Any story about revenge is ultimately a story about forgiveness, redemption, or the futility of revenge. - Nick Wechsler

"I'm listening," Tommy sighs as he leans further back into the hard plastic cafeteria chair. He is wearier in this moment that he's ever been. Deep down inside he can't see any real way he can save Penny; she seems hell bent on destruction and who wouldn't be in her situation?

"Penny's bound for some serious jail time. This is the third time she's managed to seriously injure one of the medical personnel assigned to her. She basically put one of the paramedics who brought her in's eye out; the poor guy was rushed into emergency surgery as soon as they pulled into the ER."

"Shit…"

"Yeah, hence the heavy restraints even when she was out cold. Now," she says leaning forward across the small table towards Tommy, "I don't know Penny off the drugs but I sure know her on them and she's dangerous. Sending her to jail isn't going to help her problem, as I see it, it'll probably only make it worse. Around the good old Pittsburgh penal scene you have drugs available to you on the inside just like you do on the street but I promise you that she'll have to do a lot worse than give someone a blow job to get heroin in there. We get drug overdoses from County Lock up sent to us all the time. It's bad, bad, bad what's being passed around in there, much worse than what you score from the average dealer on the block. She'll end up dead, Tommy."

"What can I do?"

"There is a way that we can get around her having to serve time. There's a rehab on the south side of Pittsburgh, Rivers Bend is the name of it and they're one of the best facilities in the country. They have a ninety-seven percent success rate for people who complete the program."

"Where do I sign her up?" Tommy asks, all ears to the proposed plan.

"It's not that simple," Heather says, holding her hands up, "First off, for a one hundred-twenty day program the cost is seven grand and that's a discounted rate they'll give if you can prove financial hardship on her part; I don't see that being a problem. Second, you'd need to petition the judge and also provide proof of payment into the program there. If you do all that, he'll make it court ordered and she won't have a choice but to go. Judges would rather rehabilitate someone on someone else's dime than to see the state have to support another junkie in the jails." Heather stares at Tommy as she finishes the last of her Cuban java, waiting for his response to his

"She'll fuckin' hate me forever." Tommy says lowly, his voice sounding more like a child than a grown man.

"At least she'll be alive to decide whether she can forgive you for basically saving her life or not. Right now that girl hates only herself; she doesn't have the energy to do anything except despise what she's become and to find a way to get high." Heather's voice is faraway, her eyes looking somewhere beyond the olive green walls of the hospital food court.

"How do you know so much about this, Heather?" Tommy leans forward in his seat now, catching her eyes in an intense stare as she comes back from wherever her mind had wandered.

"It doesn't matter," she says dismissively, picking pieces of Styrofoam off of the lip of her empty coffee cup. "So here's the rest of the deal, I have about fifteen hundred saved up and it's burning a hole in my pocket. I'm ready to donate to the Penny-Gets-Well fund."

"Why would you do that?" It comes out a lot harsher than Tommy means for it to but he's incredulous that a total stranger would hand over that much money to help someone so obviously fucked up.

"Because Tommy," Heather whispers and looks into his eyes with total sincerity, "everybody deserves a second chance. Don't you think so?"

"I'll get the money, you keep your savings. I might need your help getting the rest of that shit done. I get nervous around judges and the police; I might say something wrong and fuck everything up. Do ya… do ya think you might be able to help me take care of all that?" Tommy's voice is shy, he's not used to asking anyone for anything and here he is asking a stranger for something this major. "I know you don't know me and it's a lot to ask for…"

"I will," Heather stops him mid-sentence, saving him the embarrassment of babbling on, "but how are you going to come up with all that cash by yourself?"

"You really don't know who I am, do you? I know that sounds crazy conceited but my life for the past year has been a three ring circus."

"I know you seem like a really good guy who's going far out of his way to help a girl he used to know. You're a rare sort and that makes me want to help you. So to answer your question, other than your name and the things I've gathered from the past 28 minutes, I don't know who you are." Heather's the one who seems shy now, looking down at her hands instead of into Tommy's intense gaze.

"Well, this might come as a shock to you but my brother is a millionaire and he owes me."

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Tommy looks at his phone; the green glow of the digital screen sends an eerie glow through the darkened living room of his apartment. Three times he's dialed all but the last digit of Brendan's number and three times he's snapped his cell phone shut. How the hell is he going to begin this conversation? It's six thirty in the morning and he's had no sleep since leaving Penny and Heather at the hospital. He and the nurse had shored up the rest of the plan to get Penny into rehab and had exchanged numbers. He'd agreed with Heather to keep everything on the down low, if it came out that she had shared so much info about Penny while knowing he wasn't next of kin she would most definitely lose her job.

It eats him up to know that he's going to have to ask Brendan for the money, even though it's been offered to him already. It pisses him off that he's asking for a crazy amount of money to help out a drug addict even though he hasn't sent more than a few hundred bucks at a time to Pilar and the kids. Seven grand could go a long way to help the widow of his best friend and the kids he swore he'd take care of.

Tommy raises the phone as if to throw it across the room out of frustration but thinks better of it. He isn't due for another upgrade for seven months and he doesn't want to waste any valuable resources having to buy a new one.

Once again Tommy pecks the number into the keypad of the phone, his fingers bumbling, too large and too shaky to get it right the first time. Swallowing an exaggerated groan he closes the phone and starts all over again. If he calls now he'll catch Brendan before he goes on his morning run. Money hasn't changed his brother's workout regimen.

The phone issues only a half ring before Brendan answers. "'Lo?"

Tommy finds any words he might have said stuck in his throat. His brother says hello again and he can hear Brendan pull the phone away from his face, probably to check the caller ID. "Tommy? Is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah it's me Brendan…"

"Is everything okay?" Brendan's voice is worried now and Tommy feels like an asshole. Why shouldn't he since his own brother thinks the only reason he would call him is if something is wrong. But isn't the something wrong?

"Can we talk sometime today? Meet somewhere here in the 'burgh? I hate to ask ya to drive all the way here but I still ain't got a car…"

"Sure Tommy, sure thing. I can head that way now, be there sometime around 10:30. Where do you wanna meet?"

"Dale's sound ok witchu?"

"Dale's it is. I'll call when I'm about 30 minutes out, okay?"

"Sure thing… and, uh, ya know, thanks. I know it's short notice and all…"

"No, no, it's nothing. Should I come alone?"

"Yeah, it's uh, it's something I wouldn't want Tess or the girls to hafta hear about, Bren," Tommy's voice drops as if he's afraid someone in a neighboring apartment might hear.

"You got me worried, Tommy…"

"Just come, Brendan… please." His voice breaks as he makes himself more vulnerable to his big brother than he ever imagined he would again. The worry in Brendan's voice breaks down part of the solid wall he's spent so many years building up.

"I'm on my way now, Tommy, I'm on my way."

Tommy snaps the phone shut and tosses it on the worn coffee table in front of him. He pushes back into the couch cushions and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. These feelings are overwhelming, he doesn't like that so many things are coming to the forefront and it seems he has no control of them. He's usually a real cool customer, able to ice over anything even resembling something real coming from his heart.

Tommy learned long ago that showing people the tender side of you is dangerous; others will trample that part of you until it lies bleeding on the concrete. He can't afford to be that emotional little kid but sometimes that's all he feels like; a small boy trapped inside the body of a raging bull. He takes that heat out on people in the ring, on the punching bag, on his own body and on anyone who has shown him any sort of concern for the most part.

His mind wanders back to relive the night he'd spent with Penny in the back seat of his Ma's car; the awkward goodbye is over and he's watched her go back home. He walks into the front door of his own house. Mercifully Paddy is passed out in his Barcalounger, the empty bottle of whiskey fallen to the floor out of his drunken grasp. His mom is in the dining room reading her Bible; she squints painfully at the small type of the pages, a shiner marrs her left eye. Even while wearing this badge of abuse she finds it in her to smile at him and wink knowingly; the plan is set and tomorrow the two of them and his brother will finally be free of Paddy Conlon and his angry fists.

Heading up as silently as possible on the wooden steps he sidesteps the trophies strewn about his side of the room and lies down on his bed facing Brendan's. They're too old to be sharing a room especially since there's an empty space in the basement that would serve perfectly as a third bedroom, but neither one of them has ever mentioned it to the other. There is safety in numbers and Paddy is less likely to come at them when they're together. The old man might be a mean drunk but he ain't stupid enough to think that he could fight the two of them at once.

Tommy smiles at the thought that soon he and Brendan might know what it's like to come home to peace and quiet instead of world war three. What would it be like to feel safe enough to have his own room and not have to worry about a raging drunk coming in and smacking the shit out of him because he left a fork on the counter? How wonderful would it be to not have to see ma getting dragged across the room by her hair while his father punched her face with his free hand? And no more sounds of the things that Paddy did to her when he came home drunk and took her into their bedroom. The awful sound of his beautiful mother begging him to please stop, telling him that it hurt and then hearing the sound of an open handed slap reducing her to tears.

None of those sounds echo through the house tonight as Tommy lies on his bed, listening for Brendan to come home from his last date with Tess. He wants to spend some time talking with Brendan about all the things that will be different once they put some miles between themselves and their father. He dozes off but wakes up as he hears the bedroom door open and close.

"Brendan?" he whispers, terrified that it's Paddy who's made his way upstairs instead of his brother.

"Yeah, Tommy, it's me."

Tommy breathes a deep sigh of relief and sits up on the bed as Brendan turns on the lamp. Tommy expects to see the same guarded joy that's been on his face all day but instead it looks like the weight of the world is on his brothers shoulders. The last date with Tess must have gone pretty bad. He wonders if he should even tell him about finally doing the deed with Penny.

"She knew it was coming Bren," Tommy offers first, hoping to prod Brendan into getting it off his chest so they can talk about the future.

"Tommy," Brendan sighs, rubbing his face and leaning his elbows onto his knees. "I'm not going with you and Ma, I can't."

It's as if a vat of ice water has been thrown over Tommy as he struggles to comprehend what his big brother just said to him. How could he really mean it? This ain't something anyone should joke about.

"Whatchu mean you can't come with us?"

"I love Tess, I want to marry her someday, and I just can't up and leave her. I'm almost eighteen and I'll be able to move out on my own as soon as I am. I don't want to leave Pittsburgh if she can't come with me and her pops already told her no."

"You're fuckin' serious? What about me? What about Ma? Don't we matter, Brendan? Don't we count for something?"

"As soon as Tess and I get married we'll come and find you guys, I swear it! Tommy, please don't cry…" Brendan moves from his own bed to beside Tommy on the opposing bunk. He tries to put an consoling arm around the younger boy but Tommy shoves them away forcefully.

"Fuck you Brendan," Tommy swears as he swipes angrily at the tears than fall faster than he can remove them, "What's ma going to do when she finds out that your piece of ass is more important to you than the woman who brought you into the world?"

"I already told ma, Tommy," Brendan answers, looking at his feet, "She told me that she understands and that she's happy for me and Tess. I wish you could understand too."

"Understand? Yeah I wish I could but I sure as fuck don't," Tommy sneers at his brother, the look ugly and suggestive of what he's about to say, "I can't imagine that she's that special between her legs, bro. You know every woman's got one of them things."

"How would you know anything about what's between a woman's legs, Tommy?" Brendan's pissed now that he's dared to talk about Tess like this.

"I know all about it, I laid Penny in the backseat of Ma's car just tonight. You don't see me boo-hooin' about how I love her and I just can't leave her. Bullshit!" Tommy stands and starts pacing the small square between the two beds.

"Aw, Tommy, that ain't love. And I don't fuck Tess, that's not how it is when you're in love with someone. Maybe one day you'll see that."

"You know what I see? That you're just like Pops, only you use bullshit words and you break promises to make your wounds on the people you're supposed to love."

"Tommy, don't say that."

"Fuck you. I'll never forgive you Brendan, never."

And he never really had. In all the years since it had been about how he could hurt Brendan and Pops the most to make himself feel better. The only problem was he never really felt better. Anger is heavy luggage that gathers weight as the years go by. By the time his ma had passed he was so pissed at Brendan that it was a sick sort of sweet to know that his own brother had no idea their mother was no longer on this earth. His anger with his own brother surpassed that towards Paddy. The old man was of no consequence anymore, it was all about how his own brother had turned his back on him when he'd needed him the most. He laid in bed many a night while in the Marines and smiled to himself, thinking that Brendan must be sick with worry. Surely by now he and Tess were married and probably popping out some pups of their own. Surely his brother had tried to find them so he could keep his promise. In Tommy's mind it served him right to worry and not know. His plan all along was to never go home to the states. There was always going to be a war that needed to be fought and he planned to be the mother fucker who signed up for every single one until there wasn't enough left of him to shoot at.

But that night on the beach in Atlantic City it had become crystal clear that Brendan hadn't been crippled with being in the dark all those years like he'd imagined. Brendan hadn't spent all those nights sick with worry about him and their Ma; no, he'd gotten married, went to college, he'd become a school teacher and a father. He'd made a life for himself and had had a family of his own. It really fuckin' stung to know that they'd been so expendable to Brendan.

But what had all the rage and hate been for? Because Brendan had made a good decision for himself? That his big brother was so much less broken than he was even though they had suffered the same abuse from the same man? What about Ma? She'd never blamed Brendan for staying behind, not even once. What had he REALLY been mad about all this time? That he'd been the one who'd denied Brendan the chance to watch their mother wither and die? He'd shouldered that all on his own, Brendan hadn't had a choice. So who was the real bastard here?

Tommy's brain is starting to feel like oatmeal and he decides to try and get a couple hours sleep before Brendan gets to town. He stands up to head to the bedroom and pauses to turn the AC down to 65 degrees. He slips his white tank over his head and tosses it into the corner. Turning his phone volume all the way up so that he doesn't miss his brother's call, he slides onto the bed on his stomach. The sheets are cold and soothing and it doesn't take long for him to slip into a dreaming slumber.

He's in the apartment in Washington, sitting at the two seat kitchen table. His mom is sitting across from him, her usual mug of hot tea grasped in her hands. She's smiling at him, her good smile, the one she had before the cancer took over.

"Tommy, baby, who are you?" She says, her smile never faltering.

"Don't you mean how am I, Ma?"

"No son, I mean who are you? I don't know you anymore."

"You know me…"

"You look like my Tommy but you don't act like my son…" Her smile is faltering now, she searches his face as if looking for some part of it that might be familiar.

"Ma…"

"Listen Tommy 'cause we don't have long. Do you know why Brendan beat you, how he won even though you're so much stronger than him?"

Tommy shakes his head, ashamed that somehow even from the afterlife his mom knows about his defeat.

"Baby he beat you because he had something worth fighting for. You only had all these imaginary demons you were fighting against…" She stares at him hard, as if her glare will make him understand what she's just thrown at him.

From somewhere in the shadows his father's voice drifts to his ears, it's the mantra he repeated over and over to Tommy during training, especially when Tommy knew he was getting ready for a bout against a larger opponent like Teddy Quinton.

It's not the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog.

Tommy wakes but doesn't move from the position he holds in the bed. His mother's words echo in his ear. He's on the verge of something big, an epiphany sits in the shadows of his mind but the more awake he becomes the fuzzier the imagined breakthrough feels. He doesn't feel like he's been asleep for more than a few minutes but the phone ringing lets him know it's been longer than that.

He reaches over and answers without looking at the caller ID window.

"Yeah, I'll be at Dale's in about half an hour Bren, see you there."