Nick was allowed to go home on Thursday. He would be allowed to return to work the next Monday. He had no idea how he was supposed to give an IV or insert a catheter with a broken wrist, but he'd figure it out. It wasn't like he had time to go out on disability, not with only a few months under his belt and a baby on the way.

His head still ached. Nick could have given a lecture about post-concussive syndrome. He'd given several presentations about the condition. Now he was living proof.

The cops who'd arrested Baudin showed up to tell him that the DA had declined to press charges against the SEAL who had battered him so badly. "We think it's bullshit," said Irving. Irving turned out to be a middle-aged white guy with a paunchy middle and a Philadelphia accent. "Honestly, we think it's bullshit. But the DA hates to press charges against military. Especially decorated military, you know what I mean? I guess it doesn't tend to go well."

The other cop, Kyrie, just sneered. "Yeah, they show up in their dress uniform with all their medals and shit, and half of the jury just salutes out of habit. Your best bet is a civil trial."

Nick let Tom bring him home. They went back to the condo. When they pulled up to the curb, Nick found he couldn't make himself get out of the car.

"I'm sorry, Tom.” He closed his one good eye. The other one had swollen shut after Baudin's onslaught, and had stayed shut. The swelling would go down eventually. "I just—I don't think I can."

Tom fell silent for a moment, and then he wrapped his hand around Nick's good shoulder. "Babe. You've done so well around everything else. No one's going to blame you for letting go a little bit here. Okay? It's okay to be scared. It's okay to be nervous. We're going to get through this. Want me to help you out of the car?"

Nick nodded. He shook when Tom gently hauled him to his feet, and together they made their way up to the front door.

The last time Nick had opened that door, he'd gotten seven kinds of crap beaten out of him.

His blood still stained the carpet when he shuffled into the living room. Tom looked away, a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I tried to clean it up, but I couldn't even get back in until after the crime scene guys processed it."

"Oh.” Was there a proper way to respond to that? Had some etiquette guru written a post about it somewhere? "It's fine, I guess. Adds character maybe?” His jaw ached when he spoke. The doctors didn't think it was broken. It might have had a hairline fracture, but nothing that would justify wiring it shut and nothing to justify the risks of taking X-rays.

Mal appeared from the kitchen. Danny had been strapped to his chest, and Sammy ran out by his side. "Daddy!" Sammy yelled, a bright smile crossing his face. "You're home!"

"I'm home, Sammy." Nick braced for impact as Sammy flung his arms around him. "I'm home."

"I'm glad. Staying with Tom all the time is okay, but you're my dad, and I missed you. Plus, I was scared. I didn't know what that jerk did to you.” Sammy scowled. "I'm going to cut off his knees."

Nick grimaced and staggered over to the couch. Then he froze. "He was sitting on the couch," he whispered. "Just like he owned the place."

Tom's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything.

Nick took a deep breath and sat on the other end of the couch. Mal sat beside him, on the cushion between where Baudin had been and where Nick now sat. Thank God for Mal.

"I think, Sammy, that instead of cutting off Baudin's knees, maybe you should think about the reasons why he did what he did," he said.

Tom did a double take. "Is that really appropriate?” His tone told Nick that the question was purely rhetorical.

Nick closed his eyes for a second. He didn't dare nod his head or anything like that. Lord, he'd probably make a whole new mess on the carpet. "It is," he said, in as firm a voice as he could manage. "Did anyone talk to you about why Baudin tried to hurt me?"

"Because he's a butt-face.” Sammy stated it like he would state any other fact, such as that his father had hazel eyes. "He's a butt-face with a butthole mouth, and I hate him."

Nick gave him half a grin. "Well, I'm okay with you hating him. But listen to me for a second. You hate him because of what he did to me."

"Yeah, I do.” Sammy stomped his foot. "I want him to pay."

"We'll see about that. But you and I, we haven't done anything to Baudin. So why do you think he wanted to hurt me?” Nick could still see that fist coming down at him, but he had to fake it to get through to Sammy.

Sammy puzzled this one out for a few seconds. "Did someone hurt him?"

"Maybe.” Nick wrinkled his nose. "It's not like he was going to tell me, right?” Sammy shook his head and giggled a little, and Nick knew it was okay to press on. "Someone probably did hurt him at some point, and this is how he reacted. Now, you're going to hear a lot of people say a lot of things about alphas. You already know that, right?"

Sammy crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the window. "Maisie Stewart said alphas are just big, dumb men, who are only good for picking things up and putting them down again. And Mr. Ogden said alphas needed to be kept on a leash so we don't go crazy and 'bust up the joint.'"

"Who's Mr. Ogden?” Nick had heard the name before, but trying to remember made his head hurt.

"He's the PE teacher."

"Oh. Well, that's a good example of the kinds of things you're going to hear a lot, although I'm going to have words with the principal about that kind of talk around impressionable young boys. Do you think Baudin was acting like an alpha?"

Sammy nodded vigorously, his brown hair tumbling into his eyes. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. "I think he was using being an alpha as an excuse to act like a butt."

"It's possible.” Nick had to hide a grin. "Or maybe people told him what alphas are 'supposed' to be like so often that he believed it. Now you, you're a good alpha. You're strong, but you know how to behave around other people. Your father, Tom, is another one. He's very strong, and when he needs to, he can fight like he was ten sailors."

Tom preened, just a little.

"But when Tom isn't out in the field, being a SEAL, Tom doesn't hurt people. Tom uses his head instead of his fists. So does Mal's husband, Trent. Right?” Nick caught Sammy's eyes.

Sammy grinned. "Yeah. And they both like to go out and do stuff and play ball and stuff like that. They're awesome alphas."

"Don't let it go to your head.” Mal winked at Tom.

Nick sat back a little bit. "So yeah. He's had his issues. They don't excuse what he did to me, not even a little bit. But they do explain it. Do you think we should cut off his knees, with a hacksaw or a chainsaw or maybe a really dull steak knife? Or do you think we should show him what a real alpha should be?"

Sammy pouted. "Fine, I won't cut off his knees.” He ran back into the kitchen. "Much."

Mal twisted so he could look straight at Nick. "Hm. I guess I never would have thought of it that way. Of course, that dull steak knife is looking pretty good to me."

Nick snickered. "Don't get me wrong. If Serena is still willing to work for me, I'm going to sue him until he cries."

Tom's grin was wide and bright, the first real smile he'd given since the attack. "That's my boy!” He rubbed a circle into Nick's back, and they ordered takeout for dinner.

The next day, Nick spoke to Serena. As it turned out, she was already aware of the assault, and not because she'd seen a report about it in the police blotter. "I've already heard from Mr. Baudin's lawyer. Seems he's none too pleased with you."

Nick spluttered for a moment. "I suppose I picked up on that when he broke my ribs, busted up my face, and gave me a massive concussion, but why would his lawyer call mine?"

"Oh, he's suing you.” She scoffed and sipped from something. "Apparently while the DA decided not to press charges because patriotism or whatever, and the Navy isn't kicking him out because...I have no idea why, actually...the Navy did discipline him. They busted him back to E-5, which is the lowest ranking officer they can have in the SEALs. They fined him, too."

Nick rubbed the spot right above his nose. It hurt. "Okay. That's good, I guess. It's something. So why is he coming after me, again?"

"He's claiming you provoked him into the incident, because you wouldn't leave like you were told.” Serena sounded almost bored with the whole idea. "I don't think he's got a leg to stand on, personally. I just want to know if you want to file a countersuit.” She cleared her throat delicately. "You're not obligated to, obviously, but given that you called me, I'm guessing you have a little something in mind."

Nick blushed. "Well, yeah. When they told me the DA wasn't going to press charges, I did figure I was going to have to sue. I'm a little pissed."

"You should be pissed. What he did to you beggars the imagination. I'm shocked that the Navy didn't do more, frankly. I'd be worried for your safety, if I were you.” She took a deep breath. "But then again, I guess there's not a lot you can do if the police aren't interested in helping."

"Oh, the police are on board. It's up to the DA to press charges or not.” He sighed. "Yeah. I want to countersue. I should probably check with Tom and make sure this doesn't jam him up in any way, but I think he'll back me. If I'm not going to get justice, I can at least do this.” It was probably too much to hope for, that Tom wouldn't get hurt by this action. He still needed to do something. He couldn't sit passively by and just accept what had happened.

When he told Tom, Tom just shrugged. "I figured you'd sue, honestly. Good for you. Baudin's freaking loaded. Play your cards right and you could come out on top. Financially, anyway.” He rubbed his face, right where Nick's bruises were. "Glad to hear they did something to him, at least. Busting him down a couple of ranks probably won't mean much since he's not dependent on his paycheck, but it'll hurt his pride."

"Yeah, that's why he decided to try to sue me.” Nick curled his lip. "I don't get this. Isn't the whole 'bust him down a couple of ranks' thing supposed to make him think twice about being a dick?"

"You'd think. And Baudin isn't typically such an ass. He needs counseling. He doesn't need to be out there, with a gun in his hand, at this point.” Tom sat back and wrapped an arm around Nick's shoulders. "He comes from old money up in Boston. We're talking loaded. He's got some issues he needs to work out, don't get me wrong. And a lot of us have been willing to cut him some slack on a lot of things, because holy crap was his family life weird. But here's the thing. He wasn't ever...” He trailed off. "What his ex did to him was wrong. It would have been pretty evil, if he hadn't gotten caught. But that's not an excuse to run around and treat all omegas like dirt, or to get into it with the people in our lives. You know?"

Nick hummed his assent. "So you're okay with me going after him?"

"Me? Oh, hell yeah. A couple of the guys aren't. They think we should stick together. But my thing is, if he did this to you, he could do it to their partners. And trust me, most of the guys get that. I think Kelly wants to toss him off the side as soon as we deploy and we're in international waters."

"He might do that just to keep Mal from getting in trouble.” Nick grimaced. "Mal has some very creative ideas for what he wants to do to Baudin. I couldn't understand half of them."

"Well, Mal speaks a few languages. Maybe it's good to get Baudin out of the country for a while.” Tom grimaced. "Mal didn't exactly grow up with laws. But speaking of deployment..."

Nick bowed his head. The nerves in the front of his face lit up, but he held back a wince. "You're leaving again."

"I have to. You know how it is.” Tom squeezed his hand. "I don't want to, but it's the job."

"I know. And I fell in love with a SEAL. So if I want the foot rubs and the incredible support, I have to put up with an evil bureaucracy snatching my boyfriend away from me."

"Right. And it's not like they're doing it for shits and giggles. There's that whole defending democracy thing.” Tom grinned.

"Right.” Nick didn't care about that. Rather, he wasn't sure he believed it. Still, he knew it meant something to Tom and the others, so he forced a smile and rested his head on Tom's shoulder.

The family spent the rest of the weekend together, getting as much time as they could in before they had to ship out. Nick wasn't up for much in terms of physical activity, so they stayed at home for the most part. Tom offered to do the grocery shopping alone, but Nick wasn't willing to stay at the Virginia Beach place by himself.

They got all kinds of looks as they shuffled through the grocery store. Nick could see both Tom and Sammy bristling under the disapproving glower of their fellow shoppers. One middle-aged woman in a purple Stop Domestic Violence tee shirt approached, but Nick stopped her with an upraised hand before she could get a word out. "It wasn't him. It was one of his colleagues, and the problem is being dealt with. I promise."

She glared at Tom for a long moment before she sighed. "Are you sure? Because we can get you and your son someplace safe."

Nick scowled. Why was it that no one believed him? Of course, no one had believed him back when he was a kid, either. "My mom was abused. My dad," he told her, as his anger abated. "My dad killed his next wife. I'm not letting my son see that. I appreciate your willingness to help. I know that's not always the case. But us? We're good.”

She pushed a card into his hand. "In case you need it. Or in case you want to volunteer, when you're feeling better.” She glared at Tom again and walked away.

Tom glared after her. "It's going to be a fun week at work," he said after a minute.

"I know.” Nick closed his eyes for a second. "But at least folks care.”

***

Tom loved sunglasses. They were the best invention in the history of time. They blocked the sun, which scorched the earth here with an intensity he wouldn't have thought possible until they made landfall, from his precious eyes. They blocked his comrades from seeing the black eye he'd gotten in his most recent dust-up with Baudin, too.

Baudin's split lip and missing tooth were harder to hide.

Tom hefted his gun and scanned the horizon. They'd been sent here to look for human traffickers again. This time they'd been sent to Western Sahara. On the one hand, Tom kind of got why human trafficking fell into their area of expertise. Human traffickers didn't just smuggle people looking for a better life or escaping violence, after all. Sometimes they smuggled more dangerous types, which became a national security issue for more than just the United States.

And, of course, a place like Western Sahara tended to be ripe for the nastier sort of human traffickers and worse. The region had been plagued by conflict for decades, rent by colonialism as various foreign powers asserted claims to the people and the resources underneath them. At present, Tom and the rest of his platoon were guests of the Moroccan government, but Tom wasn't going to pretend he wasn't uncomfortable with it.

"Why, exactly, are we here again?” Hopper yawned beside Tom. "I'm fine with helping people. I kind of like that part, actually. I'm just—I ain't a cop. I don't want to be a cop. I'm a sailor. Is it me or does it feel like that line's getting a little blurred here?"

Tom shrugged. "Yup.” He didn't see a need to beat around the bush here.

"That ain't right. We're good at what we do. But we're not...” He licked his lips. "We're not trained in that stuff. We don't have laws on our side and all that."

"No, we don't.” Tom sighed. "I'm not feeling real up on the law back home right now, either."

Hopper brought his gun online and pointed over to the east. Tom focused and looked down his scope. "It's nothing," he told his buddy. "Just a gazelle.”

"I thought they were herd animals.” Hopper shrugged. "Anyway. Are you still on about that?"

"Wouldn't you be? He broke into my house, tried to kill my partner and my kids' dad, and now he's trying to sue him for 'provoking' him into trying to kill him. You can't tell me you wouldn't be pissed about that.” Tom snorted.

"Okay, but aren't we all supposed to stand together?” Hopper didn't look at him. He didn't turn his eyes from the perimeter, because they were supposed to be keeping watch. "I mean we're supposed to be family and stuff like that."

"Sure. And family doesn't beat the shit out of each other's partners, Hopper. I understand why he did it. I do. I just don't care. He doesn't get to pick who I'm with. You think if he tried that crap with Mal, Kelly wouldn't have already broken his neck?"

"Mal would have already broken his neck.”

"True. Doesn't change the fact that none of you would be okay with him doing this shit in your house, so why do you expect me to just roll over when he does it in mine?” Tom shook his head.

Tom hadn't given serious thought to refusing to re-up before. When his first enlistment ended, back in the day, he'd been too scared to refuse. Deep in his mind, he was afraid he'd be prosecuted if he went back to Nebraska. Besides, where would he go? He couldn't go back to Bow String, and he'd had to surrender his place at college. Once his first enlistment as a SEAL had run out, he'd been willing enough to stay in. He might not think of himself as a career Navy guy, but he couldn't think of anyplace else he should be.

Now, he questioned it. Were these guys really his brothers at all?

Their shift on guard duty ended after six hours, and then they both settled in for some shut-eye. Hopper sought out Baudin, and Tom just shook his head. He pulled out his little black and white notebook and got back to sketching.

He hated being deployed right now. He didn't mind being in the desert in the winter. That didn't bother him in the slightest. It had been a good long time since he'd cared about Christmas, but now that he had a family he hated being away from them at such a time. There was no way on Earth that he'd be able to get back to Virginia Beach in time to see them.

Did they do international shipping from Western Sahara? Maybe he could send Nick Baudin's severed head.

He chased the violent thought from his mind. He hated his fellow SEAL, but killing him wouldn't be the answer. It also wouldn't make him any better than Baudin. He had to come up with something better.

He checked his notes. He hadn't made as much progress as he'd have liked with his research into bomb detection, thanks to all of the drama back home. He'd made some progress, at least, and he'd gotten a couple of new ideas since he arrived. He had concerns about drones as delivery systems, but he liked them for recon. Maybe they could use them to help find IEDs?

The next day, DeWitt got a message from Norfolk. The group of traffickers they were tracking had picked up a cargo near Guelta Zemmur and were crossing the berm into the "Free Zone," the part of Western Sahara controlled by Polisario. DeWitt's announcement set the entire platoon on edge. Land mines were a major hazard, and mines might be the least of their problems. They were going to need each and every last bit of their wits about them as they followed their prey.

Tom considered his options. He walked up to Chief. "Do we have any drones, Chief?"

"Drones?” Chief scratched the side of his head.

"Yeah. Just little ones, like you'd have a camera on."

"We can probably get them. Why?"

"I want to try something. I'm looking for mines.”

"Have at it buddy.” Chief gestured to their communication equipment.

Robson saw what Tom was doing and asked a couple of questions. Then he sat down to pitch in. Part of Tom wanted to push him away, because he didn't trust many of these guys anymore, and he didn't want the partnership to interfere with his college applications. The rest of him flipped that first part the bird. Survival was more important than theoretical college applications.

He hunkered down and got back to work. Within eight hours, he and Robson had come up with something they thought could probably pass muster. Since they weren't overly worried about stealth with this particular mission, at least at this point, they could test the drone out without compromising the mission. If it didn't work, they had a map with a safe path indicated. The path might still be accurate, and it might not be. The team would have to tread carefully, but it was better than nothing.

They moved quickly through the desert, heading toward the point near the border that would be best to cut the traffickers off. They'd lost a little time due to drone rebuilding, but they had time to spare. Tom wondered about the time they had to spare. He didn't share his thoughts, but he wondered.

He and Robson scouted ahead with their revamped drone. It took them a couple of tries, and someone who turned out to be part of a passing group of nomadic herders tried to take a potshot at the drone, but they managed to get some good images that showed slight irregularities in the soil. Testing proved those irregularities to be land mines.

He and Robson exchanged high fives. If they could get time when they got back to the States, or even back to a proper base, they could outfit this puppy with infrared cameras that would give them a better view of the results of chemical leakage from explosives in the land mines. They might be able to outfit a drone with devices that could detect the chemicals themselves, which would make the drone more useful in the field. They could throw that technology into robots, too.

They could sell those robots to bomb squads all around the world.

That was for later, though. For now, they had to get through the Berm.

The Berm wasn't a berm at all. The Berm was a sand wall that had been created by the Moroccan military to separate the area they controlled and the area controlled by Polisario. The wall held one of the highest concentrations of landmines in the world. Their Moroccan comrades knew of their presence and weren't going to give them any trouble.

The problem would come on the other side.

They crossed by cover of darkness. If they'd gone in with any more people, even other highly trained SEALs, they'd have made too much noise. As it was, Tom and Kulkarni had a tense moment when they heard border guards converse back and forth. Neither of them had more than a cursory command of Hassaniya Arabic, so they weren't sure if they'd been made or not. They froze in place until they heard the guards walk away and quickly joined their friends.

They could have just killed the guards and kept moving, but the border was tense enough as it was. They didn't want to have to add to it.

They pressed forward into the Free Zone interior, moving until they got to their destination. Most Americans probably wouldn't see much, but Tom could clearly make out ruts in the hard-packed dirt. Trucks came through here. It was the perfect location for a meet up—or a body dump.

They set up positions and waited. Their quarry showed up at about an hour after dawn, when the scorching sun was already making Tom wish he'd left his body armor on the other side of the Berm.

Not many vehicles would make it across the rough terrain in the Free Zone. There weren't many roads. In other areas the platoon had gone into, they'd seen tractor trailers. Here, they saw a pickup truck with a horse trailer on the back. For a minute, Tom wondered if this could be their target. The bad guys couldn't really be transporting people in a horse trailer, could they?

The logo painted on the side of the trailer told him everything they needed to know. Out here, in the Free Zone, adult illiteracy was something like eighty percent. They needed visuals if they wanted to identify themselves. That Chaos Tree logo, it stood out.

DeWitt gave the order. A bullet rang out in the clear, dry air, followed almost immediately by a loud bang. Adami had shot out the tires on the front of the pickup truck. A couple of the armed men in the back of the truck yelled and fell out as the driver struggled to keep the truck right side up.

Tom wished he could say he was surprised to see that the majority of the gunmen were white. They had that American look to them, too. Maybe he was just reading into their nationality because of the Chaos Tree logo. Either way, they were the bad guys, and they had to go.

He fired at the driver, a red-haired guy who'd jumped out of the truck with an AR-15. He hit right where he intended to, in the heart. SEALs could take prisoners, of course, but they didn't often choose to do so. He fired again, this time at one of the truck bed gunmen who'd come in to check on the driver.

The other SEALs were firing too. In fact, the whole event only took a few seconds. It was loud. Tom knew he'd lose his hearing eventually from all the shooting. Once they'd taken out all of the Chaos Tree gunmen, the SEALs could go ahead and check on the people in the trailer.

Tom was afraid to look. He didn't want to know what he'd find in that metal coffin. He stepped back when DeWitt asked for volunteers, and so did quite a few of the other guys. It was up to Baudin and Hopper to approach and gingerly open the trailer door. Tom stood back, ready to shoot if he had to.

No dirtbag human trafficker was going to get to take Baudin out, after all.

The sight that greeted them was pathetic. No one inside was dead, yet. For some, it would only be a matter of time. Baudin, ignoring the danger, waded right into the morass of people with his canteen out. He couldn't give them much, but the SEALs would go back over the BERM and get back to water easily. These people had been without for a long time.

One of the migrants held Baudin's hand for a long moment and closed his eyes. He didn't speak Arabic, but muttered something in a language none of the SEALs present understood. Then he closed his eyes and stopped breathing. Baudin checked his pulse, and shook his head.

Tom looked away. He could try to comfort himself with the knowledge that the man had known a little bit of comfort before he died, but who was he really fooling?

Lupo radioed for help. Screw international protocols and whatnot. These folks needed to be evacuated. They guarded the migrants for hours, until the first helicopters arrived at nightfall. A few spoke languages the SEALs knew, like Arabic or French. Their stories were familiar.

Everyone in the trailer was a young man. Whether he came from Cameroon, Ghana, Senegal, Rwanda, or Niger, each turned out to be essentially the same man. There was no work for him at home and there were few prospects. He decided to try his luck in Europe for a while and send some money home. He went into a larger town to try to get help to get to Germany, or Belgium, or France, or England, and got caught up with these traffickers. They knew the crossing would be risky.

The men from Chaos Tree hadn't given them food or water in two days. They'd taken all of their money, stuffed them into the trailer, and told them if any one of them made a sound they'd fill the whole trailer full of lead. Then they'd headed out across the desert. That was it.

"I don't understand.” Tom watched the last helicopter take off toward the Canary Islands. The migrants on board would be nursed back to health. They'd probably be deported back to their home countries, and they'd probably try again. After all, the reasons they'd left hadn't changed. "I understand why the refugees do it. I do. What I don't get is why these pigs get involved with the human trafficking business and then deliberately kill their customers. When it's just neglect I understand. It's evil, but I understand. But this shit?"

"It's  just like everything else, Fitzpatrick.” Baudin finished smoothing the dirt over the grave of the one known dead man. "You have to follow the money."