Nick sliced the pork roast and transferred the meat over to the platter. It wasn't a fancy platter. It was the single cheapest platter Target had. Tom had picked it up, along with actual plates and cutlery, after he'd invited Mal and Trent over for dinner. He probably hadn't intended to buy such things, but a quick call to his mother had ensured that he understood that serving a formal dinner or even a semi-formal dinner on paper plates was simply Not Done.

Tom didn't mention Nick or Sammy when he called. Nick didn't say anything about that either way. He didn't want to know what was going through Tom's head. He knew he was deluding himself. If Tom was serious about him, he'd have dropped their names or let them come up in conversation somehow. He hadn't.

So much for family.

Maybe Nick was being unfair. Maybe he should cut Tom some slack. As far as Nick was aware, Tom didn't know about his parents' attempts to cut Sammy off financially. And Tom could be as ashamed of them as he wanted, but he was still being attentive in person. He was more than encouraging of Nick and Sammy hanging around with people from the platoon, especially the spouses and kids.

So maybe it wasn't about them. Maybe it was about Tom's parents. He didn't talk about them at all, and no one else from the platoon spoke about them either. Whatever the reality of the situation was, Nick knew he needed to find a way to make his peace with it, because he would drive himself mad if he couldn't.

The dining table was full up with people. The side dishes were all out there already. They didn't have anything fancy. Nick hadn't had the time or money to learn to cook anything spectacular or expensive. What he did know how to do was stretch a dollar. He plastered a smile onto his face. He wasn't going to be ashamed. "All right, dinner's ready!" he announced.

He set the platter down on the table and took his seat, unwilling to look.

There was no awkward pause. Instead, the air filled with the sound of people passing plates and serving themselves. "Everything looks splendid," Mal told him. "I like the way you've added cheese to your potatoes. It reminds me of something my sister used to make before she ran off to become a pilot."

Sammy's eyes bulged as Nick plopped some meat onto his plate. "Girls can be pilots?"

Trent scoffed. "Of course they can. Sometimes they're better at it than we are, because they don't feel compelled to showboat. They do the job and get on with it.” He glanced at Nick's glass. "Can I pour you some wine, Nick?"

"Oh yes, please.” He sat up straighter. He could handle playing host, even if this wasn't his house.

Tom wrapped his foot around Nick's ankle. It was an oddly reassuring gesture. "So you guys, do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

Mal straightened up, just a little bit. "Well, I can tell you what we're not doing. We're not going to your grandmother's place."

"Mal, it's tradition. It's just one day.” Trent hunched his shoulders over.

"It's abuse is what it is.” Mal tightened his mouth. "I'll not stand for it. One way or another, Trent.” He smiled sweetly then, sweet enough to send a chill up Nick's spine. "My son won't be seeing that.” He glanced over at Sam, who watched with something between awe and fear. "I'm not sure what you've learned about alphas, omegas, and relationships, Sammy, but it's the twenty-first century. A marriage that isn't between equals, where the couple doesn't help each other out, hardly counts."

"We aren't doing health class until next semester.” Sammy poked at his mashed potatoes. Then, in what seemed like a small miracle to Nick, he ate them. Nick had to credit Mal with that. Sammy would do anything his hero did.

Tom lightened up the conversation. "We haven't discussed it, but I was hoping we could do Thanksgiving together.” He turned to face Nick. "What do you say? I don't know if you and Sammy have some kind of a tradition, or if there's room for one more, or what."

Nick turned red. They didn't have a Thanksgiving tradition, other than to hope Nick's bosses didn't notice he'd brought his son to work. He'd always gotten double pay on Thanksgiving day. "This is actually the first year when I've gotten the day off.” He tugged at his collar. "So if you wanted to do something, I guess we could probably make that happen."

"Last year I worked on the computers in the nurses station," Sammy announced. "It was awesome. I helped enter patient information when it got busy. They said I wasn't supposed to, but they needed the help, and I could type faster than anyone else.”

Nick blushed even deeper. He should have been able to protect Sammy better than that.

Tom grabbed his hand under the table, though, and Mal just grinned at Sammy. "Hey, I've seen you type. I'll bet you put all those nurses to shame. I hope you billed the hospital for your time, though."

They changed the subject to football, a subject made twice as hilarious, as usual, by Mal's stubborn insistence that football was soccer. That kept Sammy laughing, and the rest of the meal passed without any awkward discussions.

They got through dessert, which was a store-bought chocolate cake, and then they retired to the TV space to watch the news and have some drinks. Sammy was still enthralled by his room, so Nick didn't have to worry about him picking up anything untoward from the news.

The evening news started with a bang, literally. They replayed video from the Douglass University bombing, and then the anchor greeted the audience. "We begin tonight with bombshell information regarding the investigation into the explosion that killed over a hundred students, and injured six hundred more, at Douglass University this past summer. The FBI, working in conjunction with Navy Intelligence, has released a statement that the explosion was indeed a bomb."

Nick frowned. He'd known it was a bomb. Well, Agent Aliprandi had told him it was a bomb, but when he looked back and let himself think about it, figuring that part out wasn't rocket science.

"Investigators raided a bunker in North Carolina, finding a trove of material showing links to a white supremacist organization, one that apparently favors weapons manufactured by one particular company. Exclusively on News Now, we'll look into this mysterious company and, more importantly, why no one has delved into the connection between guns manufactured by Smolak Fine Arms and white supremacy.”

"But first, we bring you to Riverside Medical Center in Newport News, where many patients were brought in the immediate aftermath of the attack. The doctors and nurses here remain traumatized by what they saw..."

The images remained on the screen as Tom hit the mute button. Fortunately, the images weren't the ghastly scenes from the initial attack. Instead, reporters showed doctors, nurses, and paramedics. "Why'd they show all these civilians, huh?" Tom groused. "Our doctors and nurses are a hell of a lot easier on the eyes than those bozos."

Nick glared at Tom, but he softened it after only a second. Tom saw blood, guts, and bombings all the time. He had his ways of coping. They were all among friends here. It wasn't up to Nick to police Tom's ways of dealing, unless they were actually harmful.

Trent just snorted. "You never met Dr. Steed. If you had, you'd never want to put him in front of a camera. Hell, the insurance companies wouldn't cover the cost of replacing it."

Nick had met Dr. Steed in the course of his work. He couldn't disagree with Trent at all. "Maybe the Navy wouldn't give them permission to film. I don't know. But is the manufacturer of the guns really significant? Plenty of people have a preferred brand. I always buy the same brand of bread for Sammy. It's what he'll eat, it lasts longer, and I'm more comfortable with it. Maybe the Smolak stuff has a better grip or something."

"Nah.” Mal waved a hand. "I've used Smolak stuff. The grip is shite. The barrel is better, maybe, on the rifles. I'd rather use a Smith and Wesson every time."

Nick blinked at his friend. "I thought you were worried that all Americans were gun-crazed wackos when you first came to the States."

"That hasn't changed. I didn't say I hadn't used guns.” Mal winked at him. "Not the point. The point is that these types of guys, the ones that decide to make life miserable for the rest of us, tend to spread out. They want a bunch of guns from a bunch of different sources. They don't usually favor one."

Nick frowned and looked down at the ground for a second. Mal sounded authoritative, and Nick didn't exactly have a lot of knowledge to contradict him. He just couldn't think of a reason why Mal would know that.

"Maybe they got a grant," Trent said slowly, turning his glass around in his hand. "How much do you want to bet Baldinotti already thought of that, though?"

"I don't know.” Tom looked over at the others. "Can't hurt to chat her up, though."

Nick lifted an eyebrow. Tom and Trent were SEALs. They were highly trained and impossibly competent warriors. They weren't cops or investigators. What did he know, though? He was just a civilian, a nurse who muddled through as best he could.

He got up and headed back into the kitchen. "I'm just going to wash a few dishes," he said, bringing his glass with him.

He filled one of the sink basins with warm, soapy water and got to work. Had he made a mistake, getting together with Tom? He'd expected to have second thoughts. It was only natural, but he'd figured those second thoughts would relate somehow to the past. He figured Tom's parents would pry them apart, or maybe that Sammy would balk too hard at suddenly having another father ten years too late.

He hadn't expected the trouble to come from the sheer difference in their lives between Bow String and now.

In a real way, it only made sense. Tom had been out learning exciting new things, and doing things he could never, ever talk about. Nick had been groping along as best he could, just trying to survive. Tom had gone through a zillion harrowing experiences with Trent and the other guys from his platoon. Nick couldn't ever intrude on that. He'd always be an outsider, no matter that he'd borne a child to Tom.

He'd thought he had an ally in Mal. He'd thought Mal was just a nurse, but Nick didn't know a lot of nurses who could discuss the finer points of guns hoarded in bunkers. He knew a few who were into guns, but none that the SEALs looked to as an equal.

Mal slipped into the kitchen. Nick wondered if his own jealous thoughts had summoned him, like a ghost or demon. "You okay, mate?"

Nick sighed. He shouldn't confide in Mal. Mal had other things to do, like raise his baby and run around being a secret agent or whatever he was. Nick just didn't have anyone else right now. "I'm feeling a little out of place right now.” He focused on his scrubbing the dirty roasting pan that had once contained their main course. "Everyone in there's got their minds on some very important things, and I haven't got much to contribute to the discussion."

Mal acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. Nick appreciated that. Mal wasn't trying to dismiss his concerns at all or invalidate his feelings the way so many people would. Instead, he just accepted it and moved along. "You understand you're the only one with a bachelor's degree in there, yeah?"

Nick almost dropped the roasting pan. "Our job required the RN, Mal!"

Mal scoffed. "I think it's pretty obvious that I don't exactly have the standard background. I'm not supposed to talk about it much, but we spend enough time together that it's got to be practically screaming at you. I met these guys because we were in a similar line of work. The first time we met, I escaped from their custody. In the middle of the Mediterranean. They weren't exactly enthusiastic about that, I'll have you know."

Nick had to laugh at that, even though his mind reeled at the implications. "But Mal—"

"I miss it sometimes. I help out when I can, of course, but that's just computer stuff.” Mal waved a hand. "It's not the same. And part of me feels bad about that. The rest of me likes this whole safe life, regular hours thing.” He chuckled softly. "The way you're feeling isn't unusual. These guys, they've been closer than family for a long time. There's something there that you'll never penetrate. Some people can't handle it. And that's okay, Nick."

Nick let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You mean other Navy partners go through it?"

"Sure. I do, and I've gone through some of the same things with them.” Mal's grin was rueful, and carried a hint of darkness with it. "The Navy spouses tend to be pretty tight-knit. It's because there isn't anyone else—well, other military partners, sure—who go through what we do. I was lucky. Trent's uncle was a Navy man, and his husband was another omega."

"Do they always talk shop like this, when they get together?” Nick put the pan down and turned to face Mal.

"Meh. Sometimes. Sometimes they'll spend hours talking about one gun.”

"My God."

"Right?” Mal's laugh sparkled in the air. "It's bizarre. Come on. They've changed the channel. Apparently there's a show about car repair that they both adore."

Nick followed him back into the living area and sat down to enjoy the show. He brought more wine to refill people's drinks, so it wouldn't look like he'd been off soul-searching or sulking, and they settled in for an evening of comfort and happiness.

Later that night, after the Kellys had gone home, Nick and Tom retired to the bedroom. They sat up for a little while, just chatting about the dinner and what they could have done differently.

Then Tom made a face. "You don't really think about those things happening around here, do you? The bunker, I mean. I've seen a thousand of them overseas, but the whole reason we go fight that crap over there is so we don't have to see it over here. You know?"

Nick shuddered. "How long before we start to hear that this guy didn't seem all that odd? He was just like everyone else, he kept to himself, that kind of thing."

"That's kind of what I'm worried about.” Tom bit his lip, and then he gave Nick a chaste kiss on the lips.

Nick didn't mind that all Tom wanted to do was cuddle tonight. With thoughts like Tom had just put into his head, he wasn't exactly feeling amorous either.

***

Tom's palms dripped with sweat as he gripped the steering wheel. He didn't know if Sammy could see. He didn't dare draw attention by wiping his hands on his pants. "So. We're buying you a Halloween costume, I guess."

"I guess.” Sammy eyed him cautiously from the back seat. Tom was pretty sure Sammy could smell his fear.

"Not sure what you want to be?” Tom pulled his car out of the parking space and headed out to toward the highway. "That's fine. We'll find something at the store. That's what they're for."

Sammy shrugged. "Never really got the Halloween thing."

Tom almost choked on his own tongue. "How do you just not 'get' the whole 'Halloween thing?' It's the greatest holiday of the year!"

"Sure it is.” Sammy rolled his eyes. "Costumes cost money. Candy costs money, too. We never did it, and I never really missed it.” His jaw tightened a little, and Tom knew he was lying. Sammy had missed it, but he'd lied about that. He'd missed it all right. He'd missed it, but he hadn't wanted to say anything to Nick about it.

Guilt pooled in Tom's gut, sending his gorge upward. "Oh. Okay. Well, ah, do you actually want to go out and get a costume? Because if you don't, well, it doesn't have to be a big deal. We can do something else. I don't know. I've never been much of a fisherman, but we could maybe take one of those boat tour things."

Sammy lifted his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

Sammy didn't sound enthralled, but Tom would take it. "Sure, why not? We could go check out the dolphins, or the other boat trip thing they do, and then we could walk around and look at the fish for a while.” He aimed his car in that direction. "I'm not going to make you buy some stupid Halloween costume if you're not exactly The Great Pumpkin, Sammy."

Sammy nodded a couple of times. "Thanks."

Tom blinked. "Thanks?"

"For not making me. I'm not into it, and you didn't make me do it. I appreciate that."

Tom swallowed. His son had an odd, weirdly adult way of speaking. Sometimes he sounded like a younger clone of Nick, which was just odd. Maybe they'd been a little isolated here and there, but it still struck Tom as strange. "You're welcome.” He licked his chapped lips. "So. Nick tells me you're pretty smart. I mean we had that meeting with your teacher and everything. How's that working out for you?"

"Okay, I guess. Lt. Powers is nice. And the stuff isn't too hard. I mean it's fun, it's not boring, but it's not the kind of hard where you just get bored because you know you're not going to be able to get it anyway."

Sammy hadn't said that many words to him since they met. Tom could work with that. "I wouldn't think you'd have that kind of trouble with any subject, buddy. Come on, out with it. What's hard like that for you?"

Sammy stuck his little chin out. "Nothing's that kind of hard if you've got the right teacher. But I don't do so well in, like, history.” He made a face. "I just don't care about it. It's not so bad when we're going around with Noah and his dad and his brothers and sisters. We look at all of the old broken-down stuff and that's kind of cool. But just all these names and dates and proclamations and stuff? Who can keep all of that stuff straight?"

Tom snickered. "I know it probably seems irritating as heck, buddy.” Tom checked the GPS and swerved to avoid a lazily-drifting Corolla. "It's important to know why things are the way they are, so we know how to fix them when the way they are doesn't work. And so we know how to get through to the people trying to keep the old way of doing things around, even if it's hurting people. But I totally hear you. Just memorizing a table full of names and dates and crap doesn't seem too useful, does it."

"Nope.” Sam shook his head. "And they're all, like, the same rich white guys. There's like six of them, and they run around and do things, and everyone else just kind of muddles around. How do people manage to write twelve years' worth of books about those same six guys?"

Tom wheezed as he laughed. "I mean you're not wrong. But when you go to someplace like, say, Jamestown, it's not like that. Right?"

"John Smith.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at his father with an unmistakeable look of challenge on his face.

"Okay, but when you go there you don't just sit there and look at a list of all the terrible things John Smith did. You see how bad the colonists were at setting up a colony, right?” Sammy nodded. "You get to see how they lived and how they died. You get to see stuff about the people who were here first—and about how the fact that no one wanted to live on the piece of land where they put Jamestown should have been a giant freaking clue, right?"

"So many mosquitoes.” Sammy shuddered.

"Right? But the knowledge about normal people, people who weren't the six rich guys, is out there. So we can look and see how these people lived, and we can see how those people who were in charge—the six rich white guys—affected the people under them.” Tom hoped his proud grin wasn't too creepy. He didn't know if he was going to be able to pull it off or not. He had no influence on how smart his son had turned out to be, but damn if it wasn't impressive as hell.

"So when everyone votes, we should know what the guy we vote for is going to do.” Sammy nodded and scratched at his chin. "Okay. That makes sense. At least now I know there's a reason for all the time we spend studying that stuff. It doesn't change how incredibly boring it is though."

"Got that right.” Tom chuckled. "I always hated that. Your dad was better than I was with it. He always helped me out with it."

Sam kicked his feet at the seat in front of him. "So can I ask you a weird question?"

"Sure. You've got ten years of weird questions to catch up on.” The knot in Tom's stomach gave a little twist.

"How come you left us?"

Tom had figured it would take longer to get to that question, but he could see where it would be on Sam's mind. "I didn't want to. What did your dad tell you?"

"He said someone accused you of something you didn't do, and you had to join the Navy.”

"That's the truth, as plain as it can be.” Tom slouched a little bit in his seat. "It's...well, there are some complications, sure. For one, I didn't know you were on the way. For another, well, in this country, we're supposed to have a right to a trial. In theory, that means because I was innocent, because someone else did the bad thing, I should have been able to go to college with your dad and everything should have worked out fine.”

"But the guy who did the bad thing was the Mayor's son. And we lived in a real small town. The sheriff, he didn't like guys like us—alphas. He didn't care for omegas much either. So I knew I wasn't going to have any chance at all of getting that fair trial we're all supposed to be entitled to under law. It wasn't fair, but I wanted to spare your dad and your grandparents the pain of a trial that was obviously rigged.”

"So I went into the Navy. And it turned out to be a pretty good place for me. I'd still rather have gone to college, married Nick, and built that kind of life for us, but I love my friends from my platoon, too. And I've saved a lot of lives, doing what I do. I've helped a lot of people.” He smiled.

"But you were so mad when you saw us.” Sam looked out the window. "I could have understood, if you'd been happy when you saw us again."

Tom sighed. "Yeah. No one ever said I didn't have a bit of a temper.” He squeezed the steering wheel again. "It was a...when I left, I expected to hear from your dad. And I didn't. What I didn't know was that my parents hadn't given your dad my contact information, and your dad didn't know that none of his messages got through to me. I was really upset, because I thought he'd just abandoned me like everyone else in that town had. But then I learned that wasn't true. And I'm really sorry, Sammy, that I made you think I didn't want you. Okay?"

Sammy took a deep, shuddering breath. For a second Tom wondered if he was going to cry, but he didn't. "I don't know," he said after a second. "I still feel kind of...I don't know. Weird. Like there's still something wrong there, and I don't know how to fix it."

Tom smirked. Maybe some things were carried on the DNA after all. "It's normal to feel like that. I'm your father, but I'm still basically a stranger. And even though you know what happened, all those years ago, it's not like the feelings go away. Right? You've got a lot of stuff to work through. So do your dad and I. It's not like you just, I don't know, snap your fingers and make everything good."

Sammy laughed, high and boyish. "No, that would be silly.” He looked out the window again. "It's a nice idea though."

It was a nice idea. And going out together, just the two of them, was a nice idea too. Tom gave Nick a lot of credit for the idea, actually. It wasn't going to solve all of their problems, but it was another step in the right direction.

The next ninety-minute boat excursion leaving from the Aquarium was leaving soon, so they hurried out to the boat to buy their tickets and hop up on board. They saw a few dolphins in their trip, and the seas were calm so they didn't have any excitement that went beyond a toddler getting out of its stroller and making a run for the stairs.

Sammy stepped in and corralled the kid, because apparently he was the Baby Whisperer or something. Tom wasn't used to thinking that way about alphas, but Sammy was still young and it was definitely something to be proud of. Hell, he'd have no trouble finding a husband if omegas saw him around kids.

Lord, what was Tom thinking? This was the East Coast. He shouldn't be thinking so far ahead. Kids around here didn't pair off young.

They finished their tour and headed into the aquarium itself. It wasn't exactly Tom's cup of tea. He tended to separate fish into "dinner" and "not dinner" and that was that, but Sammy got pretty into it. He knew a lot of the science behind the displays—why the different fish had been grouped together, for example, when they'd never meet in the wild. It was pretty darn impressive, for a kid his age.

After they were done, they stopped in at the gift shop to pick up something for Nick. Sammy suggested it. "I have money," he said. "Not a lot, but I got some birthday money from one of my teachers. I've been saving it, and I want to use some of it to get my dad something."

Tom blinked back a few tears at that one. Who did he think he was, anyway? Did he seriously think he could just barge on in and come in between those two?

You're not coming in between them. It wasn't easy to remind himself of that, but he used his internal "alpha voice" and made himself listen. You're just adding a third to the mix, on the periphery. Like Nick isn't coming between you and the guys from your platoon.

It was different, of course. While Tom had saved the lives of the men in his platoon, and they'd saved his, he hadn't nurtured them from infancy. He didn't want to think about any of those guys in infancy, especially Baudin. Still, the principle was sound. "We can both get him something. You can get him something from you, and I'll get him something from me.”

Sammy glowered.

"From both of us.” Tom grinned. Sammy's jealousy was only to be expected. Not only had Tom intruded on a relationship that was only his, Sammy was an alpha too. That was part of the reason Nick had encouraged Tom to take the kid out today, to give him time around an alpha who was smart and used his brain.

In the gift shop, they found twenty dollars wouldn't go far. Tom steered his son toward a little dolphin coaster, one that only cost about eight dollars so he'd still have money left over. He himself bought Nick a knit hat, because winter was coming and he was starting to look a little chilled.

When they got home, Nick had done some cleaning and some food prep. That much was obvious, because the food was in containers in the fridge with masking tape labels warning all others away on pain of death. Nick himself was nowhere to be found, at least until Tom went into the bedroom.

There, he found Nick curled up in the bed. He slept on his usual side of the bed, wrapped around Tom's pillow like it was some kind of security blanket.

Tom smiled, and then he backed out of the room with his finger on his lips.

"What's wrong with my dad?" Sammy hissed.

"He's having a little nap.” Tom chuckled and jerked his head toward the kitchen. "What do you say two alphas prove we're not complete incompetents and fix dinner?"

Sammy's eyes widened. "It can't be that hard, can it? I mean it's basically like a chemistry experiment."

Tom clapped a hand onto Sammy's shoulder. "More or less. Come on, let's figure out what he had in mind and get it done. It'll be a nice surprise for him."

When Nick woke up an hour and a half later, Tom and Sammy were able to surprise him with chicken in cream sauce served over noodles. They had broccoli on the side, because according to Sammy, Nick had strong feelings about the importance of broccoli and it was best to throw some in there somewhere. Tom had even found some candles in his blackout survival kit.

Nick stopped in his tracks, mid-yawn, and surveyed the table. "Wow. The two of you did all of this?"

"We did! We did!” Sammy bounced over to his dad, who wrapped an arm around him.

"Tom, when did you learn to cook?” Nick shook his head and grinned.

"Lots of KP," Tom said, and escorted his love to his seat.

Flavor-wise, dinner turned out to be a bust. Tom had gotten the sugar mixed up with the salt and the whole dish had an unappetizing, caramelized feel to it. Nick didn't say a word, though. He even took seconds, a blissed out smile on his happy face.