Mal yawned and staggered into the kitchen. He'd slept for twelve straight hours last night, and he felt like he could sleep for another ten. That wasn't like him. He'd been taught to sleep in four hour shifts from the time he'd been ten. He'd sleep in occasionally, in between jobs, but not like this. Not for weeks at a time.

 

Maybe he'd picked up a virus or something. It happened all the time in these port towns. Mal hadn't gone out much. He hadn't spent much time in the bars or around crowds, but he hadn't been a hermit either. He'd gone shopping, he'd gone for walks, and he'd been running to keep in shape. He'd probably picked something up somewhere. He'd get over it. He had a solid immune system. He'd be fine.

 

Morna eyed him as she sat over her yogurt. Mal shuddered away from the smell of the stuff and started a pot of water for tea. "How can you eat that stuff?"

 

She snorted. "It's yogurt. You love yogurt."

 

"It smells like rot."

 

"It smells like yogurt. With a little bit of honey." She sighed. "And you've been sleeping for days. That's not like you, Mal."

 

"I was just thinking that." He grabbed a mug, noticed his sister's lack of mug, and grabbed another. It was no more trouble to fix two than to fix one. "I think I'm coming down with a virus or something. I'll be right as rain soon enough."

 

Morna made a face at him. "A virus, hm? You don't think you've maybe picked up a parasite instead?"

 

Mal scoffed and got to setting up the teapot. "We're in Greece, next to a NATO naval base. We're not going to pick up parasites."

 

"There's more than one way to pick up a parasite." She toyed with her short red hair. "I'm thinking of the kind that wreaks havoc on your body for about nine months before it releases itself in a mess of blood, fluid, and pain. Then it becomes an external parasite for the rest of your life."

 

Mal puzzled out his sister's meaning. "I'm not pregnant, Morna. For crying out loud, we've used condoms every time. We're careful."

 

"Condoms aren't foolproof, Mal. They do break."

 

"Not all that often." He waved a finger at her and took the kettle off the fire. "The fact that I'm having sex doesn't automatically mean I'm pregnant."

 

She watched him as he poured water over the tea leaves in the pot. "No, but it does make it a possibility. And it's the kind of problem you should know about sooner rather than later, isn't it?"

 

"Why? It's not like I could do anything about it, if I were." He brought the tea and the mugs over to the table. "Which I am not."

 

"You're sleeping all the time, you've been avoiding dairy like it personally offends you, and you've developed this super sensory ability to smell things from across the apartment." She ticked the problems off on her fingers. "And you could do something about it, surely."

 

Mal rolled his eyes. This was what came of "home" schooling. No one taught Morna about omega physiology, because she wasn't an omega. "For an omega, an abortion would be a surgical procedure. Major abdominal surgery. I don't know if there's a local doctor who would even perform the procedure, never mind one who's qualified to operate on an omega. It's very risky. We die a lot during these things." His hand went to his belly, more or less involuntarily. "During the birth, too, if anything goes wrong. That's why I haven't gone in to get my tubes tied or anything like that. It's a dangerous procedure."

 

"Oh." Morna bit her lip. "I had no idea."

 

"So, if I were to get pregnant, I'd just have to keep on doing what we do. Just, you know, pregnant. And then I'd have to hope for the best come spring, which doesn't seem all that secure to me. On the whole, I'd rather have a virus." He looked away. There were other reasons he hadn't gone to get his tubes tied, or the entire internal apparatus removed, but they were foolish and sentimental. He kept them to himself.

 

Morna slumped her shoulders over. "Okay. But Mal, you still need to know. If anything did happen, it would go harder for you, yeah? So you should know so you can take care of yourself."

 

Mal plopped himself down in the chair across from his sister. "We'll see."

 

"This isn't a game, Mal. You can decide what to do about it later, but it's a serious issue and you need to take it seriously."

 

"Oh, I know it's no game, Morna." Mal struggled to smile, but the most he could do was a little leer. "I'm the one fixing to die if you're right, so maybe we can hold off and let me enjoy my tea in blissful ignorance."

 

Morna shrank in on herself and studied her yogurt. Mal felt bad, but not bad enough to return to the topic. He couldn't be pregnant. He refused.

 

He poured their tea when it was ready and wrapped his hands around the mug. For a second, his mind turned to babies. Would a baby be the end of the world? Assuming everything went well, he'd have a cuddly little bundle of joy. A little person to raise right, and who would love him unconditionally.

 

Except that wasn't how it would work. The chances of Mal making it through without medical care were slim, and going to a hospital was not an option for anyone in Europa's Wolves. He could craft a false identity for himself, he'd done that a thousand times, but once blood, bodily fluids, and DNA got involved things got dicey.

 

And the thought of raising a child, a child he loved, the way he'd been raised made him want to run for the balcony. He couldn't do that to another person. He'd survived, and he'd become the man he was today, but he wouldn't wish it on anyone else.

 

He'd have to give the child up. Sure, Trent might want it, but he could no more raise a child alone than Mal could. Sorry, kid. I'm getting deployed. I'm off to storm the shores of someplace, no idea how long I'll be gone. You're on your own until I get back, don't burn the place down.

 

Did Trent have family back in the States? Mal hadn't asked, and Trent hadn't mentioned. Maybe that would be okay. Of course, raising a child in the US seemed almost as bad as raising one in the Wolves. People there ran amok with guns, even lugging them into the grocery store. There were mass shootings every day, and no one was safe at any time. It was like the Old West, but even more violent. Mal wouldn't want his kid raised there.

 

"You're crying." Morna sipped from her tea.

 

Mal wiped at his eyes and found them damp. "Huh."

 

"I've never seen you cry before. I didn't think you were able."

 

Mal glared at her. "Everyone's able." He got up and went to the tiny bathroom to splash water on his face.

 

"Mal, tell me you don't actually want this baby." Morna looked up at him when he returned.

 

"It doesn't matter what I want." Mal took a deep breath to steady himself. "We sacrifice so other people can live their lives in peace. Remember? I'm not raising a kid the way we were raised. That's not negotiable. This life…" He looked out the window. "It's ours, and it's the only way we know how to live. But it's a life people should choose, not one people should have forced on them."

 

Morna pulled back a little. "What are you saying, Mal?"

 

"I'm saying no one should grow up like this. People should embrace the Wolves because they've found they believe in it. It shouldn't be something they're born into. We grew up in it, our Da was born into it too, and even our gran and grandpa grew up in it. I'm not perpetuating it. I'm just not. It's wrong. I'll figure out what to do when the time comes."

 

Morna licked her lips. "You could raise the kid. Semi-retire. That kind of thing."

 

"Have you ever met a retired Wolf? Or one who got a pass out because of family? And seriously, can you see Da accepting it? No way. He's barely tolerating us being here and working with the SEALs."

 

Morna flinched. "Is he going to come here and get us?"

 

"Not yet. But whatever happens with this test, we don't tell him. We don't tell him I've been sleeping with a SEAL either. He doesn't need to know." Mal pinched the bridge of his nose. Keeping secrets from their dad was bad. It made for poor team unity and created division.

 

"How is this any different than what happened with me?" Morna crossed her arms over her chest.

 

"Well, for starters, you weren't pregnant." Mal tried to keep his voice mild. "For another, we've known the whole time who and what Trent is. He's not trying to deceive us."

 

"That was not my fault!" Morna jumped to her feet, face red.

 

"Of course it wasn’t, Morna." Mal held up his hands. "I've never blamed you. Not once. These things happen. Da thinks we should be robots, and we're not. That's all. But Morna, we're going to make it through. Okay?"

 

Morna glared at him and stomped off to her room in a huff. Mal slumped once she was out of sight. He didn't have to pretend anymore or be the Big Brother. He could just be miserable.

 

There was some hope this could all be a mistake, or an overreaction. He could just be coming down with a virus, like he'd initially thought.

 

But fantasy, never a friend to guys like Mal, insisted on intruding. What if he was pregnant? What if he took off, created a new identity, hid himself from the rest of the world, and raised this baby the right way? He couldn't go to America, but Canada was an option. So were South Africa or Australia. It would be lonely without Morna, but it might be nice to stop fighting.

 

He could wash the blood from his hands. He could fake some credentials and build a life. He could have a little family. He could watch his child play with soft toys and read normal books, instead of learning to be a crack shot and demolitions expert.

 

The image faded before his eyes. Da would come and bring him back into the fold. There could never be rest for a Wolf. There was only the hunt and endless war.

 

His best bet would be to seek out an abortion. It was a risky procedure, it wasn't something he truly wanted, but it would be best for everyone involved. The child wouldn't have to grow up the way Mal had, and assuming Mal survived he could get right back to work once he'd healed. He could ask the doctors to sterilize him while they were in there, so nothing like this ever happened again.

 

It would mean an end to this little fantasy, and to the faint and secret fantasy behind it — Trent Kelly holding the baby, caring for both of them, and building a family together. Ending the fantasy was the best bet anyway. Fantasy was for children, and Mal hadn't been a child for a very long time. Sure, he'd lose out on something he wanted, but how many people had he helped with his sacrifices? How many people had he saved?

 

That would have to comfort him through the long and lonely nights. And the fact he'd be unlikely to live to a lonely old age.

 

Morna returned to the kitchen sometime later. Mal had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. "You're crying again," she said, in a soft tone.

 

"I'm allowed." Mal sat up and rubbed at his face. "All things considered? Yeah, I'm feeling awfully entitled to a tear or two."

 

"Okay." She held up her hands. "Fine. But at least take the test first."

 

Mal stared at the wall for a second. Putting it off wouldn't do any good. "Fine." He took the little box she held out and brought it into the bathroom.

 

He came out five minutes later. "Well," he said, in a shaky voice. "It's not a virus."

 

Morna wrapped her arms around him. "It's going to be okay, Mal. We'll find a way to make it okay."

 

Mal held on to his sister, but he knew she was wrong. There was no possible way to make this mess okay. The only thing Mal could do was to hold on and try to ride it out.

 

They retreated to the roof deck. They both liked it up there. It probably wasn't all that good for either of their pale skin, but Mal didn't care right now. He just wanted to feel the sun warming his skin. "So how much can you do while you're pregnant?" Morna asked him after a moment, while they stared at the sea. "Can you fight and stuff?"

 

Mal snorted. "Like I know? I've honestly never given being pregnant the slightest bit of thought." He looked away. "I never planned for it, you know? I always planned to avoid it as much as I could, because it would be a disaster. I never thought about what would happen if I did get pregnant, other than the end of the world."

 

Morna took his hand. "It's going to be okay. We'll get through this together."

 

Mal sighed. "It's not going to be okay. I don't know if it'll ever be okay again." He squeezed her hand. "But at least I've got you, right?"

 

"Yeah." She grinned. "You've always had my back. At least now I get to return the favor." She fell silent for a moment. "Is Trent coming by tonight?"

 

Mal closed his eyes. "Yeah." He hadn't had a moment of nausea with this pregnancy, but that might all go away now.

 

"Are you going to tell him?"

 

Those fantasies Mal had briefly treasured, the ones where Trent and Mal sneak off to Australia and raised their little family together in peace and love, reared their seductive heads again. He fought them back. "I have to." He closed his eyes. "He has a right to know."

 

"I suppose." Morna licked her lips. "Do you think he'll try to bring you back to America because of it?"

 

Mal snorted. "Right. Weren't you the one who pointed out that would never happen? We're considered terrorists?"

 

"Yeah." She bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

 

"Not your fault." He sighed. "Not your fault, not his fault, and not even my fault. Except for the part where I voluntarily had sex."

 

"Lots of people have sex, Mal." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You took the precautions you could."

 

"Yeah, but I'm still the one who has to pay the consequences. So maybe I should have just said no." He rubbed at his face. "Sorry. This is kind of a disaster."

 

"I know." She patted his hand. "But you're not going to go through it alone."

 

~

 

Trent got to Mal's place in a good mood. Things were going well on base, and the intelligence unit was making progress with White Dawn and their ISIS connections. He couldn't ask for more.

 

Well, he could. He could ask the government to let him bring his lover home with him, to marry him and start a family with him, but that didn't seem to be in the cards.

 

He’d been with Mal for about a month. Most SEALs didn't get to spend that much time in such close contact with their partners. The constant cycle of training and deployments kept them apart for weeks at a time, with comparatively brief reunions. Starting a relationship, as a SEAL, was difficult. So maybe Trent was lucky this way.

 

When he got to the O'Donnell residence, his good mood evaporated faster than water in the hot Cretan sun. Morna was glaring daggers at Trent, and muttered what sounded like choice Gaelic phrases under her breath at him. Mal, though, Mal looked like he'd been crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and his skin had lost what little color it ever had.

 

Trent stepped toward him, hand out. "Mal, are you okay?"

 

Mal huffed out a little laugh. "I'm most definitely not okay. We, ah, we should talk. Up on the roof, maybe."

 

"Yeah. All right." Trent followed Mal up the stairs to the roof deck, but his mind was racing. What could have happened to put Mal into such a state? Was he sick? Had Trent somehow given him an STI? Was he leaving? The Navy wasn't finished with him yet, but Mal didn't answer to the Navy. If the Wolves needed him, Mal would be out with the tide.

 

Mal sat on one of the cheap patio chairs and gestured to Trent. "You'll want to sit down. Less likelihood of falling off the side."

 

"Well, that's ominous." Trent sat down. "What's going on here?"

 

Mal leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His heel beat out a rapid tattoo on the concrete floor. "There's no easy way to say this. Um, I'm pregnant."

 

The world dimmed. All Trent could hear was the word, pregnant. There was a baby in Mal's belly. A baby that was, presumably, theirs. A combination of Trent and Mal.

 

Something patted Trent's cheek, and he came back to himself. The "something" turned out to be Mal, glaring daggers at him. "You stopped breathing!" Mal accused.

 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to." Trent gripped the plastic arms of the chair he was in. "Are you sure about this?"

 

"Took the test this afternoon. Symptoms fit." Mal looked away and returned to his seat. "Yeah. I'm pregnant. And the kid is yours, before you go there."

 

Trent rolled his eyes. "I didn't think it wasn't. I know it had been a little while for you." He wiped a hand down his face. "A baby. Wow." The enormity hit him. "Well, fuck."

 

"Yeah. I'm kind of at a loss here. It's a bit of a disaster."

 

Trent frowned at Mal. "Why would our kid be a disaster? Sure, it's not something we planned for, but a baby coming into the world is always a good thing, Mal."

 

"Oh yeah?" Mal picked up his head and straightened his spine. "What exactly were you doing when you were four, Trent?"

 

"I don't know." Trent scratched his head. "I had a stuffed football I liked to cuddle. Why?"

 

"I built my first bomb. It wasn't much of a bomb, just a little pipe bomb, but it got the job done. I can't bring a child into the kind of life I have. I can't raise a child the way I grew up." He stood up and swept his hand across the open air. "I just can't do it. And that assumes I make it through the whole process, without a doctor or any of that."

 

Trent looked up at Mal. "Okay…that's kind of going from zero to sixty in no time at all, don't you think? I mean, first of all, why would you even think about raising a kid in your organization?" He stood up too, but he didn't approach.

 

"What, you thought I could just walk away? 'Oh, sorry guys, I seem to be in a bit of a family way, so I'll just be going now.' Sounds lovely, but that's not how it works. I'm the fourth generation of my family to be part of the Wolves, Trent." Trent had never seen such a bitter cast to Mal's face. "And I'm already taking shit from my Da for being here, working with you, instead of taking on another job. There's no part of him that's going to be okay with me getting pregnant, by an American Navy man to boot."

 

Trent bit down on the inside of his cheek. He could see Mal had worked himself up to a certain level of hysteria, and he couldn't exactly blame the guy. "Okay, Mal. Look. We don't have to figure out what to do today. The question is what do you want to do?"

 

Mal blinked at him. "Who cares? It doesn't matter. There are very few options on the table, and they all require the involvement of doctors." He sat down again. "The most sensible solution is to find a surgeon, get rid of it, and get the surgeon to sterilize me while he's in there. Going to a hospital is a risk, but I can't see any way around it."

 

Trent doubled over. Mal's words hit him like a punch to the stomach. "You would abort? You would abort our baby?"

 

Mal grabbed onto his hair and pulled. "What do you want me to do here, Trent? I can't exactly go out and fight terror with a baby strapped to my back!"

 

"You can stop going out and fighting!" Trent waved a hand at the sea.

 

"Oh, and get a regular job? Who's going to provide child care, hm? My entire family is either part of the Wolves or part of an IRA splinter group that shouldn't even be named they're so vile. And exactly what kind of a job do you think a man with no legal identity can get in modern Europe? I can't even go to a hospital. I can't access any kind of services, legally, because I don't have an identity of my own." Mal kept his voice down, barely above a hiss, but his face was so red he looked like he was shouting. "You want me to sit in a room somewhere and raise your child, while you flit off back to America and sit smug in the sure knowledge that you've somehow passed on your genes."

 

Trent's jaw dropped. "Well no, but you can't go out and fight with a baby, and you can't just get an abortion. It's dangerous, isn't it? Never mind that it's our freaking baby. It's dangerous for you!"

 

"So's birth, remember?" Mal stepped closer to Trent. "Do you have any idea what childbirth was like for omegas before we were able to come out and be open? When we had to give birth at home, unassisted, and just hope for the best? Try a seventy percent mortality rate! I just told you I can't go to a hospital."

 

"Everyone can go to a hospital, Mal. It's Europe." Trent squinted at Mal. He couldn't understand Mal's issues with this. Sure, pregnancy and childbirth were scary times for omegas, but Europe had state of the art medical equipment and universal healthcare. Mal would be fine.

 

"Not me. Not us." Mal closed his eyes and shook his head. "Never been in one in my life, except to steal supplies." He took a deep breath and grabbed the back of a chair. "If I can't get the abortion, I'll have to give the baby up for adoption. There's no other way."

 

"Of course there's another way." Trent scoffed. "You can stop doing all of this and settle down." He waved a hand. "Keep the apartment here. I know single parenting sucks, but it's better than just throwing your damn kid away!"

 

"It's better for the baby!" Mal threw his hands in the air. "Better to be raised in a loving home with two parents who can take care of it than by one parent that can't, and who's being hunted for leaving a vigilante organization for a selfish reason like going off to have a baby on his own. Or were you planning to stick your head in every once in awhile, if you happened to be in the area and not on a job?" Mal crossed his arms over his chest.

 

"That's the job." Trent stood up and adopted the same posture. "I'm sorry if you don't like it, but the SEAL life isn't exactly nine to five."

 

"So you expect me to drop everything to raise your child, but you're not willing to do anything?" Mal snorted. "Do you begin to see some of the problem here?"

 

Trent pursed his lips. "Okay, but I'm not talking about throwing our baby away. Besides, you're an omega. Aren't you supposed to just want family all the time?"

 

"Not so much, no." Mal raised his eyebrow. "Believe it or not, omegas can find all sorts of things fulfilling. Like, say, rescuing a group of women from a gang of sex traffickers. Single parenthood isn't on my list, I'm afraid." He closed his eyes again, and heaved another deep breath. "Look. Maybe in a different world, under vastly different circumstances, I might make a different decision. But you're expecting me to give up everything I know and risk my life to raise a child completely alone, in an absolute vacuum, and that's not very reasonable."

 

Trent deflated. "You're right. It's not reasonable. But Mal, there has to be a way. There has to be something we can do that will keep the baby in the family, somehow."

 

Mal stared at him for a moment, and then he sat down. "By which I assume you mean your family. I'm pretty sure we've already established that mine isn't suitable."

 

Trent chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Will you let me try to work something out?"

 

Mal turned his face away. "Do I really get a choice?"

 

Trent pulled back. "What do you mean, do you get a choice? Of course, you get a choice."

 

Mal fixed him with a murderous glare. "Right. Except you have all of the power here. All it takes is a word from you and I'll have the European police on my door. They'll shackle me to a bed until I give birth, and then they'll lock me away and throw away the key. Unless I give you what you want, which is apparently this baby."

 

Trent rubbed his eyes. "It's not like that, Mal. You have to know I'd never do something like that."

 

Mal turned back to him. "The temptation must be there, though. I mean your first thought was about how I can't give up the baby. You were horrified at the thought. Not about me bringing a child into the world alone, and not about me having to decide if I want to risk death now or later. No, it was all about a baby you never mentioned even wanting until you knew it was on the way. I didn't figure into it at all."

 

Trent opened his mouth. He closed it again. "Well, yeah. I love the baby. Is that a bad thing? I'm an alpha, Mal. It's kind of in my wiring. I want to start a family someday. The thought of losing out is making my skin crawl." Trent worked his jaw, trying to make the rest of the words come out.

 

"I should have had more to say to you. I should have made that effort, and I'm sorry. I made assumptions. I assumed that your priorities were like mine — child-centered. That was wrong of me. I guess I still don't get that." Trent blinked a few times. He didn't know if he was blinking back tears or mental cobwebs. Sure, Mal wasn't like most of the other omegas he'd been with, but he was still an omega. Shouldn't he be more nurturing than this?

 

"But yeah." Trent set his jaw. "That baby is part of my family. Yeah, you're the one assuming all of the risks here. And you didn't get a choice about it. We did everything we could to prevent it, but I absolutely refuse to be upset about it. And I'm going to do everything I can to find a way to bring it home and make sure it gets a healthy and happy upbringing. If you're not going to raise it, and be a father, then I'll make sure it gets raised in the States by people who love it and who will give it the values that at least one of its parents cherish."

 

Mal threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not going to put myself through all of this risk and misery to birth a child that's going to be a serial killer, wandering in and out of supermarkets with submachine guns slung over its back like some kind of horrid Mad Max reboot!"

 

Trent blinked at him. "Mal, that's…that's not what America's like."

 

"I've seen enough news reports. You've got people shooting up schools and movie theaters and whatnot. I'm not having a baby just to have it running around looking like a heavily-armed hedgehog!" Mal shuddered.

 

"Okay, but Virginia Beach is actually kind of nice." Trent scratched his head. What kind of nonsense were they filling European news reports with, anyway? "And weren't you, in fact, a kind of heavily-armed hedgehog?"

 

"Yes! Which is exactly why I don't want that for any child I bring into the world." Mal held up one finger in triumph. "No one in his right mind would want that for their child." He glared, and then he slumped. "I should be mad about the whole thing where you're basically accusing me of not being willing to do my job —"

 

"Well, you're not." Trent leaned back and crossed his arms.

 

"My job is to do what's best. And what's best is not to bring this child into the world, lugging it around, teaching it to kill, with every man's hand against it. I don't know why you think I should do that. And it's not to go through life knowing that neither of its parents could be bothered with it."

 

"Then be bothered with it!" Trent roared. He tried not to think about the implications of sending the baby to live with relatives. "Stop being so damn selfish and look after your own kid!"

 

"How about you retire from the Navy and look after the kid yourself." Mal's voice dripped ice. "Not so keen on that? Then why would you ask it of me? We've already been over why it's not feasible for me. I don't have anywhere to go, I don't have any help, it's not an option. And it sure as hell isn't like you're about to bring me back to America with you."

 

Trent choked on that. "Would you even want that?"

 

Mal closed his eyes. "For all that's…enticing, I suppose, about a long-term relationship, or the fantasy of building a family, I think we both know that's not feasible. The Navy would never let you bring me back."

 

"No." Trent looked down. "They think you're half a step up from being a terrorist yourself."

 

"Then that's not an option. You want to live on a completely separate continent, knowing there's a child out there somewhere with your genes, but never have to see it or take care of it. It doesn't work that way, Trent."

 

"Give me some time to find a solution. I have family, Mal. They raised me, they can raise my kid."

 

Mal waved a hand. "Whatever." He refused to look up when Trent left the roof and slunk out of the apartment.