Mal returned to Toulon three nights after he left. The hotel where he'd been staying wasn't available on such short notice, but another one closer to the base was. The decor was frankly terrible, with a kind of garish, nineteen eighties vibe Mal found appalling, but they had large, clean beds, and private bathrooms.

 

He'd taken the precaution of wearing a lot of black, so the desk clerk thought he was just wet. "Did someone throw a bucket of water at you, sir?"

 

Mal laughed, the way he knew he should. "They did. It was awful. I think they meant to hit someone else, but here we are."

 

"Well, I'll make sure you get extra towels in the morning." The clerk beamed at him.

 

The ghastly patterns on the floor made it virtually impossible for anyone to notice the bloody footprints Mal left behind as he dragged his things upstairs.

 

His room was on the top floor. He could see the port from here and the navy yard. Trent was out there somewhere. Was he okay? Was he hurt? Had he already moved on, or did he at least miss Mal a bit?

 

He shook his head at himself and slunk off to the bathroom. He was going to have to burn these clothes. There would be no getting the blood out of them, not in a hotel, and not in a laundromat either.

 

He needed to teach himself to stop thinking about Trent. Trent wasn't thinking about him. This wasn't some kind of fairy tale. Wolves lived their lives in shadows, and they didn't live them in such a way that outsiders would remember them. That was just the way things were. Sure, Trent made a lot of noise about the baby, but that was how folks who got other people pregnant were. The ones who didn't have to carry the baby were always the quickest to criticize those who did, especially when they didn't conform to some kind of doe-eyed ideal.

 

Mal shouldn't love him. He should have gotten a hotel on the other side of town, as far away from the port as he could. Instead here he was, so close to the port he could smell the fuel, haunting the area like a lovesick ghost.

 

"Pathetic." He leaned against the sink and glowered at himself in the mirror.

 

Then he stepped into the bathtub, stripped off, and washed himself clean.

 

The damage wasn't too bad this time. He'd gotten wind of some White Dawn guys up in Roquevaire, which wasn't far away, and decided to have a look around. He wasn't disappointed.

 

There hadn't been any guns. Well, Mal had guns, and he was pretty sure the three guys he'd gone up against had guns too. The only problem was they were in a village house, a row style with shared walls. Gunshots would have brought the police, and neither Mal nor his playmates wanted that.

 

So they'd resorted to hand to hand combat. Mal was pretty good with his hands or with a blade. It was a point of pride with him. He would have preferred to not have to take on three large men while pregnant. Having to defend the bump was harder than it looked, and he hadn't liked it at all.

 

But he'd done it. At the end of the day, he'd pulled it off. He'd killed all three of them and got away with only a few cuts and bruises. As near as he could tell, only one injury would require stitches, and that one was on his leg. He also got away with the bad guys' wallets, cell phones, and laptops. So he was going to go ahead and consider that a win.

 

Once he'd washed himself off, he got to stitching. Stitching himself up in silence was no big deal. He'd done it a thousand times. It was a damn sight better than stitching himself up while arguing with Trent, that was for sure.

 

Once he finished patching himself up, he threw some sweats on and crawled into bed. Pretty soon he was going to have to bite the bullet and buy some paternity clothes. Maybe he would head out for a minute or two in the daytime, tomorrow or the next day, and pick some up. He'd have had to replace yesterday's clothes anyway.

 

Before he plugged in his own phone to charge, he sent Morna a text. Back from my hunt. Got some good game.

 

Morna texted him back right away. Oh yeah? Are you ok?

 

Mal frowned at the phone. Aren't I always? Had someone else gotten hold of Morna's phone? She knew better than to let that happen. What's our little brother's name?

 

She texted him back a middle finger emoji. Phelan, you arse.

 

Mal relaxed. Maybe Morna had just gotten into a mood. Anyway, maybe in the morning you could find out what Chief wants me to do with this stuff. I'm beat right now.

 

Sleep well.

 

Mal rolled over and fell asleep before he finished moving. If he dreamed about life in a green place, warmed by sun, he didn't dwell on it in the morning.

 

Chief called at ten. Mal was awake, but still in bed. He didn't want to disturb his leg more than he had to, and he'd left his laptop nearby and now he worked tracking down a different lead. "Mal, it's Master Chief Boone. I'd like to come by and talk about the find you had yesterday. Would that be alright with you?"

 

Mal closed his eyes. He didn't want visitors right now. He wanted to go out, buy some new clothes, and maybe have another nap. "Sure thing, Chief. I'll look forward to seeing you soon."

 

"Excellent."

 

Mal gave him the hotel's address and then rushed to make himself presentable.

 

Chief arrived quickly, and he arrived alone. Mal couldn't tell if he was glad or disappointed. He chose to be glad. He didn't have time for drama right now. "It's good to see you, Chief. Come on in." He gestured to the little table in the corner, and Chief took a seat. "I hope all's well."

 

"It is. Our raid here in Toulon went well. No friendly casualties. We did take out a few baddies, but we got a live prisoner so that's good. He's recovering in a secure ward." Chief narrowed his eyes at Mal. "You're limping."

 

"Oh. Well, you know, these things happen." Mal shrugged, although it warmed him a little to know someone noticed. He didn't get too excited, though. The words "secure ward" didn't generally mean anything good.

 

"They do. They do." He ran a hand through his gray hair. "How are you holding up, really? A few of us are a little concerned about you taking off to take on a job against a group like White Dawn by yourself."

 

Mal snorted. He didn't mean to be dismissive, but their concern didn't mean much when they were perfectly willing to let him twist, pregnant and alone, while they went back to Virginia. "Look, Chief, the job has to get done. I made sure to choose a target I could reasonably expect to fight, and I did. Not that I went in looking for a fight, of course. I'd have been content with their laptops."

 

Chief blinked slowly. "But you had to fight them…"

 

"Well, you see, they weren't so fond of giving up their laptops. Now I have their laptops, their phones, and their wallets. Life is all about choices, I'm afraid." He smirked. "Anyway, I thought I'd see what you wanted to do about them. I know you were forbidden from investigating White Dawn, and these weren't seized in a raid related to anything you're directly involved with. I'll be copying all of the information, of course, but I wanted to ask if you wanted it too."

 

Chief looked out the window. "That's not face-to-face meeting talk."

 

"Well, no." Mal scratched his head. "You're the one who wanted to come over. I'm always glad to see you, but to be honest, I was feeling a little iffy on the whole 'trousers' thing today."

 

Chief snickered. "All right, all right, I'll admit it. I was hoping we could talk a little bit about Trent."

 

Mal pinched the bridge of his nose. "I kind of thought that might be the case. I hoped it wouldn't be, but you know. Hope only gets you so far in life."

 

Chief shrugged. "True. Listen, Mal, I know you and Trent are having some trouble seeing eye to eye on a few things."

 

Mal lifted an eyebrow. "That's putting it mildly." He didn't want to get mad at Chief. He liked the Master Chief.

 

"The thing is, the time for walking away is a little bit in the past, don't you think?" He glanced down, significantly, at the bump. "That baby is going to need two parents."

 

Mal gritted his teeth. "You're okay with me just traipsing into America on a tourist visa and hanging around for awhile, then? Or under an assumed identity?"

 

Chief jumped back, as though Mal's words had burned him. "What? No!"

 

"Of course. And I'd be iffy on that too, since getting caught would put everyone who knew at risk. So the only way to have both parents in the kid's life would be for me to get a visa to move to Virginia or for Trent to leave the Navy and move somewhere with me." He held up a hand. "I did mention it, but you needn't worry. I might as well have offered to castrate him. He's not so keen on leaving your unit."

 

"You can't understand what it is to be a SEAL, Mal. It would be like asking you to abandon your family." Chief leaned forward again. "Try to understand that."

 

"He is asking me to abandon my family, remember?" Mal closed his eyes. "Assuming he can get me into Virginia, I'd have to leave everyone I know behind. I'd be isolated beyond measure, and if the way Trent's behaving is any indication, I'd be expected to sit indoors all day and never even look out the window lest I somehow violate the baby's rights in some way." He rolled his eyes. "I'll admit I'm not exactly as gung-ho about Uncle Sam and apple pie as you all are, but that wouldn't appeal to me even if I were."

 

Chief leaned back and nodded, stroking his white beard. "Okay. I can kind of see the conflict. Of course, someone would have to take care of the child and raise it. It's not like Trent would be at the office, so you could call him to pick the baby up at the sitter's in an emergency."

 

"I'm aware." Mal glared at him. "It's all moot anyway, because there's no way he's going to bring me to Virginia."

 

"You don't want to come to Virginia." Chief put his hands on the table.

 

"Well, he's not exactly selling it, is he? 'Look, you'll have a very nice cell, and you'll basically be reduced to a vessel for my spawn, but won't it be better than living the life you have here where you have some autonomy and get to serve a cause you believe in?'"

 

Chief laughed. "It's not that bad. My omega's had five already."

 

"Mmm. And do you let him leave the house?"

 

"Of course. And you're overreacting to what Trent's asking you to do. He's asking you to stop going out into the field so terrorists can stab you and shoot you, and so you don't get exposed to chemicals. That's all." Chief toyed with a paperclip he found on the table. "He's not some weird monster that locks omegas in closets. You should know that about him by now."

 

"I didn't think he was either, until he started yelling at me." Mal tightened his mouth. "He wasn't even happy to see me. Why would I put myself in danger, and go halfway around the world, to spend the rest of my life getting yelled at?"

 

Chief acknowledged that with a nod. "He's a good kid. And yeah, he's worried about the baby. He's pretty upset that you don't want the baby. When he's stressed or upset, he can sometimes lash out. He's an alpha, Mal. We all are. We're men of action. We don't hide our emotions away, either. We can't afford to let things fester in our line of work.”

 

"He had an outburst when you two got back together. He was afraid, and it didn't come out in a healthy way. We've spoken about it, and I think he's starting to understand that he could have handled things better. But he didn't. He loves you. He does. How do you feel about him?"

 

Mal blinked. "I was willing to consider going to Virginia." He kept his voice quiet. Even saying the words out loud, to someone who wasn't Trent, made his heart speed up. "I was willing to take the risk of being hunted by the people I've known my whole life, to go someplace I only know from not very flattering news reports, where I have no friends or even contacts, and try to build a life with him. I'm starting to see where that might have been a little foolhardy. I mean who does that?"

 

"People in love." Chief sat back and stared at Mal with a piercing gaze. "You're having second thoughts."

 

"He only cares about the baby. And let's be real, he's not going to be able to get me to Virginia. Not legally." Mal snorted. “Who were we kidding?"

 

Chief shook his head. "There aren't any guarantees. We're pushing for an expedited process, but we're dealing with a hostile administration. Even under normal circumstances, it would be a lot easier if you were married. Even then, it's usually a process that takes years, not months or weeks. Like I said, we're pushing for an expedited process."

 

Mal covered his mouth with his hand. He wasn't sure if he was trying to muffle a sob, a hysterical laugh, or a scream. Either way, he managed to stay quiet. "He's never even mentioned marriage. Goes to show what a fool I've been."

 

Chief lifted his chin and gave him a measuring look. "You're not in the habit of trusting, are you?"

 

"No." Mal sat up straighter. "No, I'm not. If you think about it, trust isn't a survival trait, the way I grew up. You can trust someone to a certain extent, but you can't plan your life around it."

 

Chief huffed out a laugh. "It's going to make building a long-term relationship a bit of a challenge, but maybe that was never part of your life plan anyway. Not until Trent and the baby, anyway."

 

"I don't have long term plans." Mal took a deep breath. "I have possibilities. They're based on things I can achieve. I have to be prepared to drop them and choose another path, depending on the circumstances. Always."

 

"Fair enough." Chief nodded. "All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind. I know you're hurting, and you're scared. I'll try to coach Trent on how to talk to a human being." He chuckled. "In the meantime, let's talk about what to do with all these electronics. I don't have anyone local who can do a damn thing with them. I'd have to ship them back to Virginia, and then they'd get put into a queue."

 

Mal smirked, glad to have the personal discussion over with for now. "The hazards of working for a massive bureaucracy."

 

"Right? Here's the thing. You're here. You can get into those machines, and you can tease out all of their secrets. I'm not asking you to do this to keep you out of the field." He grinned. "It's a nice side effect, don't get me wrong. I don't like the thought of losing you either. But we don't have anyone else who can do it."

 

Mal bit his lip. "Yeah. I can do it." He looked up at Chief. "But I'm going to need a few hours. I need to do a little shopping."

 

 

~

 

Trent hadn't been the kind of guy to pace a lot before Mal. Sure, he got anxious about a few things, but he didn't pace. He acknowledged his concerns, he evaluated his options, and he trusted the process to get him through.

 

Nothing in his life had prepared him for a force of nature like Malachi O'Donnell.

 

He all but pounced on Chief when he got back to the barracks house. "Did you see him, Chief?"

 

"Down, boy." Chief snorted. "You know, you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble by going in and talking with your boy, instead of getting it into your head that you're the authority and he's the subordinate. That might have flown back when this port town was first built, but this is the twenty-first century. You were raised by an alpha and omega pair, and if I know Jonas or Nick Kelly that kind of crap would never fly."

 

Trent stopped himself short. He hadn't realized he was trying to set himself up that way. "Do you think I was being authoritarian?"

 

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" Chief made a face.

 

Trent tried not to think too hard about the comment. The Master Chief sometimes mixed his pithy sayings. Trent certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

 

"He didn't suddenly become a delicate, sheltered flower when he got pregnant, Trent. He's a competent warrior in his own right. Treating him like he's suddenly some kind of fluffy marshmallow is just going to alienate him.

 

"And that's another thing. For as much as he seems pretty laid back and fun loving, his life has been pretty bleak. No one leaves the Wolves, Kelly. They don't retire. They die. And I'm not sure anyone's ever taken care of him, either. He's not sure what to make of it. You tell him you're going to bring him to America, and give him a place to live, and he immediately starts thinking cages."

 

Trent sat down on the couch and let out a little whistle. "Look, I knew it wasn't the greatest life, but I figured he might have exaggerated a few things. His dad wouldn't really kill him for getting pregnant."

 

"He might." Chief pursed his lips. "We don't know, but think about it for a minute. When you can't even tell him you're happy to see him, but just start yelling at him, you're both acting the way he expects, and you're treating him like some kind of incompetent."

 

Trent ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, but look. He can't go putting himself in harm's way like that!"

 

"He's a free and independent man. And right now, he doesn't think he's ever going to get to Virginia. When you act like that, he doesn't see what's in it for him. Try repairing your relationship, give him a reason to think there's something to look forward to, and maybe he'll stop throwing himself headlong into danger." Chief grinned. "I know it's hard. You're used to wearing your heart on your sleeve, and you're a family guy. You're worried about the baby too, but you can't go making him into a mindless receptacle."

 

"No." Trent sighed. "I should go talk to him."

 

"He's out shopping. Apparently his clothes are getting too tight."

 

Trent tried to figure out where Mal would be shopping, and with Chief's permission, headed out to try to find him. It took a couple of tries, but he found him at a discount retailer in the Mayol shopping mall.

 

Mal was looking at a rack of paternity clothes. His pretty lips were curled into a sneer he didn't even try to hide. Trent tried to figure out what could be causing the problem, but aside from a few outliers everything just looked like clothes.

 

"Okay," he said slowly. "So the sweater that says 'BÉBÉ' right across the belly might not be what you had in mind, but fuzzy pink sweaters don't look great on redheads anyway. Maybe just pick something else?"

 

Mal recoiled. "It's not that. Well, not just that. None of it is sturdy! It's all…it's all shoddy crap that will fall apart the first time I wash it, never mind the first time I get blood on it."

 

Trent bit down on his lip. He would not lose his temper. Mal was going to do what he was going to do, and nothing Trent said or did was going to change that. "Well, yeah," he said, after the red receded from his vision. "How else do you think they make money?"

 

"But I can't go out and fight if my clothes are falling to bits every time some terrorist or trafficker so much as looks at me!"

 

Trent put his arm around Mal's shoulders. "People are staring," he whispered. "I get you're upset, and you have every right to be, but yelling about terrorists and traffickers makes it hard to keep your secret organization secret."

 

Mal took a deep breath and blinked. "Of course. Sorry." He stayed there for a moment, letting Trent hold him, and then he stepped away to grab a handful of black trousers from the rack. "These will have to do, I suppose."

 

Trent accompanied him to the register, where he paid with his phone. Then they left, heading to a little cafe in the building. "So that was fun." Trent nudged Mal with his shoulder. "Do you often melt down in shopping malls? Because that could make life in America challenging. We've got a lot of malls."

 

"Filled with armed crazies." Mal shuddered and poked at his quiche. "Catch me in one of those enclosed death traps." He made a face. "I'll stay in the open air, thank you very much."

 

"We have got to get you consuming better media." Trent chuckled quietly. "How are you doing? You look tired. And I noticed the limp."

 

Mal grimaced. "It's just a little flesh wound. I'll be right as rain in a day or two."

 

Trent crossed his arms over his chest and gave Mal a stern look. "And how many stitches did your little flesh wound take?"

 

"Twenty-seven. But you should have seen the other guys." He waved a hand.

 

Trent covered his eyes. "Don't tell me things like that."

 

"Trent —"

 

"Mal." He held up a hand. "I already know we're not going to agree. You've got your reasons, and I've got mine. You're going to do what you need to do, and I can't fault you for it, but we both know hearing about it is going to turn me into a raging asshole. So maybe don't give me details?"

 

Mal looked up at the ceiling for a moment, like he was thinking about it. "Okay. I think I can agree to that."

 

"Awesome." Trent grinned and took Mal's hand. "I've missed you. I've been worried about you, and I've missed you."

 

Mal blushed, just a little. "I've missed you too, you know."

 

It wasn't the perfect reunion. That ship had sailed, and Trent had lifted the anchor himself. It was a good reunion, though. Maybe it was a stronger reunion, because they'd talked and agreed about how to handle the huge disagreement they couldn't reconcile.

 

They met up every day for the next few days. They both had responsibilities, but they made a point of getting together for dinner, at least. It didn't quite bring back what they'd had in Souda, but it still gave Trent a warm feeling in his chest.

 

On Friday, DeWitt called Trent into a meeting in the kitchen, along with Fitzpatrick, Tinker, Hopper, Floyd, Robson, Toledano, and Iniguez. His dark eyes were narrow, and his back was straight. "Men, I've gotten orders from home. Navy Intelligence has received word of an ISIS cell on Corsica. We're the closest unit, and I've been ordered to send men in to clear it out."

 

Trent frowned. Something didn't quite add up. "Permission to speak?"

 

DeWitt nodded. He didn't generally stand on ceremony.

 

"Sir, doesn't it seem a little odd to you that Intel hasn't picked up on any of the cells around here, but suddenly they picked up on this one? Every cell in the area we've found has come through the Wolves or from the two guys we have in custody. I'm not knocking Navy Intel. They do good work, and they're brave guys. Even we didn't know about White Dawn six months ago, and all of these cells have links to those fuckers."

 

Robson nodded. "Yeah, this stinks, sir. Nothing against Navy Intel, but we were all told to stand down from investigating anything to do with White Dawn. That includes them. If all of the 'ISIS' cells around here have White Dawn ties, and they're not supposed to be having anything to do with White Dawn, then this cell is making my spidey senses go all tingly."

 

"Those aren't spidey senses, Robson. Stop touching yourself at night and they'll go away." DeWitt made a face at Robson, and the men laughed despite the tension. "I will admit that I'm a little curious about how Intel came across this batch of playmates. That said, it's not really for us to question it. Navy Intelligence is very good at what they do. Maybe this cell isn't contaminated by White Dawn. Maybe they're just your garden variety terrorists looking to cause mayhem and take out a bunch of good people. Maybe there's nothing there at all.

 

"We can wonder all we want about exactly how they found out about these bastards, but at the end of the day what we're going to do is follow our orders. We have to trust the chain of command. SEALs are very expensive assets. They're not about to waste us frivolously. They carefully vet any missions they send us on."

 

Something about this whole scenario still made Trent's spine sit funny, but he nodded all the same. If DeWitt's narrowed eyes and stiff spine were any indication, he had the same suspicions. DeWitt would escalate any issues or problems if shit really hit the fan.

 

Trent had to trust the process.

 

He got his gear together and prepared for the mission. He'd done this sort of thing often enough he could have packed in his sleep. A hunch made him toss an extra-small medical kit into his pack. It added weight, but he'd gladly take the annoyance of a heavier pack if it meant his men made it home.

 

Before he went downstairs, he took a minute to send Mal a message through the secure account they'd set up for him. Technically, Trent shouldn't say anything to Mal. He hadn't been given permission to read Mal in, and he'd noticed Morna hadn't been one of those selected for this job. He wasn't about to go and disappear on the man he loved and the father of his child, without letting him know.

 

Heading out on a job. Mission to Corsica. Seems a little fishy. Will let you know when I get back.

 

His heart raced, straining against his ribcage after he'd sent the message. It was the closest he'd come to breaking orders in his life. Was his dad going to rise from the grave to come and court-martial Trent himself? What if someone from the other side got ahold of the message? No matter how good anyone thought they were, someone else could always be better.

 

He couldn't afford to think about it right now. He had a team that needed him. He raced back down the stairs to join them, and the eight men marched out to an unmarked van to be driven to a small boat.

 

They hurried below decks to get the specifics about their mission. They knew the cell was hiding out in a wild area in the northwest part of the island. The boat they were on was headed to southern Italy. The SEALs would disembark via small craft under cover of darkness and head out into the wilderness. Robson had a machine that would allow him to triangulate off the enemy's cell signals and satellite usage, so they would follow that until they found them.

 

It was, in essence, a bug hunt. They would find them, exterminate them, and return with any evidence. It should be a cake walk.

 

The water was already noticeably chilly at this time of year. Their wetsuits offered some protection, but not enough. Trent had to grit his teeth against the chill as they battled the rough sea toward their landing target. Once there, all eight men hauled their raft up onto the shore and hid it in some scrub. They had to hope no one would find it. If they did, it wasn't the end of the world. DeWitt would send someone out to get them.

 

Robson activated his tracker, and it lit on a signal right away. That signal was ten miles inland. Trent didn't exactly relish the idea of a ten mile hike at double time through unknown territory, but complaining wouldn't get it done any faster. He set out along the path indicated — across acres of vineyards and olive groves — and got started.

 

At least the olive trees would give them some cover.

 

Their hike took them about two hours. Trent wasn't cold anymore when they got to their destination, but he would be once he stopped moving and the sweat got a chance to cool. He wouldn't let himself feel it until later, though. Right now, he had other things on his mind, starting with the fact that this job had gone sideways before it ever got off the ground.

 

They were supposed to be going after an ISIS cell. ISIS cells in Europe tended to be small. They didn't want to attract attention. This site was huge, filled with canvas tents and even trailers. There had to be a hundred men here. Trent could smell diesel generators, and he could smell port-a-potties.

 

He could smell roasting pork. That, in and of itself, ruled out ISIS.

 

He turned to Robson. "Are you sure we're in the right place, buddy?"

 

"These are the right signals." Robson showed him the screen. "I'm not sure what's going on. It looks like a regular campground. Smells like one, too."

 

"Except for that flag." Hopper pointed to a flagpole in the middle of the encampment. Instead of the French flag, or even the Corsican flag, was a silk banner with the White Dawn logo in the center.

 

The campers made sure people could see exactly who they were, by aiming spotlights directly at their standard.

 

"There have to be hundreds of people here," Toledano whispered, eyes wide.

 

"We've faced worse odds." Trent grabbed his gun. "We just have to readjust our strategy. Tinker, get on the horn and let DeWitt know the situation."

 

Orders were orders, after all.