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2. They wait until they've been transferred to Germany and weaned off the good drugs before holding another Council. Once he's been cleared by the doctors for travel, he'll be back on a plane to the US where his discharge will be processed and he'll be back to being plain old Tommy Kinard, civilian.

"This is why I said not to enlist," the Tommy with pierced ears says. Instead of spending the last few years dodging every bullet but the last one, this Tommy had apparently been stretching out his ears with increasingly lager earrings and getting tattoos and experimenting with different hair colors. Tommy is as jealous as he is furious. "What are you going to do now?"

He looks at his fellow soldiers, the ones who made it. There are fewer attendees to this Council of Tommys—for every Tommy who had survived, there was one who didn’t—and there was no sign of Pennsylvania Tommy since he packed his car and took off. He wasn't dead. They knew what it felt like when one of them died, like when a tiny Tommy Kinard was knocking into the corner of the coffee table and never got up again. These had gone to Pennsylvania and never bothered to return.

"I know how to fly," Tommy says, shifting in vain along with the other Tommys in other hospital beds as they tried to find a position that didn't hurt. "I can get a job doing that."

"What, running tours?" says one Tommy, who had been dishonorably discharged under DADT because he'd been dumb enough not to turn away when Jax looked in their direction.

"There's medevac," Tommy says because he had spent the long hours stuck in a hospital bed thinking about this. "Search and Rescue. Some fire departments have an air ops division."

"Bet you wish you had more experience in conducting rescue ops," says the Tommy who eschewed the army in favor of the coast guard and hasn't stopped being smug about it since.

"I'm just saying we have options," Tommy says.

Three beds over, one of the quiet Tommys says, "Simpson invited me home. He's got an uncle and some cousins that own a ranch in Montana. He said we could stay with them while we get back on our feet."

There wasn't a Tommy Kinard who didn't have a bit of an asshole streak to him, and so it wasn't a surprise when several made the cymbal rimshot noise. Simpson had gotten it worse and his leg was amputated just below the knee.

"What are you going to do in Montana?" long haired Tommy asks, curious rather than judgmental. "Ride horses?"

Quiet Tommy shrugs, a small gesture. All of their fathers were angry men, but some were worse than others. "Why not? We learned how to fly, didn't we?"

"But Montana," says another one.

"A lotta sky there," Coast Guard Tommy says.

They all nod. There is a lot of sky out there.

"What about you?" a different version of himself asks him. "You want to go play cowboy?"

"I think," he says slowly, carefully stretching out his legs, teeth gritted against the pain, "I want to go to California."

They all nod again. There is a lot of sky in California, too.

They don't take a census—they never have; it's never needed—and the Council ends. Each of them go and live their singular life.

3. “I’m going to ask Abby to marry me,” a Tommy says when the Council meets again. There were less and less of them every time. Their shadows remained, those little flickers of choices not made, but they stopped showing up, too different for even the Council.

Tommy sucks air between his teeth. He met Abby through a holiday party for first responders, and he liked how hard won her smile was, how bright her laughter, the careful way she held herself, and, for just a moment, he thought maybe in the same way way he thought about the Tommys who went to Pride and wore nail polish and had been brave enough to kiss Jax, and he had slipped away before she could ask for his number.

This Tommy had stayed. This Tommy gave Abby his number. This Tommy desperately wants what he is supposed to want: a marriage to a beautiful woman, a house, kids maybe.

“It’s not going to work,” says a Tommy with bright green nails.

“Why not?” that Tommy asks. “Why can’t we be normal?”

“Because,” Tommy says, the only thing he’s said at all, “I’m a fag. You know that.”

They do know that, and they weep, some out of terror, some out of pride, and some just for the joy making it out and being alive.

4. There is no time for a Council. Evan calls; he needs a pilot. Every Tommy Kinard who exists, every shadow and recursive fractal spread out through every universe, answers. There is no world in which he doesn’t.

He picks up Evan and Moira BLake. He flies them away from SoCal Biomed. He evades the army. He does not crash. Bobby Nash dies.

When it’s over, those few who remain interrogate themselves at the Council. Was it a mistake to engage instead of withdrawing? Should they have tried to climb instead of hiding among the buildings? This wasn’t Afghanistan; the tricks that kept them alive are useless here. No, they would have been forced down sooner. Did they see Evan? Did they see how he looked at them?

None of it matters. Bobby dies and dies and dies. Evan screams his throat bloody. Tommy is alone with himself.

5. The final Council is held on a Thursday. It is only him and the Tommy with pierced ears and full tattoo sleeves. The ones who went to Pennsylvania and Montana and Peru, who kept their mouths shut in Eddie’s kitchen, who touched Evan’s elbow after the funeral, are long gone. Those Tommys don’t need each other anymore.

“You know why it’s just us,” says the other Tommy.

“I know,” Tommy says.

The other Tommy fiddles with the heavy silver ring on his index finger. “I never met him. I don’t even know if I can. Maybe I’m too different from you.”

Before, when the others were around, Tommy could feel the weight of a wedding ring on his finger. He always assumed it belonged to the Tommy who married Abby. But maybe he got it all wrong. He usually does.

“I’ve always wanted to get my ears pierced,” Tommy says. “And I wanted tattoos and to grow out my hair and paint my nails. I never did. I was too afraid.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Dad would have killed us. He nearly got me, but I was faster.”

There is a phantom scar on his arm and a phantom nick on his neck from a flung plate aimed at his head. They survived their father; they can survive this.

“I keep hoping,” this Tommy says, wistful. “It happened for you. You found Evan. Maybe it will happen for me.”

He feels that weight again. “Try Pennsylvania again. He might be a teacher. That’s what Evan thinks he might have done if Daniel lived.”

“Do you think so?” Tommy asks, overflowing with hope.

“Worth a shot.”

“And what about you?” The silver ring spins and spins and spins. “Are you going to try?”

“Worth a shot,” he says, again.

And that is how the last Council of Tommy Kinard ends, with hope.

6. Tommy is ten minutes early but Evan still beats him to the coffee shop. He’d claimed the good table, the one that did wobble and was in the shade.

“I, uh, got you coffee,” Evan says, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. He’s lost some weight, but he’s still so beautiful. “I know how you take it now.”

“I hope so.” He sits without being asked. There’s only him; he’s so nervous. “You’ve made it for me often enough.”

Evan ducks his head, cheeks pink and blushing. Of course the other Tommys stayed gone. Why come back when they could be with Evan?

“I’m really happy you called,” Evan says, glancing up through his lashes. “I kept meaning to, but it’s been so long. It feels like we maybe missed our window.”

There are no other Tommy Kinards. There is only him. What a responsibility. What a gift.

“I don’t think there is a window. We get to decide.” He holds out his hand. “Are you ready for something?”