the hall stops me. We jump apart with only a second to spare. Jeremy has come bursting through the door with a few other Marines in tow. If they notice anything unusual they do not comment. In fact, I might as well be invisible; they crowd around Tommy. I take the opportunity to step back and compose myself. It was just a kiss after all, but my breathing is labored and I feel as though I have run a mile. Tommy looks more put together than I am, but I suppose he is more adapt at disguising his emotions.

"Do you need someone to escort you out, Miss Ryan?" a blonde Marine is asking politely.

I know an invitation to leave when I hear one.

"I'll be fine, thank you." I have to marvel at my own ability to keep my voice even.

"I'll see you Monday," Tommy tells me. He sounds so casual.

"Monday," I confirm.

I am still shaking as I walk outside to my car.