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Jul. 1st, 2012 10:01 pmWhen Tess had asked him what he was going to do, he'd said he was going to fight Tommy. In a way, it felt like they'd been fighting for years, across countries and oceans and without a word, all culminating here. It wasn't like Brendan hadn't known his brother was angry. Hell, he was angry, too, though he'd come to terms with a lot of it. He still hadn't expected anything like this, raw fury that made him want to step away. He couldn't, though, he had to keep going, no matter how much it hurt to see Tommy still coming at him with one arm cradled to his chest, limp from the shoulder he'd dislocated himself. For Tess and the girls, for the life he'd chosen when he had decided to stay in Pittsburgh so, so long ago, he couldn't just give up. In that way, he thought, the fights were one and the same.
It was over now anyway — and he was saying so, too, only distantly aware of it through a haze of pain and adrenaline and emotion. This fight, Sparta, that was done, that was his and he knew it, so close he could practically taste it, the answers to all their problems, but that wasn't really what he meant. The fight between them, the silent battle lasting half a lifetime, that was done, too, or it could be. Nothing good came from being bitter. This was his little brother he had pinned, the one he'd lost so long ago, and it didn't have to be like this. Maybe it was for the best that it had come down to the two of them. Though they'd argued out on the beach, it was, or it seemed to be, the only way they could communicate at all, through punches and kicks and blows dodged, and there was still plenty left unsaid.
"I love you," he said, hoarse, voice breaking on the words. "I love you, Tommy." He should have said so a long time ago, before Tommy and their mom had left; he couldn't remember when he had before. But it was true, as true as all the rest of it, and more important now than ever, when they finally had a chance to put an end to all of this. Even with his arm around his brother's neck, desperate for what victory would bring, Brendan wasn't sure what he was doing more of, embracing him or holding him down. It didn't matter. Tommy's fingers tapped his shoulder and it was done, over, all of it, the crowd erupting in cheers that he could only half-hear with his arms around Tommy, one hand held up to keep everyone else at a distance, sheltering his little brother the way he should have been able to since a long damn time ago. None of the rest of it could hold his attention now, not the officials or the reporters and their questions or the people reaching out to try to touch them as they walked past. It wasn't going to stay like this, there would be plenty else to deal with, but for now, it was just them.
Until he wasn't. The noise from the crowd, which had started to dim, cut off suddenly, and where Tommy had been at his side, he wasn't anymore. Brendan blinked — once, twice — and drew in a breath, hand lifting to his head. It was possible — probable, really — that he could have had a concussion, but the last he'd checked, that wouldn't have caused full-blown hallucinations like this. Nothing changed, anyway. He was standing, barely, with movement under his feet, alone, or what seemed that way for an excruciating few seconds, until an all too familiar voice drew his focus to his side. "Daddy, what happened?" asked Emily, a question he'd given his girls plenty of reason to ask lately. "Where are we?"
It was a question he didn't have an answer to. For a moment, he was just relieved to see them, Rosie seated beside her, and he thought, for a moment, that it meant Tess might have been here, too. He couldn't see her, though, and she'd have made her presence known by now, he was sure of it. Trying not to think too hard about what that meant when he had so much else to try to make sense of anyway, he shook his head. "I don't know, sweetheart," he said. "And I don't know where Mommy is, either. How 'bout we go find out, huh? It'll be an adventure."
That, at least, seemed to satisfy them for now, which was a relief. Probably that wouldn't last long, but he wasn't sure how he could comfort his daughters when he couldn't even figure out where to start with what had apparently happened, which ought to have been impossible. With the train they were on pulling into the station, though, there was only one thing to do. He took one of each of their hands, and started off onto the platform slowly, watching for any signs of what this might have been.
It was over now anyway — and he was saying so, too, only distantly aware of it through a haze of pain and adrenaline and emotion. This fight, Sparta, that was done, that was his and he knew it, so close he could practically taste it, the answers to all their problems, but that wasn't really what he meant. The fight between them, the silent battle lasting half a lifetime, that was done, too, or it could be. Nothing good came from being bitter. This was his little brother he had pinned, the one he'd lost so long ago, and it didn't have to be like this. Maybe it was for the best that it had come down to the two of them. Though they'd argued out on the beach, it was, or it seemed to be, the only way they could communicate at all, through punches and kicks and blows dodged, and there was still plenty left unsaid.
"I love you," he said, hoarse, voice breaking on the words. "I love you, Tommy." He should have said so a long time ago, before Tommy and their mom had left; he couldn't remember when he had before. But it was true, as true as all the rest of it, and more important now than ever, when they finally had a chance to put an end to all of this. Even with his arm around his brother's neck, desperate for what victory would bring, Brendan wasn't sure what he was doing more of, embracing him or holding him down. It didn't matter. Tommy's fingers tapped his shoulder and it was done, over, all of it, the crowd erupting in cheers that he could only half-hear with his arms around Tommy, one hand held up to keep everyone else at a distance, sheltering his little brother the way he should have been able to since a long damn time ago. None of the rest of it could hold his attention now, not the officials or the reporters and their questions or the people reaching out to try to touch them as they walked past. It wasn't going to stay like this, there would be plenty else to deal with, but for now, it was just them.
Until he wasn't. The noise from the crowd, which had started to dim, cut off suddenly, and where Tommy had been at his side, he wasn't anymore. Brendan blinked — once, twice — and drew in a breath, hand lifting to his head. It was possible — probable, really — that he could have had a concussion, but the last he'd checked, that wouldn't have caused full-blown hallucinations like this. Nothing changed, anyway. He was standing, barely, with movement under his feet, alone, or what seemed that way for an excruciating few seconds, until an all too familiar voice drew his focus to his side. "Daddy, what happened?" asked Emily, a question he'd given his girls plenty of reason to ask lately. "Where are we?"
It was a question he didn't have an answer to. For a moment, he was just relieved to see them, Rosie seated beside her, and he thought, for a moment, that it meant Tess might have been here, too. He couldn't see her, though, and she'd have made her presence known by now, he was sure of it. Trying not to think too hard about what that meant when he had so much else to try to make sense of anyway, he shook his head. "I don't know, sweetheart," he said. "And I don't know where Mommy is, either. How 'bout we go find out, huh? It'll be an adventure."
That, at least, seemed to satisfy them for now, which was a relief. Probably that wouldn't last long, but he wasn't sure how he could comfort his daughters when he couldn't even figure out where to start with what had apparently happened, which ought to have been impossible. With the train they were on pulling into the station, though, there was only one thing to do. He took one of each of their hands, and started off onto the platform slowly, watching for any signs of what this might have been.
