Mal found a hotel just far enough from base that he could feel he'd separated himself from the others. It was a good enough hotel, with a private bathroom, and clean beds. That was all he cared about at the moment. He bribed the clerk to let him check in early, and then he crawled into the shower.

 

That shower was the best shower he'd ever had. He'd certainly been dirtier. He'd flung himself headlong through the sewers in St. Petersburg, and he'd spent three days in the catacombs underneath Paris keeping trafficked omegas safe. This was just blood, soot, and a little bit of guts. It was nothing.

 

No, it was Trent who'd made him feel dirty. He didn't think Trent meant to make him feel dirty, but that didn't change the fact that Trent's anger and revulsion made him feel a grime under his skin and inside his head he hadn't felt before. He wanted it off.

 

Soap and water couldn't do that. They could, however, make his skin itch less from the dried blood.

 

When he was done, he crawled into bed. He didn't bother digging through his things for something to sleep in. Everything was uncomfortable anyway. He just crawled between the sheets and let darkness overtake him.

 

He woke up much, much later. Morna hadn't called him, but the sun had completely crossed the sky and now made its descent toward the western horizon. Had she been killed by homicidal Americans? Had she decided to defect? Had she sneaked off in the night?

 

Was Mal now becoming a vampire, if he'd slept all day and was only now waking up as the sun set?

 

He shook his head at himself and checked his stitches. He hadn't done a bad job on them, despite the distraction.

 

Christ. Trent. He'd known Trent was too good to be true. This was the proof. What was he thinking? Somehow Trent wouldn't be yet another person who wanted to control him? Right. Even the circumstances were wrong. Trent hadn't called him because they were coming to get Mal and bring him home. Trent called him because he needed to use Mal.

 

Why did that even bother Mal, anyway? His father had told him for years he wasn't here to be catered to or to feel good. Mal was here to be useful, to make others' lives better, and that was all. Mal learned that lesson a thousand times over and he hadn't balked at it. Why was it suddenly rankling now?

 

He looked down at his barely there baby bump. "I blame you," he said.

 

The bump didn't do anything. Mal's stomach growled, demanding food, but that was about it.

 

He pushed himself into a sitting position. He shouldn't get used to talking to the bump. It was just another part of him, like a leg or a toe, except for the fact it was going away. Even if he survived, he wasn't going to be able to keep it. He couldn't get attached. He didn't even want it, not really.

 

He put a hand on the bump. He couldn't feel anything in there, not yet. It was definitely too early to feel it moving around or anything. And that was good, really. He didn't want any of that stuff. It would only make him feel worse when it all blew up.

 

Who did Trent think he was, anyway? He thought being pregnant meant something bizarre, like it meant some kind of fundamental change in a human being. All of a sudden, the carrier was no longer supposed to care about anything. They were supposed to just sit around and do something — Mal had no idea what — until the baby arrived.

 

Was that how families worked in America? Anyplace else? Mal knew damn well his own family had been non-traditional, to say the least. And he didn't have many carriers to compare himself to. Maybe it was more normal to become an animal, completely consumed by the baby until nothing and no one else mattered.

 

That hadn't been how Mum had done it. Of course, Mum sold him and Morna out to save her own skin. She was maybe not the best example.

 

His phone rang, finally. His heart leaped in his chest. Trent realized he was being unreasonable and had called to apologize!

 

Then he recognized the ring tone. Trent wasn't calling. It was only Da.

 

"Hello, sir." Mal slumped back against the headboard.

 

"Nice work yesterday. It's a pity about the castle."

 

Mal glanced at the phone for a second. Da had to be leading up to something. "Thank you, sir."

 

"Any survivors?"

 

"There were some, four new recruits asleep in the castle. We didn't have time to evacuate them. We're hoping they got out and saw the error of their ways. It's the same old song and dance, sir. The recruiter found some down on their luck young men and sucked them in, like a cult. Then he handed them over to White Dawn." He pursed his lips. "I have to wonder, sir, if these recruiters are working on orders or if they've gone independent of Daesh leadership."

 

"That's a good question, Malachi. A good question indeed. I have some people working on it."

 

"We pulled two survivors out. They surrendered. They're being hidden by allies."

 

"Allies?" Da scoffed. "We don't have allies. We're Wolves."

 

Mal could roll his eyes in the privacy of his hotel room. He wouldn't have dared, not if they were face to face. "Of course not, sir. But we also don't have anyplace to keep people or to keep them safe. The SEALs do."

 

"The SEALs. Those would be the same SEALs who had you sitting on your asses in Crete forever when I needed you."

 

Mal had gotten to be adept at recognizing his father's mood changes over the years. He straightened up, even though no one could see him. "Yes, sir. They have extensive resources. Anyway, sir, they happen to be working the same case. I heard from them just as our fight ended last night."

 

Da grunted. He couldn't fault Mal's logic. "How is it that they're working on the same case? Have you been feeding them information, boy?"

 

"Of course not, sir," Mal lied. "They have an extensive intelligence network. We probably have some of the same sources. No one would have wanted those bombs to go off. And I, for one, am glad to have the help. It's good to know we have someone we can call if we need to drop some people off somewhere, or if we need some testing done."

 

"I suppose. I don't like it. Working with them is…it's uncomfortable. It's compromising, son. They'll take and take, and the next thing you know they'll rob you blind and convince you it's your fault." He coughed, heavily. "Where is she?"

 

Mal winced. "She's keeping an eye on things over at the SEAL safe house, sir." Mal hoped he wasn't lying. "She'd rather I not stay with them. It's a unit full of alphas."

 

"Oh, Jesus. First good decision she's made in her life. All we'd need would be you getting pregnant." Da cleared his throat a few times. It sounded like he was coming down with a cold. "If I could have got away with it, I'd have had you both sterilized when you were children, and no mistake. No need to worry about anything like that when we're fighting a war."

 

"Of course, sir." He looked down at his baby bump and waved a finger at it.

 

The bump didn't respond.

 

"All right. Well, keep me posted about how things go with the Yanks. I don't trust 'em, Mal. I don't trust 'em as far as I could throw 'em."

 

"No, sir. I'll keep you posted."

 

Mal waited for his father to end the call, and then he texted Morna. You okay?

 

Morna replied right away. Have you really been asleep all this time?

 

Mal blushed. Yeah.

 

Good. You've needed the rest. Tell me where you are. I'm sending someone by with some sensible food.

 

Mal rolled his eyes. What Morna didn't know about a sensible diet could fill a cookbook. Nevertheless, he told his sister where to find him and took another quick shower.

 

He threw on clothes that looked best despite the bump, didn't feel too tight to breathe in, and settled back to wait.

 

He suspected who Morna would send, and he wasn't disappointed. Morna probably thought she was being subtle.

 

"Hi." Trent held up some containers of takeout. "Morna tells me your diet is 'shite.'" His eyebrows knit together. "I'm not sure what that means."

 

"It means, if she wants me to eat better she should probably let me take the time to eat better." Mal took the containers over to the little table in the corner. "Will you be joining me?"

 

Trent looked around the room and nodded. "I'd like that."

 

Mal didn't comment, but at least he had that much. Trent hadn't decided to shun him yet.

 

Trent had brought over a quiche and a couple of salads. "They tried to give me wine too, even though I told them it was for a pregnant person." He shook his head. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with people sometimes."

 

"The guidelines they give differ by culture." Mal shrugged. He could take or leave drink. Giving it up for nine months was no big deal for him. It was the least obtrusive thing Trent expected of him. "So how are things in your SEAL colony?"

 

Trent huffed out a little laugh. "SEAL colony, that's cute. Things are going okay. I wanted to say thank you for getting Sam out. I promised his mother I'd try, but you beat me to the punch."

 

Mal laughed. "Well, you know, I had no idea who he was or anything like that. He came up and surrendered to us, so it's all up to him." He shook his head and took a bite of his quiche. "How's he coping? He seemed to be in a bit of shock yesterday."

 

"He's getting better. I can't say he's doing well, but he's getting better. He's having to deal with readjusting his whole mindset, you know?" Trent looked off into the distance for a minute. "He did give us some intel on another cell nearby. Apparently some other ISIS clowns were planning an attack on the Toulon base."

 

Mal almost choked on his salad, and Trent had to pound on his back to get him breathing again. "Where are they? I'll leave right now."

 

Trent scoffed. "Like hell."

 

Mal put his fork down and looked Trent in the eye. "You're joking."

 

"We're not sending you on a mission when you're four months pregnant, Mal. That's just not happening. Even if it wasn't my baby, the guys would never put up with it. For one thing, they wouldn't want a pregnant guy having their back like that. What if you had to stop and puke, or piss, or something?"

 

Mal's rage didn't usually burn. He was more prone to cold fury. "I'm trying to figure out if you're joking, or if the American education system is just that bad."

 

"What? It's a concern, okay?" Trent clenched his chiseled jaw. At another time, Mal would have taken the time to admire it.

 

"Right. Because someone who has been doing this kind of thing since before he could shave doesn't have the good sense to bow out if he's having trouble in that way." He threw his hands up into the air. "Is it all carriers you have an issue with, or just omegas? Or is it just me?" He tilted his head to the side. "That's it, isn't it? I'm not knuckling under and turning into a good, demure little coward, hiding from everything until my shining knight comes to save me, and you're mad."

 

"I don't know about knuckling under." Trent scowled and pushed his plate away. "I am pretty pissed that you're too selfish to do what's right for our baby. It's all me, me, I. I have to keep fighting, I can't stop doing what I do. That baby doesn't figure into a goddamn thing for you, does it? And neither do I. You don't actually want to be with me. You don't want to settle down or start a family with me. You just want to go on living the same way you've always lived."

 

Mal stood up. "I'm being realistic, Trent. You think of yourself as some great savior pulling me away from all this, but you've got no plan and you've got no ideas. The only solution you have is that I should somehow disentangle myself from an organization I was born into, and that a person can only leave feet first, with no help and no protection, and sit down and wait for you to somehow pull something out of your ass to 'save' me instead of doing a job that actually helps people and saves lives."

 

"And what about the baby?" Trent folded his arms across his chest.

 

"The baby is the only one you're thinking of." Mal snarled the words out. "It's the only one you've thought of since I told you I was pregnant. If I hadn't gotten pregnant you'd have been perfectly happy to leave me over here, and you're perfectly happy to take this baby and leave me over here to die. You don't give a crap if I don't take care of myself, if I wind up dehydrated and half starved in my room for a week, but God forbid I spend ten minutes in a smoky room."

 

Trent frowned. "When did you wind up dehydrated and starving?"

 

"That's not the point. The fact that you didn't notice is the point. I'm not just a vessel to carry your spawn. I'm a person. I have my own priorities, and a child I'm never going to know or see just isn't going to be at the top of that list. You're all sulky about how I'm not all gung-ho about coming back to America to start a family with you, but here you are thinking I'm just an incubator!"

 

Trent dropped his jaw. "How can you think that?" He reached out, not for Mal but for his belly. "Mal, I'm doing everything I can!"

 

"And you'd never just come to Australia. So we were both giving something up." Mal shook his head.

 

"I can't just walk away from my country, from the SEALs."

 

"But you expect me to walk away from everyone and everything I've ever known." Mal pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you expect me to play the obedient little omega, the good little vessel, even though I'd be killed for it."

 

"Mal, be reasonable. You're talking like the baby isn't a factor. Like it's not slowing you down, or making you a target."

 

"I'll be the best judge of what this baby is doing to my body, thank you very much. If you and your team won't collaborate with me, because of my pregnancy, I'll just work on my own." He gestured to the door. "There lies your way."

 

~

Trent headed back to the barracks house in a daze after Mal kicked him out. He'd failed at pretty much everything he'd gone into that hotel to achieve. He hadn't even convinced Mal to eat a decent meal, and that had been the whole reason Morna encouraged him to go there in the first place.

 

Maybe it was time to give up the ghost. Maybe he wasn't going to be able to sell Mal on the idea of "them" after all.

 

Then again, maybe he hadn't tried. Maybe he'd gotten carried away and focused entirely on the baby, just like Mal said. Granted, the baby didn't have anyone else to speak for them. Mal was articulating just fine for himself, but someone needed to speak up for the kid, and to think about the kid's needs. That was usually the job of the carrier parent, but apparently Mal just wasn't up for the job.

 

He staggered in the door and flopped down on the couch, head in his hands. Morna came along and kicked him in the feet. She was entirely kitted up, indistinguishable from a SEAL except maybe in height. "Where's my brother, you lummox? We'll need him with us on this job."

 

Trent made a face. "We're not bringing a pregnant guy on a raid, Morna. Not now, not ever. It's just stupid. There's no reason for him to risk the baby that way."

 

Morna snorted. "Nice to know where your priorities are, then. We're leaving in five, with or without you."

 

Trent watched her go. At least now he knew it wasn't just Mal.

 

Five minutes was five minutes. He'd better get going if he wanted to get the job done.

 

He got his armor on and got suited up for a fight. Then he rushed out into the dark to catch his ride, an unmarked van that wouldn't attract attention on Toulon streets. Their target was a mid-century apartment building on the outskirts of town, on the opposite side of the city from the naval base.

 

According to their sources, the third apartment on the fifth floor had a cell of five men. All of them worked in the civilian port. It would probably be easy enough for them to do their business in the civilian port, and that would get them the kind of attention ISIS usually wanted.

 

Sneaking into the navy side of the complex, and attacking the military infrastructure, was a huge departure. Trent wasn't sure what he thought about it.

 

Trent was anxious about the state of things with Mal as he got into the van, but adrenaline pushed it to the back of his mind once the truck started moving. He couldn't afford to be distracted. None of them could. Whatever else might be going on in the outside world, once they were on a job, every SEAL was entirely focused on the job in front of him. Every other situation would still be there when they got back.

 

They got to the building and found a whole host of other unmarked vans. These were the local authorities, evacuating civilians. They had to do it in such a way to not tip off the bad guys and not panic the civilians. By the time the SEALs rolled up, the civilians had been evacuated to a nearby location, and the SEALs could simply go in.

 

Trent led the way in. They didn't take the elevator. Judging by the indifferent maintenance to the common areas he could see so far, Trent probably would have gone for the stairs anyway. Local police guarded the emergency exits while the SEALs made their way up to the fifth floor.

 

The upper floor smelled like cooked fish. He didn't smell much of the characteristic smells associated with North African cooking. He caught a few notes here and there, but if he had to guess based on scent, he'd say the apartment building had a mixed population. The maintenance hadn't been any more thorough up here than it was downstairs. Every third overhead light was out, and the carpet needed a shampoo.

 

The only sound was a television. Trent couldn't quite understand the dialog, coming through the walls as it did, but it definitely came from a French channel. Had they somehow received faulty information?

 

The door to their target apartment flew open, and a man with wild dark hair and dark skin stepped out. His gun was already on line. His muzzle flashed, and a loud "bang" filled the air.

 

Trent stepped aside and pulled his own trigger. He hit the gunman in the shoulder and in the leg. He went down with a shouted curse, gripping his leg, and rolling around on the ground.

 

Trent led the others farther down the hall. He stood guard at the door and covered Morna and Baudin as they went into the small apartment, catching another attacker between the eyes. Morna peeled off to the left, Baudin to the right, and they let Hopper and Lupo in. Adami stayed outside to secure Trent's first victim. Trent followed them in and trusted Adami to guard the hallway.

 

Morna had a perfectly good gun in her hand, but by the time Trent made it into the apartment she'd pulled her knife from her belt and stuck it into another man's throat. A fourth occupant popped up from behind the counter in the galley kitchen with an assault rifle he had no business possessing in a country like France, but Lupo got him with two in the chest before he could get a shot off.

 

Trent thought he was perfectly justified in hoping for a surrender from the last man. After all, his friends had just been mown down before his eyes. The final terrorist, though, had other plans. He pulled a hand grenade from between the couch cushions and reached for the pin.

 

Hopper shot him dead before he could pull the pin.

 

Morna curled her lip. "Who the fuck keeps hand grenades in the couch cushions?"

 

Baudin gave her a look of disbelief. "O'Donnell, if you don't keep hand grenades in the couch cushions, I'll eat my boot."

 

Morna stomped her foot. "I don't have a couch!"

 

Baudin crossed his arms over his chest. "And you've never, ever, tried to store grenades in the cushions, in any place you've stayed."

 

Morna blushed. "That was one time, Baudin."

 

Even Trent chuckled. "Okay, anyone hurt? Besides O'Donnell's pride, I mean." No one admitted to anything, and they'd overpowered the enemy so fast he didn't think anyone had the chance to get hurt. "Alright. You guys check for booby traps. I'll let folks know where we stand."

 

The local authorities were more than happy to let the SEALs do the dangerous work of looking for explosives, since they were on site and all. They did find one trap, guarding a metal safe, but Morna made short work of it.

 

They catalogued the evidence, documented what they needed, and handed the scene over to the local cops. At home, they washed up and hit the sack.

 

The next morning, Trent showed up for his chore shift and went through debriefing with Chief and DeWitt. When he was done, he expected to get time to do some training and maybe unwind after the previous night's excitement. Instead, he wound up with Morna in his face.

 

"We should chat. Private like." She jerked her head toward the door. "There's a bar a block or so away."

 

Trent frowned. "I'm on duty, Morna."

 

"You can consider yourself dismissed for the day." Chief waved his hand. "Shoo. Get on out. Deal with your business."

 

Trent hung his head for a minute. There were a lot of good points to working so closely with his team. Having his colleagues so involved with his personal life wasn't one of them.

 

"All right. Let's go."

 

They walked over to the bar, which turned out to be a properly seedy, dive bar kind of place. They grabbed seats at the counter, ordered sandwiches and drinks, and settled down for their chat. "I think we definitely need to have some liquid courage for this little discussion." She made a face at her glass. "Even if the brandy kind of tastes like goat piss."

 

Trent wrinkled his nose. He didn't want to know exactly how she knew about that kind of thing.

 

"Fine," he sighed. "I'm guessing you want to talk about Mal."

 

"Well, yeah. He is my brother. And he did take off to go chasing a lead on White Dawn this morning, so yeah. I'm thinking we should absolutely talk about him."

 

Trent squeezed his sandwich hard enough to make the meat fall out the other side. "What the hell is he thinking? Did nothing I said the other day get through that thick head of his?"

 

"Oh my God." Morna covered her eyes. "Did you talk to him like that?"

 

"Look, I have a right to be angry. He's putting the baby in danger, he's putting himself in danger —"

 

Morna held up her hand. "I'm surprised he didn't shoot you. I'd have shot you."

 

Trent closed his mouth. "It's my baby too." He glared at her. Maybe including booze wasn't such a good idea after all. If they could be this belligerent about the situation before they'd finished one drink, how would they be after three or four?

 

"You have no idea what it's like for him," she said in a quiet voice. "For either of us, really, but he's the one you should be thinking about right now. I mean for one thing, you do understand he's pregnant. All of his parts still work, yeah? He's been doing this job for fifteen years, which unless you're exceptionally well-preserved, is longer than you. And he grew up in this life. I've never known him to put the job at risk."

 

"I couldn't give less of a fuck about the job. It's the baby, and him, that concern me." Trent gulped from his glass.

 

Morna snorted. "Two things." She held up one finger. "First, you may not care about the job, but Mal does. So maybe telling Mal that you don't give a fuck about something that's been the center of his life for the past twenty-five years isn't such a hot plan, yeah?"

 

Trent took an aggressive bite out of his sandwich, as though he could chew through all of the complications of his relationship with Mal. "No. Sorry. You're forgetting there's an actual life coming into the world."

 

"And you're forgetting the life that kid will be born into," she snapped. "What, did you think he was going to give everything up and just…what, ride off into the sunset? Not that he'd ever be allowed to do that, ever, not in a million years. Some other Wolf would hunt him down and kill him. It would probably even be our Da. So don't even think about it."

 

Morna took a sip from her drink and shook her head. "Let's pretend for a minute that Mal did somehow escape and go away with you. What exactly is it that you think he'd do, once he gave up the life he's got now? Sit around popping out spawn for you? Maybe bake cookies for you on the side? What the hell makes you think he'd even want that?"

 

"Someone has to raise the kid." Trent spread his hands wide. "I've got commitments."

 

"And he doesn't?" She snorted. "Typical man, typical alpha. No one else's life or commitments mean anything, only yours."

 

Trent rolled his eyes. "I notice you're still single," he muttered.

 

"I wasn't." Morna's tone turned cold. "The man in question was, somehow, even worse than you. Which brings me to my second point. You're sitting here telling me you're concerned about Mal, and all that rubbish, but you've got a lot of work to do before you convince him of that. You maybe want me to enroll you in a salesmanship course while we're here? It's no problem. It can't be that expensive."

 

Trent scoffed. "No. I don't want you to sign me up for a salesmanship course. I tell Mal I love him and that I'm worried about him because it’s true. I shouldn't have to sell it to him." He took a deep breath. "What the hell is he doing going after White Dawn by himself?"

 

"Well, his usual partner was busy so what else was he going to do?" She signaled to the bartender for another drink. "You're not learning here, are you? You don't own Mal. You don't get to swoop in and demand that he sit by himself for however long. You don't get to issue orders. He takes orders from one person, and that's our Da. Get it?"

 

"He's a twenty-five year old man. He shouldn't be taking orders from his dad like that." Trent snorted.

 

"Well, that's the way it is. If you're smart, you'll find some way to arrange for the baby to be brought to you when it's born, and then you'll just back off." She accepted her refill from the bartender.

 

Trent stared at her. "I thought you liked us together."

 

"I did too, until you reunited with my brother and immediately got in his face. You weren't even happy to see him. He shows up, cut and bleeding, and there you are bellyaching about someone who doesn't exist yet instead of looking after him."

 

"He was doing just fine for himself." Trent muttered the words. Sure, Mal had been more or less fine. He hadn't been too badly off, anyway. "You're right. I was so angry when I found out he was still fighting and putting himself, and our baby, in danger, that I let that overshadow everything else."

 

"Yeah, well, now he's off fighting White Dawn alone, isn't he? You've got no one to blame but yourself. So you can sit there and congratulate yourself on having stood up for your fetus, but you've driven the one carrying it so far away you'll probably never see him again." She raised her glass to him. "Great job there."

 

Trent glowered at her. "He's not going to just leave you here with us just because he's mad at me."

 

"No. He'll have me come meet him somewhere. He won't stay where he's not welcome." She met his eyes. "Or where he's less than."

 

"The less than thing is crap. He needs to be sensible. He's not just acting for himself. He's acting for our baby, too. He needs to think about more than just himself." Trent pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

"You know what? He is thinking about more than just himself. He's thinking about all of Europe, you ass. And if he did take ten minutes to think about himself, I wouldn't blame him. It's not like anyone else is going to do it." She paid the bartender, drained her glass, and left.

 

Trent watched her go. Was she right? Had he made Mal feel unwelcome? Or like a junior partner?

 

And if he had, could he do anything about it?