Jim’s drinking in the pub with a couple of black Irish, Sing-Sing Tommy and Flaherty, while Creed is hitting up Manolo for connections in the corner even though the Ecuadorian doesn’t even know any.  The Irish are buying a whiskey for every medal the government gave him during his tenure, and he’s well past drunk, but they insist and he’s got a lot of medals and he might as well.  Flaherty whoops when the television plays an old Mickey Ward fight and Sing-Sing says he’ll go drink for drink with the war hero, and while he’s Irish and has never failed to live up to the stereotypes, Jim’s got ten years of Marine training to back him up and this will be an epic encounter to go hand in hand with Mickey Ward’s flying fists. 

Midnight comes and they count the shot cups and they match the medals and Jim, he’s starting his first day of civilian duty in nine hours.  Creed offers to drive him home but Jim wants a cup of coffee and to see the sunrise and so he will.  Manolo, Sing-Sing and Flaherty clap him on the back as he sits nursing the coffee, which is tall, dark and bitter, just like he likes his men, he jokes.  Creed sits with him for a spell but he’d out to get high before he goes to bed and it’s just Jim and Marshall, the tender.  The Ward fight ended a while back so they put on a Dave Brubeck record, Marshall sipping seltzer and smoking a Cuban.

“Glad to be back in town?” Marshall asked as he tapped the rhythm on the bar.

“It’s different, that’s sure.  Lot colder than Samarra.”

“True.  How’s the leg holding up?”

“It’s a good day for it.”

“That’s good.  We’re proud of you, boy.  Your dad’s always in hear bragging about you.  ‘My boy’s serving his country’ or ‘Jimmy and his boys took out a whole nest of terrorists yesterday.’”

“Hard to call them ‘terrorists’ these days.”

“How’s that?”

“What’s the difference between a freedom fighter and a terrorist?”

“Semantics, I gather.”

“Yeah.”

“You glad you’re back?”

“Well, the job will be safer.”

“No bullets selling paper.”  They share a laugh, Marshall’s full and thick, Jim’s soft.  There’s a moment where Jim’s reaches his eyes.

“I guess I’m glad I’m back.”

“But if you could, you’d still be over there?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks, Marshall.”

“No worries.”

Marshall locks the door and Jim offers to help him clean up but the big man will have none of that.  It’s late and the Brubeck fades to Ellington.  Jim should be asleep, should be getting ready for his first day at work, but he really wants to see the sun and so he drinks his coffee and when Marshall is done he walks the guy to his car and they hug as old friends, and when the man’s car turns the corner, Jim goes down the block to an all-night diner and joins the other nighthawks there and when the black fades to gray, the first Scranton sunrise in ten years hits his face and there’s something that resembles a smile on Jim Halpert’s lips.