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Chapter 7

January 30th

Tommy and Brendan were in the doctor's waiting room, Brendan pretending to read a magazine but really he was watching Tommy from the corner of his eye. He was amazed at the change in his brother over the course of their six-month separation. The man he had battled with at Sparta, the man with whom he had traded bitter words on the beach was gone. All the anger and spite that Tommy had kept bottled up against Brendan and their father, had seemingly drained out of him. The rage, which had been barely under control in the young marine, the rage which had fueled his fighting was gone. Instead, Tommy seemed oddly directionless to Brendan, tired, almost passive; agreeing to stay with Brendan, accepting his financial help and even agreeing to visit a doctor, something they both knew Brendan would have to pay for. Brendan had also realized just how shy Tommy was around new people, he recognized that Tommy's "tough guy" reputation preceded him and that Tommy hid behind it totally, allowing people to come to whatever assumptions about him they would, never reveling anything of his personality.

Brendan smiled wryly to himself, this general reticence was nothing new with Tommy, even when the boys had been young Brendan had been the outgoing one, the football captain, prom-king type whereas Tommy had been quite the opposite. Quiet, intense and brilliant at sport, Tommy had had few friends at school, especially after he started competitive wrestling whereupon his obsessive training had claimed every scrap of his time and of course Paddy's attention. But, it was too late to be having thoughts like that Brendan remonstrated himself; when he thought of Tommy's last few years he knew how little there was to be jealous of in his younger brother's life.

Brendan felt a surge of protectiveness towards Tommy just as he had at the final of Sparta when he had half-carried his sobbing brother out of the cage and into an ambulance. At that moment he'd wanted to shelter Tommy from a world that had been so hard to him from such a young age, wanted to atone for the years of abandonment because, no matter what he said to Tommy about only being a kid when he'd left Tommy and their mother to escape Pittsburgh without him, he still felt the shame of his betrayal.

Now in the sterile, featureless waiting room, this shame stabbed at him afresh. It was his fault that Tommy was here. His fault that he may never fight again as he so desperately wanted to do. The memory of the sick cracking sound as Tommy's shoulder dislocated and his brother's cry of agony echoed inside his skull and Brendan shut the magazine with a snap. Leaning back in his seat with a sigh, he rubbed his eyes.

"Hey Bren?" Tommy looked up, "You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine… not the one seeing the doctor am I."

Tommy cracked a grin, "That's true." Then, seeing the look of pity flashing across Brendan's face Tommy understood. "You're not feeling guilty are ya? Not after six months?"

Brendan sighed again "Yes I still feel fucking guilty. How could I not? You were in the hospital Tommy! And that was my fault!"

Tommy sighed too, looking hard at Brendan. "Look. Bren, I won't say I wasn't angry. Okay? The first few days when I was out of hospital I must have cussed you out a thousand times. But now? Its okay. You did what you had to do, for your family. I can respect that, would have done the same."

"But you didn't though…"

"Nah, never got the chance, you're a slippery bastard in the cage." Tommy shrugged nonchalantly with one shoulder, picking up the magazine that Brendan had abandoned.

The news was good. Tommy came out of the doctor's office with a script for sleeping pills, which he would never take, and one for painkillers, which he would have thrown away if not for Brendan's intervention. The doctor warned him that getting back the full range of mobility not to mention the strength in his shoulder was going to take some time. He would have recommended physical therapy but, he recognized that if the shoulder could stand up to six months of drills in the marines then physio was unlikely to do much good at this stage. The doctor simply told Tommy to go easy on the weights and to do at least three weeks of some special resistance training exercises before the heavy punching and weight-lifting could begin in earnest. All in all, thought Tommy, not too bad.

In fact, for once in Tommy Riordan's life he could say that almost everything was not too bad. His work for Frank, although dull at times would get him back to the training he craved, his shoulder was on the mend and so was his relationship with Brendan. Tess was helping that gap heal even better and seemed to be the glue that kept the Conlan family together.

Jay and the other heavyweights had kept on inviting Tommy to lunch, seemingly determined to be friendly and he was starting to feel, much as he had in the military, that he was a part of a band of brothers, people he could trust and relate to.

In fact, only thing that Tommy was seriously worried about was Pop. He still hadn't gone to see the old man, unwilling perhaps to burst the small bubble of peace in which he found himself. Brendan hadn't spoken to him either, so neither knew what to expect, except that this time neither brother would be going alone. Tommy privately wondered what they would find, the old man back on the drink as he had been in Atlantic City? Or perhaps Pop would be just as sober and groveling, as plaintive and pathetic as he head been the first night Tommy had seen him in Pittsburgh. Neither thought cheered Tommy much and as the brothers made the drive from the surgery to Frank's gym, Brendan noticed his subdued mood.

"What y'thinking about?" he asked.

"Pops… not even sure I want to visit him. But we gotta."

"We don't have to, not if you're not ready." Brendan appreciated that although he had plenty of problems of his own to do with his father, Tommy's were fresher, sharpened by their mother's death.

Tommy nodded wordlessly, settling deeper into his seat, his expression unreadable.

Brendan dropped Tommy off at the gym and drove off to collect the girls from a friend's house.

Inside a fight was in progress and most of the men had abandoned their weights and punching bags to have a watch. Midnight Lee, sweat dripping and fists flying was slugging it out against a heavily muscled man with tattoos on his face. The two were circling each other like tigers in a pen. The tattooed man kicked out at Midnight who was not quite quick enough to dodge it, he doubled over momentarily which gave the other man an opportunity to throw him to the floor. But, the burly fighter wasn't beaten yet. As quick as a flash Midnight was back on his feet, rallying, he applied his fists to the tattooed face with the swift efficiently which he traded on; Midnight was not a flexible fighter, his strength lay in his fists and feet.

The other man staggered back and by the time Tommy had reached the side of the platform with the sound of Beethoven echoing from Frank's speakers, the tattooed man was out cold.

"Go on Midnight!" yelled Frank, evidently elated that his new high-profile fighter was back in the game.

"Finish him!" yelled the crowd, fists pumping into the air. Midnight obliged by kicked the tattooed man in the ribs.

In an instant Frank was in the ring with the two men and breaking up the scuffle.

"Okay, okay! Back to work!" he yelled, and the knots of bystanders dispersed slowly still pumped up by the display in the ring.

Tommy passed by the ring, nodding a brief greeting to Jay and the heavyweights as they sloped off, back to their punching bags. He saw Frank exchanging words with Midnight whilst he un-taped the fighter's hands. Witnessing the fight had reminded Tommy about his own ambitions, he was itching to get back into the ring and, after the doctor's good diagnosis that morning he saw no reason not to get back in training; if Frank would have him that was. Tommy's time at Camp George had cost him near a stone in weight, a far cry from the condition he had been in for Sparta. All the work he'd done had been erased in only a few short months leaving him at square one.

Tommy sat down in the office with a sigh, waiting for Frank to come in and tell him what needed doing. He stood up again moments later, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, never able to stay still for too long.

At that moment Frank burst into the office, grinning broadly, "He's good isn't he?" he said, evidently speaking about Midnight who was warming down outside.

"Yeah, real good." Said Tommy scratching the back of his neck.

"So, you working all day today?" asked Frank, shuffling through some papers and pulling out yet more fighter's entry forms. Tommy glared at the offending slips of paper before nodding.

"I went to the doctor's today, with Bren… " Frank's had jerked up as though pulled by a string.

"Yeah?"

"Well, Doc says that my shoulder should be almost back to normal in a few weeks, got some strong painkillers for it-"

"So you want to get back in the ring?" Frank gave him a level look as Tommy nodded. Then he sat down with a tired sigh. "Look. Seven months ago you were potentially the best middleweight fighter in the country, if not the world. But now? I don't' know. You've been out of the game for six months, lost a lot of condition and you've had this injury... It's going to take a while to get you back to the shape you were in for Sparta, maybe about a year."

"I know I'm ready for that." Tommy deadpanned.

"Yeah, I think you are too…" Frank smiled slightly then stood up and came around the desk next to Tommy. "If you're going to train here Tommy, I'll be your trainer but that means Beethoven, and a lot of work on your technique, I saw you fighting out there in Sparta it was all instinct and I think we can work with that. Deal?"

"Deal." Said Tommy, shaking Frank's hand.

A/N Oooh, two chapters in a day! I just thought these guys were a bit short to go up on their own, so enjoy! xx