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Chapter 3

January 15th

The next day Tommy woke unusually late. Sunlight was pouring through the windows at the front of the house as he untangled himself from the depths of the couch and stood, clicking his back and rolling his shoulders. The left one was very sore and he winced slightly as he moved it. The girls and Brendan had obviously already gone to school and the house was silent. Tommy checked his watch, twelve thirty. Shit.

He didn't really have any plans for the day or a clear idea about where he wanted to go next. All his thoughts after his discharge from the Marines were about escaping and getting as far away from Camp Georgeas possible in a single drive. He wasn't sure what made him think of Brendan as his first port of call. At this point, he thought bitterly, Brendan was his only port of call, unless you counted Pilar or his dad. It pained him to think how many friends he'd lost on the day Manny died, everyone close to him, the people he could have counted on to stay with on the day of his discharge. He hadn't been to a single one of their funerals, being on the run at the time; traveling slowly back from Iraq, then laying low and erasing any trace of Thomas Conlan's identity. Occasionally in the first few weeks he would see their pictures on the news, videos of grieving parents and wives, the convoy of coffins being repatriated. He'd tried not to watch, seen too much already.

Tommy gloomily poured himself a glass of water. He looked over to his duffle bag on the floor. There were several bottles of pills inside, prescribed to him by the army doctor for the recurring nightmares and other symptoms of what he was now being told was "post traumatic stress disorder". There was also pain medication for his shoulder, which, as Brendan had guessed, hadn't set well after Sparta. The drills his sergeant had set him at the camp hadn't helped much either. Tommy hadn't minded much at the time; he was no stranger to pain or exhaustion and pushing his body past its limits had helped to block out some of the sharper pain.

Seeing his father relapse after over one thousand days of sobriety when he, Tommy was to blame, the pain of seeing Brendan again, being torn so completely between hating the man and missing him. And of course, the shame of failure, loosing Sparta to Brendan; not being able to win for the family who'd supported him, cared for him and taken him in.

Tommy sighed, glancing at the duffle bag again before crossing the room and pulling out the orange pill bottles. The pills winked at him in the light. Tempting. But, he'd already been down that road, relying on sleeping pills and anti-depressants to get him through the day before he started training for Sparta had brought him low. He loathed addiction and despised the addicted, and by extension, himself. Opening all the bottles he emptied each one down the sink and then quickly ran the garbage disposal. His shoulder throbbed again and he looked down, there was still one painkiller left, stuck to the side of the bottle gritting his teeth he put it down the sink too. He sighed and rested his head in his hands tired all over again.

The rest of the day was spent surfing daytime TV channels and walking. Tommy had discovered at Camp George that walking was pretty much the only activity that didn't jolt his shoulder and so did it as much of it as he could. The cold January air felt good against his face, clearing his head at last. He didn't wear his coat or even a sweater as the cold also numbed his shoulder. When it got to three thirty he turned back, heading for Brendan's house and wondering when he would be home.

As it turned out Brendan beat him back. As Tommy turned into the cul de sac he saw Brendan's car in the driveway. The TV was tuned on to the news with the sound turned down; Rosie and Emily were sitting in the kitchen at the breakfast island with cups of juice.

"Hey, I wondered where you were." Said Brendan, turning to smile at him. Tommy chuckled to see that he was wearing bright yellow marigold gloves and doing the washing up. Toughest guy in the world, yeah right.

"Went for a walk" he said, "Could only stand so much daytime TV."

"Dr. Phil not doing it for you?"

"Not so much." Tommy smiled. Rosie slammed down her juice cup.

"Daddy! How come uncle Tommy can watch TV in the day and we can't? And he can watch Dr. Phil? I love that show!" The look of outrage on the eight year old's face had both men in stiches.

"Well honey" said Brendan between chuckles, "Tommy is a grown up so I can't tell him how much TV to watch, and, even though you might like Dr. Phil its just a little too grown up for right now."

"Arg." Grumped Rosie, pouring herself more juice, "I hate being little. Just you wait, one day me and Rosie will boss you guys around."

"Rosie and I" corrected Brendan, ruffling her hair and having his hand swatted immediately. Tommy took a glass from the cupboard and helped himself to some juice sitting opposite the girls at the counter.

"So, how was school?" he asked.

"Totally lame." Answered Rosie. "I got cast as a carrot in the school pageant."

"A carrot?" Tommy's eyebrows shot towards his hairline

"Its harvest themed"

"Right… what's a pageant anyway?" he asked.

Rosie sighed as though he'd asked how the Internet worked. "You dress up as a harvest character and then you say some lines about how you're "healthy" or "historical" or something. Lame." She had a lot of attitude for an eight year old thought Tommy, must come her father's side.

"And you're a healthy harvest vegetable?"

"Absolutely, not like Emily. She's a turnip. That's historical." Historical was obviously her new word for the day and she still had some trouble pronouncing it.

"So what's historical about a turnip Emily?" Tommy asked the shy six year old.

"Ummm… I think they were invented by the Indians." Rosie nudged her.

"Native Americans!" she stage whispered.

"Native American Indians, yeah… they invented them and then gave them to the pilgrims for Thanksgiving." Emily said with conviction.

"Interesting, what else did the Native Americans invent?"

"Turkeys?" asked Emily.

"Don't be silly! God invented turkeys!" chided Rosie. Tommy couldn't stifle a snort of laughter.

"What?" Asked both girls together. But Tommy just smiled and shook his head.

"Nothing, I'm just gonna go help your dad wash up." Standing, he took his cup over to the sink, noticing as he did so that he'd carelessly left all the empty pill bottles on the sideboard that morning.

"They're cute." he said to Brendan who nodded.

"You're good with them, when did that happen?"

"I dunno, spent a lot of time with Pilar and Manny's kids when… y'know."

"Yeah, well, they like you. Rosie likes adults who don't treat her like a baby."

"She's got a bit of an attitude on 'er."

"Oh yeah, I think that comes from Tess."

"Nope, that's definitely all you. Anyway-" he picked up a napkin and started drying dishes "I was thinking, I like it here but it's your house and I can't crash here forever-"

"You know you can stay as long as you like, really its fine."

"No, Brendan, it's a small house and you need your guest room, I was going to say that since I got my severance pay I could rent an apparent somewhere 'round here?"

"Or you could stay here and save your money…?" Tommy raised an eyebrow and Brendan took that as a sign to drop it "I'm just sayin'." Tommy smiled, breaking the tension.

"Do you actually know of any rental places around here?"

"Nope, I was hoping you could help out?"

"Do I look like I'm house hunting?" Brendan whipped the cream napkin out of Tommy's hands before he ruined it completely and replaced it with a tea-towel

"Alright, maybe not. "

"You need to think about where is going to be affordable and convenient, do you know what kind of job you're thinking about applying for?"

"Fighting." Tommy replied firmly.

"Okay, do you know what job you're thinking about in the months leading up to when your shoulder is remotely healed enough for you to fight again?"

Tommy sighed, "No."

"Hmm, I'll ask Frank, his gym got put on the map after Sparta and from what he's been telling me, maybe he could do with someone to work at the gym?"

"You'd talk to him for me?"

"I don't think he'll need too much convincing, as long as he gets to train you."

"Y'think?"

"I know. Trust me, he's a good guy and anyway, not I'm out of the game you might just be the best middle weight on the planet." Brendan smiled but Tommy was studying his shoes.

"I don't know about that any more, lost a lot of form being at Camp George… about ten pounds of muscle."

"Yeah, I saw that, were you thinking of moving down a weight class?"

"Nah, I just couldn't eat. Shoulder was hurting; my pride was hurting, I dunno, being at the Camp was like moving backwards. Just didn't care much about keeping the muscle on at the time."

Brendan patted him on his good shoulder. "I'll call Frank tonight."

"Thanks…"

January 16th

As today was Saturday everyone in the house could have a sleep in, all the adults anyway. Tommy woke at eight to find the TV on and the girls sitting by the couch, watching SpongeBob and eating cereal. There was cereal spilt all over the counter and Tommy swept it up before heading into the bathroom for a shower and shave. He still had the jar-head haircut the marines had given him at Camp George, he ran his hands over his scalp for a moment, feeling the scar at the back where he'd caught a piece of flying shrapnel years ago. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get rid of the dark circles that seemed to have become a permanent fixture. After his shower he looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. His tattoos were stretched blackly over a chest that was several inches smaller than it had been six months ago. His ribs stuck out when he breathed, how much work would it take to get back to fighting weight he wondered, maybe he really should go down a weight class.

When he emerged fully dressed into the kitchen he came across Brendan, still in sweats, making some toast. He had his laptop open on the counter and waved Tommy over to show him something.

"How about this one?" he asked, showing him an apartment listing. Tommy scrolled down to take a proper look. It certainly was affordable, and close enough to Frank's gym that he wouldn't have to drive.

"It looks really good Brendan, where'd you find this?" he asked.

"Oh y'know just some casual googling."

"We'll have to see what Frank thinks of me working at the gym first."

"Yeah, about that, I called him." Tommy's eyebrows shot up.

"That was fast."

"Yep. Anyway, he said he'd have time to talk today at about twelve."

"Twelve… okay cool, thanks Bren…." Tommy scratched the back of his neck in the way that told Brendan instantly that he was nervous.

"You worried?"

"Yeah… It's gonna take some work to get me back to middle weight."

"It'll happen Tommy, I know you. It'll happen."

Tommy grunted noncommittally.

Because of Tommy's shoulder, which Brendan was convinced needed to be strapped again, Brendan ended up driving the pair of them the half-hour to Frank's gym on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. The brothers didn't talk much in the car; Tommy, clamming up with nerves turned the radio up loud and looked out the window the whole way. Brendan knew better than to press him into talking, and concentrated on the radio announcer's soothing voice.

Pulling into the street and but not seeing any parking spaces, Brendan turned to Tommy.

"Go in now or you'll be late. I'll be right behind you."

Tommy nodded in silent agreement and hopped out of the car, heading for the gym.

Stopping for a moment outside the gym, Tommy noticed the size of the place. It was certainly a contrast to Colt Boyd's gym where he had trained for Sparta. He made a mental note to visit Colt when he next went into downtown Pittsburgh, the man had been good to him and they'd spoken occasionally when he was finishing his service up north.

Frank Campana's gym was if anything larger on the inside; an open-plan warehouse which had been converted for the purpose. Tommy noted how it had been carefully divided into different sections; one for professional training and one for casual. There were practice rings were set on raised platforms in the center of the warehouse, two already occupied. Tommy recognized one of the fighters as "Midnight" who he'd seen Brendan knock out in Sparta.

Tommy walked swiftly down the isle between ranks of men doing drills and weights and knocked on the door of Frank's office. He kept his head down, trying not to be recognized, he'd had a few people ask for his autograph at Sparta and in the days following it and had found it dreadfully embarrassing.

"Come on in!" Called a voice from inside the office. Tommy pushed the door open and entered.

"Hey Tommy" said Frank, standing and extending a hand for him to shake. Tommy did so and then sat down when invited, he instantly regretted this, feeling the urge to fidget but suppressing it.

"So," Frank, smiling broadly.

"Nice place you got here." Interjected Tommy, hoping to get proceedings off on the right foot.

"Thanks" said Frank, genuinely pleased. "So Brendan said you were looking to get back in the cage."

"That's the plan, yeah."

Frank regarded Tommy for a moment, frowning. "But you need a job too?" Tommy nodded; Brendan seemed to have filled him in on the situation. "Cool. Okay. Were going to need to talk about terms, and some specifics- hours and stuff."

Tommy's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "Okay? Just like that?"

"Uh, yeah. You're one of the best MMA fighters in the world at last count as well as my best friend's brother, so yeah, I'll train you." Frank chuckled slightly. "You do want the job don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"That's alright then. Although-" Frank regarded him again, appraisingly. "How much weight have you lost since Sparta?" he asked.

"About 20 pounds I think."

"Shit" Frank's brown eyes widened in surprise. "How the hell did that happen? Did the Marines have you running marathons or something?"

Tommy smiled ruefully "Not quite, just wasn't eating like I used to, wasn't training so…"

"Well that's got to stop, how's the shoulder by the way?"

Tommy frowned, "Not too good, Brenan recons it needs to be set again but I told him he's fussin'."

"Here" Frank jumped up and motioned for Tommy to come around the desk, "Lets see it." He tested Tommy's range of motion, had him do a bit of shadow boxing against his hands and noticed the Marine's jaw clench with pain after the third jab.

"He's right you know, it does needs to be re-set. When are you getting it done?"

"I dunno, soon." Frank looked stern "Okay very soon."

"Good, were gonna need you around back to your best to beat the hell out of "Midnight" before his head gets too big for his shoulders." Frank his eyes, pointing to Midnight sparring out of the office window. Tommy's eyes lit up with interest at the promise of a fight.

"Yeah? How come he's here anyway? I thought he trained in Chicago?"

"Well, after Brendan took him out of Sparta in the first round he came here, see if he couldn't learn a bit from the Beethoven." Frank grinned. Just then the door opened and in came Brendan, red faced from the cold.

"Hey Frank, how's it going?" he asked clapping him on the back.

"Its good, just found me a new fighter."

"Who?" asked Brendan, looking about as though someone might appear from the woodworks, Tommy chuckled softly and Brendan caught on. "Oh. Right. Good one Franko." He teased in return.

Frank returned behind his desk to print out a copy of his employee contract. Tommy took it and read it over for a moment whilst Frank showed Brendan a few of his newest additions to the "hall of fame".

Tommy looked over the contract; it gave Frank a manager's fee taken out of the winnings and a percentage of any endorsement deals that Tommy might accrue over the course of his fighting for the gym. Fair enough thought Tommy, he took up a pen from Frank's desk and signed it.

A/N please review!