Rescue Me (c) Denis Leary, yadda yadda, you get it.
Somewhat of a alternate ending for episode 3:2 "Discovery". What I would want to happen instead.
They had exchanged a single glance as everyone made their way out of the restaurant. Johnny hadn't given what he had done a second thought, and it was as if his secret had been brought out into the light when Tommy had looked at him. There wasn't a recognizable grimace on his face when their eyes met, at most his hair was a little disheveled, and he was achieving a rather stoic expression. But Johnny knew Tommy too well. It was a guise, and that was what scared him. He knew that Tommy knew damn well what was going on, and the fact sent a sudden shock through Johnny's person.
It was late, and Tommy had said hastened goodbyes to Sheila, his children, and a few others that were certainly robotic in nature, as his senses were clouded by his internal rage. He gritted his teeth, mind racing as what he had witnessed replayed again and again in his mind as if in disbelief. But Johnny and Janet had been holding hands underneath the table, and he bristled as he remembered their faces, and how they acted as if nothing was going on. The nerve of that bastard. How long did he think he could keep it up? However, his questions were replaced by thoughts of what he was going to do to him, that being to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, which was what was to happen regardless if Johnny had come out and told him about his secret relationship or not.
After Johnny had said a quick goodbye to everyone, and a rather discreet one to Janet as well, he began to briskly walk around the block to his own car, in which Tommy perceived him to be running away, or making some lame attempt to act like everything was fine. Tommy eyed him like a hawk, walking at the same speed, if not quicker. He took one last drag on his cigarette he had previously lit up, it's filter had nearly been bitten off.
Johnny had nearly gotten to his car when his brother bolted for him. He whipped around at the sound of Tommy's footsteps, and before he knew it, he was thrown against the adjacent wall by his neck. He had been rattled by the blow; he could feel Tommy's grasp grow tighter as he growled in short breaths, "You bastard, you fucking bastard…" He was thrown against the wall again. Johnny tried to speak, his face growing steadily redder, but failed to as he clutched Tommy's fists in a weak attempt to pry him away. Tommy let go, his fingers white, and Johnny fell to the ground. Johnny heaved, the color draining from his face. He, for some reason unknown to Tommy, kept low, in some sort of submission to a higher power, not wanting to instigate anymore damage to himself. "Tommy..." he said, but as if he was talking to a completely different person by the same name. It was received with a crack to the ribs as Tommy kicked him over. "She was my wife, and you go and do this to me," he raged, and waited for Johnny to make a move, much like the cat and the moth.
He would have continued to attack his only brother, especially if he tried to defend himself by fighting back, but Johnny grabbed his pant leg in desperation to get a word out. He took a second to breathe, fully expecting to receive a blow to his face, but nothing happened. "Connor, Tommy!" he yelled, his voice strained.
"Think about Connor."
In all his rage, Tommy hadn't thought of him. In all his thinking of how the relationship could have started, he had not once thought about Connor as the reason. The image of his only son flashed into his mind, his young face, destructed. That's the first thing that came to mind when he remembered the dead youth.
He looked down at Johnny, and their eyes connected, but Tommy wasn't there. Johnny heaved, relieved for a second that he had broken his rage, if only temporarily. He knew that Tommy, like a lot of his family, couldn't control himself. "She doesn't love you anymore, Tommy," he said, in a voice more angry than sympathetic.
At that point, the only thing that Tommy felt was the feeling of dull pain as his life had crumbled after the accident. Janet had blamed him for their son's death, and Johnny's words echoed in his head.
Johnny looked up at Tommy again, but this time he didn't see the stunned face he had achieved earlier. He was met with the dangerous glint in Tommy's eyes, the familiar look that separated the brother he knew, and the brother he couldn't control. It was the look of the demons in which Tommy possessed, those that had grown too powerful for him to suppress. He heard a snarl in Tommy's breath and he felt his head connect with the door of his car. Amongst the blinking lights flashing before his eyes, he heard the shatter of glass, and felt his shoulders being released.
Tommy stood for a second as Johnny lay on the ground, shaken by the attack. Half of him focused on what Johnny had said, and the anger that accompanied it, and the other half of him wanting to disappear completely, feeling sick in the gut and knowing he had lost everything.
He walked himself to his truck, stealing a glance of himself in the rear view mirror, wanting to break it. He started the ignition, hearing the roar of the engine, the screeching of tires, and the sound of Janet's screams as he raced away.
He knew he'd be seeing Jimmy real soon.