by Aiden Bates
"Huh." Fitzpatrick chewed on the end of his pen. "All we managed to find about him was the hate crime thing."
Mal shrugged. "Again, warrant versus warrantless, legal versus illegal."
"What can you tell us about the organization?" Trent leaned forward. He didn't want the meeting to devolve into a discussion about the merits of legally searching for information versus getting it through whatever means came along.
"Ah. Well, that's a little harder to suss out. We don't have any people inside. From what we can tell, Wolf rules with an iron fist. A direct quote, if you like: 'Man was not meant to be ruled by the mob. Man was meant to be ruled by those fittest to rule. You answer to your betters and your inferiors will answer to you.' Of course, he's superior to everyone."
Kulkarni, freshly out of the hospital, recoiled. "Where did you even find this stuff?"
Mal met his eyes. "On the internet. Even his most pathetic followers, the ones who lash out online, will be more than happy to quote that one."
"It's true." DeWitt smiled, just a little bit, and Trent shivered. "Our intelligence team found that themselves. Apparently Wolf wants to 'cleanse the world’. After he got out of his last prison stint, he changed his tune about how he wants to go about it. He started talking about marketing."
"Marketing." Morna stared at DeWitt.
"He started talking about how they have to convince people they want to be cleansed, instead of just cleansing by force." DeWitt fussed with his pen as he spoke. "It's an icky concept, sure, but it's one we've seen before."
"We want to clean up the neighborhood and get rid of those people over there." Robson sneered and waved his hand. "Oh, sure, we all know exactly who 'those people' are."
"What I want to know," Chief rumbled, “is how a guy like that would possibly be willing to work with people he considers to be dirt. I mean sure, I get that they have similar aims sometimes, but at the end of the day, he's still lowering himself, right? That doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't. The kind of violent purity Wolf is preaching doesn't make sense with the way he's working with Daesh." Mal tugged on his ear.
Trent nudged his knee under the table. "I guess that just means more research."
Chapter Eight
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 b
een 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?"
