Mal hid in his room for a couple of days. Morna brought him a jug of water, and that was pretty much all he needed. He didn't feel up to eating. He crept out to use the bathroom, but otherwise he didn't poke his nose out of the tiny space.

 

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father told him he was sulking, and he needed to get over it. Had he really and truly thought Trent was going to put him first? He knew better. He'd never met an alpha, or a beta, who would put someone else first once the possibility of children came into play. Expecting Trent to be different had been foolish. Expecting Trent to be different when Mal had known him for such a short time had been downright dangerous.

 

The job came first. It had to come first. If Mal could just get the job done, he could get off this damnable island and find someplace suitable to go to ground. If he survived the birth, he could surrender the child, and move on.

 

Like it had never even happened.

 

He focused on tracking down more of White Dawn's current operations. So far, no one in the organization seemed to have figured out they'd been busted through mobile signals, which worked out well for Mal. He was able to use data he pulled from their laptops to monitor their communications, and they didn't suspect the involvement of the US in any way.

 

Funny, that. Mal wasn't the States' biggest booster, but he had a healthy respect for their attitude toward Daesh. He'd have thought, given that White Dawn was here in Greece to work with Daesh, they'd be paranoid about the US getting involved, but none of their internal communication contained any worry whatsoever about interference from Washington. They had some concerns about NATO, but according to someone speaking for their leader, "NATO is still on Washington's leash, and we have nothing to fear from them."

 

Mal reported that one to Master Chief Boone and Lt. DeWitt. He made a copy and forwarded it to his dad, too. If things in the political landscape were changing, and the US wasn't going to take an active hand against Daesh, the Wolves might want to adjust their tactics as well. That didn't necessarily mean they were going to be backing off, but they might want to refocus their energy into more productive areas.

 

He sent emails, mostly involving information, but he didn't answer his phone. He wasn't up for it right now. Chief called, Da called, and Morna tried to push her way in after two days, but Mal ignored them all. He stayed in his bed and did his work, and he didn't open his mouth except to drink water.

 

He was being foolish, and he knew it. He figured he was entitled to be foolish, damn it.

 

Trent thought he was too selfish to do his job. Maybe in Trent's eyes, that was true. In Trent's eyes, an omega probably had no greater calling than pushing out babies. Trent should have been able to understand what it was to serve a greater calling than oneself. And he couldn't raise a child alone, not in a vacuum.

 

Alone in his room, in the relative quiet, Mal had time to think. What would he want, if he could have the perfect solution to his predicament? If the sky was the limit, what would be the best solution?

 

An image flashed before his eyes. It wasn't the first time, although he prayed it would be the last. He saw himself sitting on a patio behind a house somewhere in Australia. He held a red-haired baby on his lap while a laughing, happy toddler chased Trent around the garden. The whole picture had a fuzzy kind of look to it, and Mal could easily get lost in a dream like that.

 

He shook his head. Yeah, that was a nice idea. Without Trent there to make it work, there wouldn't be quite so many happy smiles. Babies were all well and good, but Mal knew it took more than one person to raise them in a healthy way. Parents needed support, and Mal wouldn't have any if he tried to raise the kid by himself. Whether he tried to go to ground in Europe, fled to Australia, or someplace similar, he'd be completely cut off.

 

Well, there was always Mum, who'd tried to sell out not only all of the Wolves but him and Morna too, just to save her own skin. That would be a fun conversation to have.

 

He'd never wanted someone to stay before. Not like this. Maybe it was the baby that made him feel this way. Maybe it was the guilt trip that Trent had laid on him. Either way, Mal couldn't deny he felt betrayed when Trent hadn't even pretended to want to raise the kid together.

 

He'd get over it. He didn't have time to mope around brokenhearted. Sure, he'd never let himself make that mistake again. He'd find a way to make sure he never got pregnant again. Maybe he'd be chasing that dream away for good, but stupid dreams like that were for civilians. Guys like him didn't have time to change diapers or soothe colic. They had to fight and creep around.

 

For now, he could work and mourn by turns. As long as he hid out in here, unmolested by the outside world, he could work faster and better. Then they could leave, and Mal would never have to be reminded of Trent again.

 

Well, not until he started showing, anyway.

 

He fell asleep on the fourth day. He knew he was hungry, but he ignored it. He didn't want to have to deal with Morna's lectures or pity. When he fell asleep, he knew he wasn't in good shape, but he figured he'd get over it soon enough. He'd make himself some broth or something when he got around to it.

 

He woke up two days later, still in the same position. No one had come for him. No one had checked on him. In six days of radio silence, two of which hadn't seen him produce even a single email, not a single person had thought it important enough to check on his well being.

 

He weakly threw his notepad across the room. Even that much movement made his stomach lurch, and only his own extensive training — and the emptiness of his stomach — kept him from getting sick all over everything. He picked up what was left of the jug of water and sipped from it.

 

There wasn't much left.

 

Well, it was just as well. If he could crawl to the bathroom, he could get more. He knew he was badly dehydrated. Maybe his life wasn't worth much to anyone else, but it was to him.

 

He slunk down the short hallway and dragged himself up to the sink. His legs were too weak to support him, but his shoulders weren't. He held himself up with his arms and stuck his head under the old faucet. This probably wasn't the most sanitary way to get water into himself, and he knew it, but he couldn't think of any other way.

 

He drank as much as he could, then lowered himself back to the ground. If he couldn't keep it down then that was it. He wouldn't have to try to give birth alone without medical care. If he kept it down, he'd see what he could do about getting to his feet. Either way, he wasn't about to ask anyone else for help.

 

Not after two days.

 

He waited for the cramping in his belly to subside. For a moment, he wondered if he was miscarrying. What would he do if he was? Ride it out and hope for the best? Try field surgery on himself, in weakened condition, with no anesthetic? Bleed to death, internally, if his birth canal didn't form as part of the miscarriage process?

 

The cramps passed. He wasn't miscarrying or dying. Not yet. It was just his stomach rebelling at the sudden addition of water.

 

He struggled to his feet, which made the world spin, and staggered into the kitchen, holding onto the wall for balance and grateful that the apartment was on one level.

 

Morna was in there, reading her tablet. She looked up when she saw him. "You stink."

 

Mal ran his tongue against the back of his teeth. Should he confront her, or should he hold back? He decided to hold back. It was only three steps over to the cabinet. They had to have some kind of powdered vegetable soup mix or something, right?

 

"You don't look so hot." Morna wrinkled her nose at him. "You need a shower. When's the last time you changed your clothes? I know you had a fight with Trent, but seriously. Personal hygiene, man. It's a thing."

 

Mal glowered at her. "Actually, Morna…" He let himself trail off. His voice was too raspy right now to speak well anyway. The box of soup mix was right within his grasp. His time would be better spent focusing on getting better, on getting strong enough to leave, than on getting into a spat with Morna.

 

His hands shook as he struggled with the packet, but he managed to pour the contents into a mug and put the kettle on. He supported himself while he waited for it to boil.

 

Morna watched him as he tottered over to the table, sloshing broth everywhere, to sit down. "You'll be picking that up."

 

"Actually, Morna, I don't think I shall." He smiled over at her, bright and false, before staring down at his mug. "What's been going on in the world while I've been unconscious?"

 

"Unconscious?" Morna snorted. "Dramatic much? Let me see. There was an airplane crash in the States, near Montana I think. I don't know where Montana is, but the Yanks are sad about it. Other than that, things are pretty much the same. What've you been doing in there, since you haven't been washing or changing your clothes?"

 

"Working. Then passing out." Mal shrugged. "Me own fault, I suppose. I didn't eat, so." He sipped at his broth.

 

"You're pregnant, you dim bulb. You have to eat."

 

Mal snorted. "It's not like it matters, yeah? I'm not keeping it." He sipped again. His eyes burned, and he knew he'd be fighting tears if he weren't so damn thirsty.

 

"Oh, Mal. Come on. You don't want to give up your baby, do you?" Morna reached out and put a hand on his arm.

 

"Doesn't matter. Can't change nappies while you're sneaking up on a trafficker, can you?" He shook his head.

 

"But Trent wants it." She looked up at him with her big blue eyes. "What about him?"

 

"I'm not sitting around to raise a child alone, Morna. If he had any plans of being around for the kid maybe it would be different, but he doesn't, so here we are." He gripped his mug. His hands shook too badly to keep the broth in the cup, so he lowered it to the table.

 

"You're real shook up about it, aren't you?" Morna shook her head.

 

"Wouldn't you be?" Mal rolled his eyes. "I'll get over it, for crying out loud. The sooner we can get off this island the better."

 

"Mal." Morna bit her lip. "Look. I wasn't eavesdropping on your fight with Trent, but the walls are thin. He wasn't exactly Mr. Loving Partner, but you jumped to a conclusion or two there. You care for him, and he cares for you too."

 

Mal let his head hang back so far he was looking at the ceiling. "Morna, once kids become part of the picture, however distant a part, they don't care for the people carrying them. The only thing that matters is the womb. If he ever cared for me, and I did think he did at one point, it stopped once I told him I was pregnant. And I should have known better than to believe he did in the first place."

 

"Mal, that's not true. He was attached. Anyone could see it." Morna pulled her hand back.

 

"Well, he's not now. All he cares about is the baby, and that it exists. He doesn't care if birthing it kills me, and he doesn't care if the kid and I have to beg in the streets. He's happy enough to cast it off on some random relative, but I can go crawl into a hole and die. He'll never see the kid, I'd never see the kid, and the kid would just be out there, cast off on some relative like an afterthought."

 

Morna pursed her lips. "Something tells me that wasn't his intent. But if that's what you got out of it, I'm not going to argue with you." She shook her head. "Da will be unhappy. He's not going to want you out of the field long enough to give birth and recover."

 

"I'm not getting out of the field." Mal scoffed. Deep inside, he wanted to step back. He could still enter the enemy's systems, and he could do that from just about anywhere, but he'd rather not put himself to more physical risk than he had to right now. He didn't have an option, not at the moment. "I'm going to finish this job, and then I'm moving to the next. Trent can call me selfish all he wants, but I'm going to keep on working as long as I can."

 

Morna looked at him like he had three heads. "That's a terrible idea. You'll get yourself killed."

 

"Then I do. What is it Da used to tell us? The cause is bigger than any one life?" Mal shook his head. "I used to think it was crap, but Da was right. I can see it now."

 

"What do you mean you thought it was crap? And what do you mean you can see it now?" Morna put her hands on her hips.

 

"Oh, come on. Back then, I always wondered why we couldn't have the same life everyone else did. I used to dream that someday, you know, someday I'd have a family, maybe settle down. That's stupid. I don't even…I can't even see that for myself now." Mal forced himself to chuckle.

 

He could see it all stretching out before him. He could see, just as easily, it was all a mirage. "The life we've lived, the people we are, we're not suited for that stuff now. Do you know, I don't know how to change a nappy? I don't know how to wash a baby, or how to hold one. I can't cook in a proper kitchen and laundry confuses me. I'd be a useless husband, frankly." He bowed his head.

 

"You're upset that Trent didn't propose." Morna's voice was barely above a whisper.

 

"It would have been nice for him to make some token attempt, but he couldn't. Not really." Mal shook his head. "No. He'll go his way. I'll go mine. It's better to not even think about it, you know? We do the job that's in front of us, and Morna, babies don't enter into the picture." He looked out the window.

 

It might have been nice to dream about, but fatherhood hadn't ever been in the cards for Mal.

 

~

 

While Mal was working and hiding in his room, Trent had work of a different sort. For all of his enthusiasm when Mal broke the news, babies hadn't been part of his worldview. Now they were, for better or worse, and Trent needed to do the right thing.

 

Deep down, he knew what his vision of the "right thing" would be. He would go to that tiny apartment Mal and Morna shared, and he would bring a ring. He would drop down to one knee, and Mal would be delighted. He might even swoon. When the SEALs returned to Virginia, Mal would go with them. They'd get married at the courthouse, and that would be the end of it.

 

Trent put his life on the line for the United States often enough. He thought he could expect a little bit back, in the form of letting the man carrying his child into the country.

 

That was selfish thinking, though, and he banished the image from his mind. In the first place, if Mal wasn't carrying the child of one of the guys from Trent's unit, Trent would be one of the first to say Mal didn't belong in America. He didn't just have a general disregard for the law, he had been raised without any concept of laws at all. That could only go one way, and it was "bad."

 

In the second place, Mal didn't want to go to America. He'd brought up the possibility, but a ridiculous possibility. You sure as hell aren't about to bring me back to America with you. Okay, the accusation had been correct, but it still rubbed Trent the wrong way that Mal had just dismissed the possibility out of hand.

 

And his wording had put the responsibility squarely on Trent. Trent didn't like that one bit.

 

That wasn't important right now. What was important was the fate of the baby. The idea that Mal might surrender it for adoption made Trent want to vomit. He had to come up with an alternative, and he had to do it fast. Abortion was equally unpalatable, unthinkable even, but the risks were so high for an omega that Trent dismissed it out of hand.

 

He sought out Chief. Whatever came next, the Master Chief would know what steps to take.

 

He asked Chief for a private conversation the day after his fight with Mal, and they met up the next night. They headed out to one of the docks, where they sat out and looked at the stars for a little while. Then Chief turned to Trent. "Well, son? I know you didn't bring me out here to practice your astronomy skills."

 

Trent blushed. "Sorry, Chief. I, ah, I've got a bit of a problem."

 

Chief looked back out over the bay. "Do you need a trip to Medical and a shot of penicillin?"

 

"No, Chief. I. Um. Mal is pregnant."

 

Chief stiffened, and he went silent. Then he turned to Trent. "Damn it, boy, I know you know better than that. Your uncles taught you better than that. I taught you better than that, God damn it. What in the Sam Hell were you thinking? You always use a condom, every time!"

 

Trent shrunk himself down as far as he could. "I know, Chief. And we did. I swear. But I guess one broke, or had a little tear, or something. I don't know. Because he's definitely pregnant."

 

Chief sighed. "Do you think he did it on purpose, to get a green card?"

 

Trent gasped. "What? No! First of all, he's not like that. Second, they were all my condoms." His face burned and he looked away. "I didn't want to take any chances. Um, you know."

 

"Well that worked out well, didn't it? Fuck." Chief spat into the water. "Here's the thing, Kelly. We can look into bringing him to America, but I don't think it's going to work out well."

 

Trent tugged at his collar. "Er, I don't think he'd want that, Chief. He doesn't want the baby."

 

Chief tilted his head. "Come again?"

 

"He's not happy about this at all. He's all in a flutter because he doesn't want to quit what he's doing to raise the kid, and he doesn't think he can go to a hospital because of who he is. Says if he's going to take that kind of risk he might as well surrender the kid."

 

Chief stared off into the stars for a while. "Well, I guess I can see his point."

 

"Chief!" Trent gasped.

 

"I don't have to like it, but he doesn't know any other way to live than the way he was raised. If he doesn't want to raise the kid that way — and you can't tell me you want your kid raised like he was — what option does he have?" Chief shook his head. "You know me. I've got some pretty traditional views about omegas. But if settling down isn't an option, what's he supposed to do? Strap it to his back while he climbs up the side of a building?"

 

Trent glared. "Settling down is an option. It's what he should do, damn it. It's what's best for him and what's best for the baby." Then he rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I can sit here and talk until I'm blue in the face about what I think is best, but I can't make him do a damn thing. Right now, he doesn't see another option."

 

"I'm not seeing many myself, son." Chief lifted an eyebrow. "You yourself haven't mentioned marrying him, so I don't think that's in the cards."

 

Trent closed his mouth. "No, I guess I haven't. It's not an option anyway. He can't come to America, and I can't leave the Navy." He closed his eyes. "So anyway, I thought I'd call my uncles. They did a good job with me, maybe they'd be willing to take the baby."

 

"They did a great job with you thirty years ago, when you were already toilet trained." Chief shook his head. "You can ask them, and they might just say yes. But don't get your hopes up, kid. A baby's a lot of work. They might not be feeling up to chasing after one at their age, or be inclined to deal with midnight feedings."

 

"It's worth a try." Trent clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "It's family."

 

Chief grimaced, and said he'd arrange for Trent to call home tomorrow. At the same time, he'd start looking for ways for Trent to bring Mal back to the States. "I wouldn't get my hopes up about that, either. It doesn't look good, all things considered, but I'd rather keep all your options open. But damn it, Kelly, wrap it next time."

 

Trent considered reminding the Master Chief that he had, in fact, wrapped it. Then he thought better of it.

 

He called his uncles the next day. Uncle Jonas was the alpha, his father's brother, and a retired Navy man himself. Uncle Nick was Jonas' husband, an omega, and never far from his side. Trent had moved in with them at the great age of three, after his father's death, and he couldn't imagine being closer to anyone.

 

"Uncle Jonas, Uncle Nick. It's good to hear your voices." He smiled, in spite of himself. "I have a favor to ask. I've gotten myself into a bit of a problem."

 

He explained his situation, leaving out the parts about Mal's checkered past. All he told them about Mal was that Mal "doesn't live the kind of lifestyle that's suited to parenthood, and doesn't really want a kid anyway," and he wasn't going to propose to him. Uncle Nick just about lost his mind when Trent told him Mal "didn't want a kid."

 

"What the hell kind of omega could even give up a kid?" he fumed. "That's what we're for, for crying out loud! Having babies and bringing them up! Is he defective? Is that why you're not marrying him? I know we raised you better than to leave someone in a lurch, Trent Kelly."

 

Trent smiled, just a little. "There are some family issues there. Let's just say he doesn't come from the best environment." That covered plenty, right? "It's complicated, and I don't agree with it, but it's not like you can argue someone into wanting kids, you know?"

 

"I guess." Nick sighed. "The thing is, Trent, we're old. If this were fifteen years ago, or even ten, we'd have been all over it. Now, we need to sit back and think about it."

 

Jonas took over. "A baby right now would be cute and cuddly. We're in our sixties now. Can two guys in their seventies and eighties keep up with a teenager? I'm not so sure. It's something to consider, to not take on lightly. Give us a few days and call us back. We'll let you know what we decide then, okay?"

 

Trent had been hoping for a full assent, but he completely understood their reluctance. He respected them even more because of it, in a weird kind of way. "Okay. Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."

 

"I know you do. You still make us proud, Trent. And I know your dad's looking down from Heaven, proud as anything too."

 

Trent reported back to Chief. He needed a backup plan.

 

Trent hadn't left things with Mal on good terms, and he felt kind of bad about that. At the same time, he wanted Mal to be the one to reach out to him. They'd said a lot of things to one another, but Mal had definitely been the most monstrous of the pair. It was up to Mal to extend a hand, to say he was ready to work together to do what was best for their family.

 

Except it wasn't their family. The thought soured Trent and made him turn away for several days. He knew Mal was working, because Chief and DeWitt mentioned they were getting information from him. After a few days, though, they stopped.

 

Had Mal gotten sidetracked? Had he run out of information to send?

 

Or had he skipped town on a new job with Morna in tow?

 

He headed out one night in search of one or both of the O'Donnell siblings. He found Morna, alone at a bar, and approached her. "How's it going?"

 

She glowered at him. "How do you think it's going? You've left him to twist on his own and called him a monster besides."

 

"I didn't actually call him a monster." Trent hunched over and studied his beer.

 

"You might as well have. Those walls are pretty thin." She snorted. "For what it's worth, he's holed up in his room. Won't come out, won't talk to anyone. I think he's trying to rush through this job, so we can get out of here faster."

 

"Why? You've got a rent free apartment and medical care right here on base." Trent leaned forward, just a little. "He's going to need that."

 

"He still can't access that, jackass." She looked away. "I might not like the idea of giving the baby away, but we can't use hospitals. Too risky. Why do you think he's so well trained?"

 

Trent ignored the question. "Is he okay?"

 

"He'll be fine." Morna snorted at him. "It's not like you were going to go and comfort him anyway. He'll pout for a little while, and then he'll come out and we'll be right as rain. Then we'll move on, and you'll never hear from us again."

 

Trent lifted his eyebrows, but he didn't have anything to say in his own defense. Instead, he looked away. "You wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, would you?"

 

"Would you?" She lifted her chin.

 

"Point, I guess." He gulped from his beer. "I wish it could be different."

 

"Then make it different." She shrugged. "Join the Wolves." She snapped. "Simple, yeah?"

 

"Hardly." He shook his head. "The SEALs are my family. The Navy is my family. I can't just walk away."

 

"Then it shouldn't be a problem to walk away from Mal. He gets it, you know? You keep trying to put us into a bucket in your head, one marked 'civilian.'" She lifted an eyebrow at him. "We're not civilians, Trent. We never were, not since we were wee. It's hard, but it's the way things are."

 

"I guess." Trent grimaced. "I don't like seeing omegas in those kinds of roles."

 

"Look away then. You'll be called back soon, it shouldn't be too hard."

 

Trent frowned. "I get the impression you don't like me very much."

 

"Good." She sighed. "You'd probably be a great boyfriend for some nice single career omega back in the States, who had nothing going on but his climb to the top of the corporate ladder or some such thing. That's not Mal. He's a soldier. He's not here for this sentimental crap. He knows you're not either. He's managing his expectations. Maybe you should manage yours."

 

Trent considered her words. Okay, maybe he was being kind of old fashioned. He was expecting Mal to fall into raptures about pregnancy, and be so overjoyed at having a baby to love that he would be willing to overlook every obstacle. That wasn't realistic.

 

The baby was a disruption to Trent too, but when Trent took a minute to think about it, the baby was like a direct bomb strike for Mal. He didn't quite believe there was no way Mal could safely access medical care, but it didn't matter what Trent believed. It mattered what Mal believed. If he didn't think he could safely access care, he wouldn't try.

 

"Do you really think it's as dangerous as he thinks it is?" He sloshed his beer around in its glass and wished he'd gotten something else.

 

She stared at him for a moment. "I think my brother isn't given to hyperbole. If he believes something, it's because it's true, based on what he knows at the time. Of course, if you have other information, any time you wanted to share with the class would be swell." She gave him a cheery thumbs up.

 

He clenched his jaw. One of these days, Morna's attitude was going to get her into trouble. "Do you think he'd be open to hearing from me?"

 

"Fuck if I know." She gulped from her drink. "He's been shut up in his room, alone, all week. Hasn't come out once as near as I can tell."

 

"Maybe he does the sentimental stuff a bit more than we thought." Trent knew, as soon as the words left his mouth, that it was the wrong thing to say.

 

"Well, he can't afford to. He needs to get it out of his system and get back to work. There are actual human lives riding on what we find. Or did you miss that photo with the migrant bodies? You were there for the rocket launcher, I know. The world doesn't stop turning for the petty concerns of one person, and Mal knows that." She curled her lip at him and gestured to the bartender. "That's just the way it is."

 

Trent paid his tab and left the bar. He wasn't going to get any farther with Morna. He knew, deep in his heart, that he couldn't leave Mal alone to give birth. Not like that. He deserved more.