"Jesus," Tom breathed, compulsively reaching out for Mike, hand wrapping around his bicep and squeezing. "We can't - we have to do something - look at them, they're just kids...they're probably freedom fighters or something, Mike. I mean..."

On some level, he knows that this is gut instinct and likely to get them killed and that nothing will come of it, not now. They might be gone on Monday, but even if they're not...things have changed. You can't go back to living and dying for a cause when you've been living for something else for so long.