If Mal had to come up with a list of things to never do again, driving off into the mountains in an Opel Astra K full of injured Americans would probably top the list. Actually, no. As he put the pedal to the metal for forty-one minutes of hot, sweaty terror, he had to move that action item down to number two. The top of his list of things to never do again would be driving into the Greek mountains, in the dark, in an Opel Astra K full of injured American alphas with itchy trigger fingers, who were trained to kill and eager to do so.

 

And attractive ones at that...

 

"You do understand that this is quite possibly the single dumbest thing you've done since you took apart Ma's television to see the men inside?" Morna pouted from the seat beside him, where she was supposed to be keeping watch for things like stray tractors and errant pre-dawn donkeys.

 

"I'm fairly certain sleeping with that English financier was slightly worse." Mal angled his rearview mirror to get a better look at the SEALs in the back seat. This was not an ideal way to transport four large, injured men. The hottest one, the one with the jaw and the eyes, had volunteered to take the floor back there. Mal couldn't see him, and that was probably for the best.

 

He didn't need the distraction. The only one of the four who wasn't injured was a tall, bald, black man who hadn't been willing to give up his gun for any reason whatsoever. He hadn't wanted to get into the car, either. Only when their leader, Trent, pointed out this was the only way to get help for Lupo and Baudin did he bow his head and help load his friends into the car.

 

Mal didn't blame the tall man, whose name turned out to be Floyd. He could have lived without the man's eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, though.

 

Lupo and Baudin were the worst off. They had both lost a lot of blood. Mal had gotten them bandaged up, at least well enough to last them an hour. He was going to have his work cut out for him once they got to Maroneia, though.

 

"Okay, the Englishman was stupid," Morna agreed. "Palling around with these Americans? I mean, at least your boy toy there didn't have guns."

 

"True." Mal managed to huff out a little laugh.

 

"You guys got a problem with the USA?" Floyd's voice rumbled from the back seat.

 

"The whole brink of nuclear war thing has a few people a tad concerned about long-term investments, thank you." Morna sat up a little straighter. If she had a handbag, she'd have held it primly on her lap.

 

Floyd opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "Okay, not going to argue that. Maybe it looked a little odd from the outside." He looked around the car. "So what exactly are you people, Interpol?"

 

"Er, no." Mal squirmed in his seat. "Not as such, no. It's probably best we don't talk about that."

 

Floyd narrowed his eyes. "Terrorists?"

 

"No. Hell no." Morna scoffed. "If we've done our job right, you'll never hear of us. We don't have an agenda. We don't have a religious or ethnic…thing…we want to force on anyone. It's kind of the opposite, really."

 

"You just go around and blow up abandoned schools." Floyd yawned. "Sorry. It's not the company."

 

"We've got coffee and tea at the remote site." Mal glanced at his sister. "We're not exactly supposed to be proselytizing, either."

 

Floyd snorted. "I'll bet."

 

Mal wouldn't have minded staying back to blow up the school, to be honest. He liked explosions, especially when no one could be hurt by them. They couldn't risk being caught, and he and Morna knew there would be more to risk for the SEALs if they got caught than for anyone else.

 

Ordinarily, Mal wouldn't care if the SEALs got into trouble. Trent and the others might rat Mal and Morna out, and it wasn't like they stood out or anything.

 

And maybe he wanted to do something for Trent. Was that a sin? Sure, Mal didn't have a lot of interest in Americans, but Trent was cute. It wasn't a bad thing to want to do something nice for him. They were working on the same side in this case, at least.

 

They pulled into the garage at the abandoned hotel. Whoever built the place had plenty of foresight when he'd put it up. He'd put in underground parking for employees. The customers and the employees were all gone, and so were the underground groups that had been using the hotel after the place had been abandoned. New organizations had risen to take their place, and the Wolves had joined them once Mal met with the owner.

 

He, Morna, and Floyd got out. "Okay," he said, with a sigh. "The first thing we have to do is to help your friends. The best place for that is Kitchen Two."

 

"You want to work on them in a kitchen." Floyd crossed his arms over his chest. "Why does that sound dumb?"

 

"It's still got running water," Morna pointed out. "That's why. It's a pain in the arse because we still have to lug them upstairs to rooms, but Mal's right. We should do this as safely for them as we can, if we're going to do it at all."

 

Morna and Floyd used luggage carts to wheel the men in, while Mal got ready to work. He didn't kid himself. He wasn't a surgeon. If someone had some serious damage that required hardcore work, the best Mal could do was tide them over until someone with more formal training could get to them. But Mal could hold his own in a pinch. None of these guys had the kind of injury that required specialized equipment. They needed help, but they didn't need a hospital.

 

Lupo was the worst off, only because he'd lost the most blood. Mal put on gloves and a clean apron and got to work. They didn't have any real anesthetic. They had a local, and they had Floyd and Morna.

 

"Here comes the fun part," he told them. "He's probably going to wake up for this. I have to find the bullet."

 

"Oh, hell no." Floyd stepped back.

 

"We can't leave it in there. It's too much of a risk of infection." He swallowed. "You're going to have to hold him down."

 

"I can do it." Morna met his eyes.

 

Floyd looked over at the door. "I'll help."

 

Mal had to cut off Lupo's pants, but he didn't think the man would mind under the circumstances. Once he had access to the wound, he cleaned it out and got to work. Lupo woke up as soon as Mal started to dig for the bullet, and it wasn't pretty. Morna and Floyd struggled to hold him down, but Mal got the bullet out as quickly as he could. Once that was done, all that was left was the stitching. Lupo had much less to complain about with that.

 

Mal's next victim was Baudin, who'd been shot in the arm. This injury impacted the bone, and that was no good. He was going to need a proper hospital to take care of that, eventually. Mal's job here was clear — keep the injury from getting worse.

 

He didn't have the luxury of getting X-rays. All he could do was to get the bullet out, stop the bleeding, and immobilize the arm. When he got into the arm, he could see the fracture wasn't that terrible. There were no bone chips floating free, only a few lines emanating from the impact site. The worst aspect of this injury, like the one to Lupo, was the blood loss.

 

Mal removed the bullet. Then he stitched the wound shut and splinted the arm. He applied a sling, taking a moment to appreciate that Baudin had the kind of body that could wander around without a shirt on. In fact, he'd go so far as to say Baudin's abs should be exposed to the world.

 

Once he cleaned up from Baudin's treatment, it was time to work on Trent. This was the part Mal dreaded. The other two guys were hot, sure, but Mal saw hot guys all the time. Trent, though, was something else. Mal had been forced to think about him for months. And now he had to help Trent off with his armor, his uniform shirt, and then with his undershirt.

 

Oh God. Mal hoped Trent would be somehow hideous under all that body armor. Okay, Navy SEALs weren't usually unappealing, but maybe he'd have a distasteful tattoo. He had to have something other than that uniform that would make him repugnant, but no. His washboard abs gave way to high and sharp hip bones, exactly the kind of thing that made Mal's mouth water.

 

Drool wasn't sanitary. Mal had to remind himself of that as he sanitized his equipment.

 

Trent roused himself as Floyd wheeled his luggage cart over to the prep table they were using as a treatment area. "You're a doctor now?"

 

Mal forced himself to adopt his usual nonchalant attitude. "I'm what you get under the circumstances. Not that I would mind playing doctor with you, but we do need to make sure you have blood flow to all of the appropriate places. Which, I should point out, means stitches right now."

 

Floyd looked away. Morna blushed as red as her hair.

 

Trent blushed a little, and the still-functional part of Mal's brain noted that he still had enough blood pressure to do that. "Okay, well, what about my men?"

 

"I've already dealt with them. If I don't like their vitals I'll go steal some blood in Komotini, but I'd rather not attract attention right now. There are still some members of the enemy team at large." Just like that, Mal found himself able to focus again. The prospect of live enemies behind them left him unable to think about anything sexual at all.

 

Trent submitted to having his injuries bathed and irrigated. "You left them behind you? When I saw you walk into that room, I wouldn't have thought that was possible."

 

Mal concentrated on threading the needle. "Actually, they weren't at home. We found the place by triangulating on a bunker near the school, probably a fallout shelter. Gotta love the Cold War." He knew he was babbling. "Okay, so let's get a look at that bullet wound. I can see an exit wound…"

 

"It was through and through." Trent winced. "Trust me. I was there."

 

Mal checked out the exit wound. "I'm inclined to agree with you. Can you move it?"

 

Trent tried. "It doesn't feel great."

 

"Hm. There's probably a muscle injury there. I'll stitch it up, and we can put a sling on it. A real surgeon might have another solution, and they'd probably have all manner of physiotherapy and whatnot. I'm just a field medic."

 

"It's fine." Trent gave him a thin smile.

 

Mal took the hint and got to stitching. When he finished, he took vital signs from all three of the injured Americans. He could have been happier with Baudin's blood pressure, but it wasn't enough to send him running to Komotini yet. He decided to put them all into rooms and let them get some rest.

 

Trent went under his own power, while the others needed help. Mal, Floyd, and Morna got the other two situated, and Mal set his alarm to go off every hour to check on Lupo and Baudin.

 

The next few hours were challenging. Mal wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he didn't dare sleep without checking on Lupo and Baudin. By the time the sun rose, Baudin had stabilized and Lupo had slipped into a more natural sleep.

 

Trent had gotten a couple of hours' sleep too. He roused himself to stagger out into the hallway and speak to Mal. "We can't just hide out here forever."

 

Mal leaned against the wall. He could have gotten lost in Trent's pretty green eyes. "I'm sorry. Your gear is in the trunk of the Opel."

 

"You brought us here in an Opel?" Trent's eyes bulged, and his face got bright red.

 

"Well yeah, why?"

 

"You mean besides the fact that I'll never live it down? I don't know. You want to explain how you broke the laws of physics?"

 

Mal tossed his head back and laughed. Maybe there was a touch of hysteria to it. "You learn to improvise, Trent. I'm sure that's something you've done a time or two. Come on, let's get your things. I'm sure we can contact your handsome Master Chief."

 

"I told you before. He's married. Five kids."

 

Mal didn't try to hide his shudder. "I can't imagine. But him being married doesn't make him less handsome."

 

Trent blushed, and Mal laughed again. "Sorry. He is handsome, but come on, Trent. You're too easy."

 

Trent looked away. "Let's just see if we can get the radio working, okay?"

 

Mal remembered himself. It wasn't the time for him to sit there and try to seduce Trent. If nothing else, Trent had just been injured.

 

They retrieved the radio from the Opel and made their way out onto the balcony out back to make the call. The balcony overlooked an abandoned almond grove, and the scent threatened to overpower Mal.

 

Trent fiddled with the radio for a minute, and found the frequency he wanted. "This is Away Team Three looking for base, do you copy?"

 

The voice on the other end was gruff and familiar. "This is base. Is this Kelly?"

 

"Yes, Chief. Three casualties, none fatal. We found help in an unexpected quarter." Trent made eye contact with Mal and shrugged.

 

Mal didn't mind. He'd have been offended, and a little frightened, if he and Morna had been expected.

 

Chief cleared his throat. "There was an explosion. The building was reduced to rubble."

 

"Yes. The work of the terrorists. But I can assure you that all four of us have survived. We've been taken to an outside location for assistance."

 

"What location is that?"

 

Mal sighed. He didn't want to step in, or to give anything away. He didn't have a choice. He took the mic. "Chief, so lovely to hear your voice again. It seems our paths converge."

 

"You." If Mal had to judge, he'd say Chief’s voice wavered between something he'd find on his shoe and something he'd find in the comments on a political Facebook post.

 

"Us." Mal grinned cheerily. It was the only response he could think of. "Your men are being cared for at an abandoned hotel near Maroneia. I can get them to you at a meeting point near here fairly quickly."

 

"It will take us about a day. We have casualties here." Was this what the man sounded like when he got teeth pulled? Mal wouldn't doubt it. "Can you give us that long?"

 

"Absolutely, Chief. Your men are a delight. We're thrilled to entertain them. Let us know when and where you want to make the exchange, and we'll do it."

 

Mal terminated the connection and met Trent's eyes. A full day with Trent wasn't in anyone's best interest.

 

~

 

Trent took another nap in the dusty bed Mal had assigned him. He shouldn't let himself rest, not while his men were laid up. He should be at their sides, watching over them with his gun out. He didn't have the energy right now.

 

Floyd was in good shape. He could step in and keep an eye on their apparent saviors while Trent rested. A couple of hours' sleep got Trent into a much better mental state, and he could get ready to face whatever came next.

 

He headed into the hotel lobby, where he found the red-haired girl cleaning her guns. She had a lot of them, and it looked like she knew how to take care of them too. Trent needed to stop thinking of her as a civilian. "I don't know if we've been properly introduced," he said, looking down at her. "I'm Trent Kelly."

 

She flashed him a quick smile. "Morna O'Donnell. How are you feeling this fine morning?"

 

"I've had worse days." He looked around. "What is this place?" The facility had once been beautiful. It hadn't yet fallen into decay, although most of the more luxurious appointments had been ignored.

 

"Oh, maybe thirty years ago or so, someone decided the mountains up here needed a luxury hotel." She put down the gun she was cleaning. "Then he found himself a clue and figured out that the market for a luxury hotel without a clear view of the water is pretty limited. The owner has a lot of left-leaning sympathies, so he lets different groups use the place sometimes." She glared down the hall. "Of course, if certain people didn't feel compelled to go saving the tools of imperialism all the time we could probably keep using it, but here we are." She flicked her gaze back to him. "No offense, of course."

 

Trent moistened his lips. "So he goes around saving Americans a lot?" He decided not to address her comment about imperialism just now. He couldn't exactly deny it, and people who called other people "tools of imperialism" to their face weren't usually in the mood to listen to reason.

 

"He's not a big fan of collateral damage." She sighed and took up her task again. "And to be honest, he's right. We were going in to deal with whatever they were planning to do at the airport, but we weren't exactly enthusiastic about taking on twenty or more Daesh terrorists by ourselves. You guys kept their attention on you, which let us do our jobs."

 

Trent scowled. "We're professionals. We're not there to be a distraction for…for whatever you're supposed to be."

 

"I'm sure." She glanced back up at him. "We didn't plan for you to show up at all. As it was, you were helpful. So Mal felt compelled to get you safe. I'm sure the presence of four hot alphas had nothing to do with it." She snorted and rolled her eyes.

 

"Wow." Trent ran his hand through his hair. "You don't pull any punches, do you?"

 

"Not as a general rule." She inclined her head back down the hall. "If you're wondering where he is, he's checking on your friends. The tall fella's with him."

 

"That would be Vince Floyd. He's probably a little on edge."

 

"I can hardly blame him. We're not exactly at ease around you either." Morna’s focus returned to her task, and Trent accepted his dismissal.

 

He trudged down the hall. It didn't take long to find where his host was. He could hear male voices, three of them, from behind a partially closed door. He recognized Floyd's voice, rough with sleep, first. "You're not a doctor. You don't get to prescribe him shit."

 

Mal's lilting accent came back. "You're right. I'm not a doctor. And we'll be getting you to your commanding officer or whatever hopefully sometime today. But my friend, I do not like the look of that wound and I don't like the smell of that wound either. We can either give him some antibiotics, since you say he's not allergic, or you can take your chances and wait."

 

Trent stepped into the room just in time to hear Lupo give a little groan. "I'll take the antibiotics," Lupo said, wincing. "I'll be the first to admit I'm not feeling so good."

 

Trent looked the men over. Lupo's leg injury looked pretty awful, and it was seeping something unwholesome and yellow. "Didn't you wash your equipment before you used it?" he asked, turning his gaze to Mal.

 

Mal met his eyes with cool defiance. He'd apparently decided to forego the flirtation. Trent already guessed it was mostly an act anyway. "As a matter of fact, I did. In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't a hospital. There's no autoclave, no IV drip, and no lab. The poor guy was on the floor for Lord knows how long. These antibiotics should set him up right." He reached into a bag on the bureau and pulled out a plastic amber bottle. "Take one of these every day for five days. It should clear you right up." He pulled out a little baggie, the kind drug dealers used, and sealed them up inside.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Cefazolin. It's an antibiotic used for wound infections, which is what we see the most of." Mal smirked. "Speaking of which, I'll be wanting a look at your stitches too, sailor."

 

Trent snorted. "I'm fine. How's Baudin?"

 

"The human washboard is healing up nicely." Mal's tone was light. "He's still a little bit woozy from the blood loss and, of course, you're going to want to get him to proper medical attention and get a cast on that arm of his. Other than that he should be fine."

 

"He's right." Floyd pursed his lips. "I watched him like a hawk with both of them, but there was no funny business."

 

Mal scoffed while Trent took off his shirt. "Why would I go through all of the trouble of sewing you back together if I was going to do you harm?"

 

"Hostages." Trent couldn't take his eyes away from Mal's lips.

 

"The hell would I do with a hostage? Besides, wouldn't they just disavow you or something?" He waved his pale hand dismissively.

 

"You do know that's a TV show, right?" Lupo was sweating, but he grinned as Floyd put the pill between his lips. "Not real life."

 

Trent grabbed a bottle of water and passed it to Lupo, who washed down the pill.

 

"They must get their ideas from somewhere." Mal changed his gloves and stepped closer to Trent. "Yeah, see, these are healing up well too. How's the arm feel?"

 

"It's sore. It'll be sore for a while." Trent shrugged. "I've had worse."

 

"Sure. But your commander isn't going to be available for a little while yet, so why don't we settle in and rest? You don't need to use the arm and risk your stitches, so don't." Mal took his gloves off and put them into a brown paper bag. "We've got some food for you, although it's nothing fancy. We're used to roughing it out here."

 

Floyd snickered. His whole body had relaxed now that Trent had arrived, but he didn't make a move to leave. "King sized beds and food that isn't MREs isn't exactly roughing it, Irish. Go on, Kelly. Rest up. Mal's right. If we're all hunkering down, we can just hang out. I'll keep watch."

 

"You've been keeping watch all night. I'll keep watch." Trent crossed his arms over his chest.

 

"Morna's keeping watch for now." Mal snorted. "Come on. We've already established that there's no point in taking you lot hostage, so just rest. You're safe here for now."

 

Floyd hesitated, and then he nodded. "Fine. But I'm staying with Lupo."

 

"Suit yourself. Give a holler if anything changes with him." Mal shrugged, Trent followed him out of the room.

 

"You've got quite the little setup here."

 

Mal smiled a little weakly. "Too bad we'll have to abandon it for a while. I don't regret it, but I will admit there's something a little sad about not being able to use it again. Not that I expect we'll be sent back to Greece for a little bit, not with an explosion like that."

 

"You blew it up?" Trent gaped at the sheer destruction.

 

"Hell yes we blew it up." Mal stepped into a bedroom. It looked unused. Trent picked up on a thin patina of dust on everything but the bedding before Mal sat down on a chair. Now that he was seated, Mal looked exhausted. His eyes looked sunken, almost hollow, and his pale skin took on a waxy sheen. "You didn't think we were going to sit around and wait for their buddies to come back and pick up the damn missile launcher, did you?"

 

"You could have waited for us and our investigators! There could have been valuable evidence somewhere in that old dump."

 

Mal gave him an old-fashioned look. "First of all, while you gentlemen were certainly useful, we weren't planning for you to be there. Blowing it up was always the plan. Secondly, we don't answer to you. We don't trust your bosses. Third —"

 

Trent stepped closer to Mal. "Oh, but you trust us?"

 

Mal twisted his lips, wryly. His gaze raked over Trent’s body, from his toes to the top of his head, and it burned just as much as any touch.  "For the time being, at least. I think we can all agree that having the bastards shoot down a plane would be kind of bad, yeah?"

 

"For the time being." Trent ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to cool himself down.  He didn’t usually get this hot. "Do you guys always go in with just the two of you?"

 

"Depends on the job." Mal took off his bulletproof vest. Trent hadn't realized he was still wearing it. Mal really hadn't slept or otherwise rested. "In this case, we realized there wasn't time to call for backup, and there were more of the bad guys than we expected." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

 

Trent knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't get closer to Mal, and he sure as hell shouldn't put his hands on him. At the same time, he'd almost died. Some reactions were normal and natural. He shouldn’t feel bad about it. He got down onto his knees, so he was on Mal's level. "Hey." He brushed his hand against Mal's cheek. "You should rest."

 

Mal’s dark gaze burned into Trent’s. "I'm still a little keyed up."  His pink tongue darted out to run across his lips.

 

Excellent. "I know a cure."

 

"I’ll bet you do." Mal tilted his head, just a little, in challenge.

 

Trent slammed their lips together. Both of them were dirty from the previous day's adventures, but Trent didn’t care. Trent had a current of energy under his skin that needed release. Maybe if they were safely on base, they'd have time to worry about getting cleaned up or something. For now, it was all about the moment, and their need.

 

Mal's quick, deft hands ran over Trent's skin. He was careful to avoid any contact with Trent's injuries, but every place his fingertips touched on Trent's torso lit up like a Roman candle in their wake. Trent tugged at Mal's shirt, eager to get it off and see what he was dealing with.

 

Mal was pale, and his shoulders and arms bore a light dusting of freckles. Another time, maybe Trent would have kissed them and lavished attention on them. This wasn't the time for that, though. This was survival sex, the kind a guy needed when he'd just survived something he didn't expect to. His body needed to prove it was alive, and if the way Mal's pants were tenting was any indication, he was feeling the same way.

 

They moved over to the bed, stopping just long enough to close the door. Mal grabbed some condoms and lube from his pack on his way past, throwing them on the bed before he grappled Trent to the mattress.

 

They both got naked as fast as they could. Trent knocked Mal onto the mattress, and Mal got up on his hands and knees. Yeah, Mal was just as needy as Trent. Trent slicked up his fingers and got to work.

 

Neither of them was inclined to talk much. What was there to say? Trent hadn’t ever been much of a talker anyway. All he wanted to do was to sink deep into the hot, welcoming man beneath him. Given the insistent way Mal rocked back onto his fingers, Mal was more than game. As soon as Trent didn't think he'd be hurting him, he rolled the condom on, slicked himself up, and worked his way into Mal.

 

Mal hissed as Trent entered him, and Trent wondered if he hadn't misjudged Mal's readiness. It was too late to stop now, though, and Mal didn't seem to want him to. He was tight, oh God, was he tight, but he moaned appreciatively when Trent bottomed out. After a moment, during which Trent wondered if time itself had stopped, Mal lifted his head and turned to look back at Trent.

 

"Move," he demanded.

 

Trent snapped his hips back and moved. This right here was exactly what he needed. This moment, this ecstasy, was proof he’d survived.  Sure, most people said the pain was proof you were alive, but for Trent this sensation right here was everything. He gripped Mal's hips and tried to hold him still, slamming into him again and again at an incredible pace. He was alive. They were alive. This was something to celebrate. His heart thudded in his ribcage in time with his thrusts, and Mal's grunts and cries made a perfect counterpoint.

 

Mal snaked a hand underneath himself and stroked furiously, in rhythm to the thrusts Trent drove into him. Trent had just enough clarity to notice. Another time that would disappoint him. He should take better care of his omega. He should bring him off himself.

 

But Mal wasn't his omega. They were just two guys in the same situation, who were getting what they could while they could. Trent redoubled his efforts, squeezing Mal's hips just enough as he held him close.

 

Mal came with a choked-off cry. Trent would have liked to hear him yell. He liked it when his partners couldn't hold back. Then again, there were a lot of guns in this place, and everyone was on edge. Trent didn't want to trust to Morna's understanding of their "relationship," and he didn't think Mal was exactly comfortable with Floyd's acceptance either.

 

Another time, another place.

 

The aftershocks wracking Mal's slender body brought Trent over the edge. His vision whited out for a moment, and he found himself at peace.

 

When he came back to himself, he pulled gently out of Mal and rolled over. Mal groaned, just a little, and fished some wet wipes from his bag. "Not exactly the Ritz, but we do what we can around here." He gave an exhausted little smirk and set to cleaning himself up.

 

Trent disposed of the condom and did the same. Now that he'd had his release, his brain had cooled a little. Had he really just snuck off to someone's room for a quick screw while in the middle of a mission? What would the others think?

 

Okay, it happened all the time. Trent was supposed to be better than this. And Mal might be helping them out for now, but he wasn't even pretending to be on their side.

 

Of course, Mal in body armor was different from Mal sitting naked on the edge of a bed in an abandoned hotel. He looked impossibly young right now. Maybe he wasn't on their side, but Trent had been raised better than to treat his partners like dirt. "Thought you were tired," Trent said. He pulled the covers back and slid beneath them. "Come on. Let's grab a little shut-eye. Hopefully our buddies won't shoot each other while we nap."