by Aiden Bates
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.
Chapter Ten
Mal kept working to dig up as much information about White Dawn as he could. He didn't know why they'd gone under the Wolves' noses for so long, especially given they were exactly the kind of thing the Wolves were supposed to guard against. It didn't sit right with him, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. He'd been so used to trusting the Wolves, even the hint of suspicion was hard to get used to.
He made sure to take better care of himself, too. No one else was going to do it. He hadn't made himself dehydrated and sick to deliberately hurt himself, but the fact that no one cared he was hurt rankled. He understood they made sacrifices to help others, but he hadn't realized he'd made this particular offering at the altar of justice.
But he had, and there was nothing he could do about it now. Maybe there was something that appealed to him about going off and starting a new life, one with connections to people who weren't Morna, but that was as much of a pipe dream as starting a family in Australia with a guy who was basically married to the US Navy. He'd been molded since before his birth for the role he filled. He knew there was no way he could just pop up somewhere, settle in, and talk about gardening over the hedge with the neighbors like a civilian.
So he set reminders for himself to eat and to drink water. He reminded himself to sleep and to get decent exercise. He wasn't going to get soft just because there was a baby involved.
Trent showed up at the apartment about a week after Mal woke up. He stopped by at his usual time, but he brought food from one of the local restaurants and a small bouquet of red flowers. "I hope you'll let me in." He swallowed, and Mal watched his Adam's apple work. "I think shock, and some kind of natural fears, got in the way of me saying some things I very much wanted to say the last time I was here."
Mal knew the sensible thing would be to shut the door in his face. Spending time with Trent had already gotten him into enough trouble. Right now, it could only hurt him.
He stood aside and let Trent in. "How've you been?"
"Okay." He tugged at his collar. "I've missed you. I've been worried about you."
Mal looked away and carried the food into the kitchen. He didn't want to get into another fight. He'd barely finished patching himself up after the last one. "Everything going well with the others? I was a little worried about Baudin's arm. How's he doing?"
"Oh, he's fine. He's made a full recovery. Hospital staff were pretty impressed with your skills. You could probably make a career out of emergency medicine." Trent followed him into the kitchen. "I don't know, become a paramedic. Or a nurse practitioner. That might be right up your alley, actually."
Mal could see that. He'd have to fake credentials, sure, but he could fake credentials in his sleep. A false degree, a false CV, and he could set himself up somewhere in Australia in no time. Of course, he'd have to do something about the baby. Maybe it could wait until the baby was born… "Do they have free child care in Australia, I wonder?"
"I have no idea." Trent blinked. "Why Australia?"
"It's far away fro
m the Wolves." Mal shook his head to clear it and got plates. "Thanks for bringing dinner. I think Morna's gone out for the evening."
"She did." He cleared his throat. "She might have texted me to let me know."
"Ah. Good. Conspiracy. I love it." Mal sat down. "So. What's on your mind?"
Trent managed a weak grin. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry I made it sound like I was only thinking about the baby. I'm kind of a family-oriented guy, and our discussion triggered that in a bad way. Even if we can't find a way to make it work, together, you still fall under that 'family' umbrella. There's a baby and you're the father. We'd always have that connection, if nothing else."
Mal looked down. He couldn't make himself look directly at Trent, so he looked down. Sure, he thought he'd hardened his heart against any of this nonsense, but one word from Trent and here he was. "Trent, you know there's not a way to make any of this work."
Trent huffed out a little laugh. "That's the difference between Europeans and Americans. You say, 'Here's a set of facts, and here's why nothing's going to work.' We say, 'Here's a set of facts, here's why it looks impossible. Now watch us make it work.' I've already got a call in to my uncles, the ones who raised me when my dad died. They're considering taking on the baby if we can't make it happen." He put a hand on Mal's, and Mal's insides melted. It felt too good to have contact with him. "It's not perfect, or even ideal, but it's an option."
Mal didn't pull his hand away, but he did raise an eyebrow at Trent. "Okay, you didn't want me to surrender the baby for adoption but you want to hand it off to your uncles?"
"Like I said, they raised me." Trent set his jaw. "It's not the same thing. The baby would be with family. My uncles live in Virginia Beach, and I'd be able to see it when I was at home." He rubbed at his neck with his free hand. "When my dad was killed, my mom couldn't cope. She was on the young side, and she took it pretty hard. So my uncles stepped in, took me to live with them, and it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me." He smiled. "I wish you could meet them. They're an alpha and omega pair. I think you'd like them."
Mal looked down again. He'd never get to meet these uncles. "I'm glad you had them."
"We're still looking into other options, Mal. I don't want — I don't want you to have to do this alone. It's not something anyone should have to do alone. I'm having trouble believing you couldn't get into a hospital, but I'm not European. You know how it works here better than I do. Can't you fake an ID or something?"
"I'm worried about the blood and the DNA." Mal sat back, withdrawing from the comfort Trent had to offer. "If someone happened to sample it, I'd be in danger."
"I can't imagine why they'd do a DNA test on someone in childbirth." Trent frowned. "Look. We're still working on a way to bring you to the States. It doesn't look good, but for what it's worth, we are trying. Would you do that, if we could get you a passport?"
Mal stood up and walked over to the sink. "Trent, there's no point in fantasizing about that kind of thing, okay? Fantasy doesn't get people anywhere."
"Fantasy got humanity to the moon. Fantasy got us the internal combustion engine. Fantasy got people robotics, and laparoscopic surgery, and supersonic travel. That's how it works. People say, 'Wouldn't it be incredible if we could do the thing?' Then we find a way to make it happen." Trent followed him and rubbed his shoulders. "But we're not going to keep banging our heads against a wall if you don't want to come to America." He paused for a second. "If you don't want to be with me."
Mal's heart raced. "That's not possible."
Trent chuckled. "Which? Being with me or not wanting to be with me?"
The little fantasy of a house in Australia sprang before Mal's eyes again. Then it shifted. This time it became a house in Virginia Beach, someplace Mal knew only as a name. The neighbors' children looked like heavily-armed hedgehogs but Mal and Trent's children looked normal, happy and playing in the sand. "Okay, so it's a nice fantasy," he whispered, fighting the image. "But it's not —"
"It's not what?" Trent put a finger to Mal's lips. "Don't say possible."
Mal rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said around Trent's finger. "It's not something human people can cause to take place."
"Smartass." Trent laughed and stepped back. "Don't you worry about what we can and can't make happen. All I need to know is that it's something you want."
Mal turned around, and Trent took him into his arms. Mal relaxed against his chest. He shouldn't let himself hope like this. It was foolish. He knew better, for crying out loud. He couldn't keep doing this. It was only going to hurt him in the end.
Trent stroked Mal's head. "We'll find a way to get through this, whatever happens, Mal. It might look grim here and there, but we will find a way to get through this."
They finished their meal and went to bed, but they didn't have sex. Instead, they just lay in one another's arms and enjoyed the comfort of the other's presence. It wasn't something they'd done before. It was something couples did, couples with long term plans. Mal found he liked it.
Trent did have to go back to base, but he promised to come back the next night. They kissed good night, and Mal was alone again. He didn't feel quite so alone, and that was dangerous.
He'd worry about the repercussions later. Right now, it felt too good to be wanted, or part of something. The ache inside of him he hadn't always known he felt had subsided to a dull, barely-there note, and he slept better than he had in days.
He got back to work the next day. He'd done a lot of work to ferret out White Dawn individuals based on the hard drives of people at the Kassandreia outpost, but that had only gotten him so far. His next step was to identify their networks. He had more freedom here than anyone from the States, because he didn't need a warrant to get the details or to go through financial records.
Financial records and emails usually gave the best evidence.
Mal's concern with White Dawn centered around financing. He could tell right away their funding had to be immense. All of the equipment he could see in Kassandreia was top of the line — the best weapons, the best tech gear, the best alarms. They had a whole hotel to themselves. Operations he could link to them seemed to be equally well-funded.
Some, like the attack on migrants in Sete, were relatively low tech. That could have been done by any random bunch of skinheads out on a Friday night bender. Another attack that had happened near Sicily, when a high-end luxury yacht had mowed down boats filled with refugees, had required money. The boat had not been one that had been reported stolen. Clearly the yacht either belonged to the group or had been loaned for use in the operation by someone with the money to afford that kind of toy.
Mobile missile launchers weren't cheap either.
He knew who their leader was. Patrick Wolf didn't come from money. Patrick Wolf, before his jailhouse epiphany, had been the stereotype of the American skinhead. He'd lived in a trailer in an impoverished rural area and had trouble holding a job. He definitely wasn't financing the group himself. While White Dawn certainly pulled off the occasional bank heist, they didn't net enough from those operations to cover the scale of network they had.
Where was the money coming from?
As he worked, he found clues about an impending attack in Morocco. He warned both the Navy and the Wolves about it. The Wolves sent someone in to solve the problem that same night, and headlines in Rabat the next morning talked about a murder-suicide pact in a small group of "foreign" men in a hotel near the University. Mal recognized the work of his father there. Dad liked to stage things that way to send a message.
Chief sent him an email about that. That was quick.
Mal shrugged. They must have already been in the area.
I guess so.
Mal grinned. At least he could still be proud of some things about the Wolves, if not everything. It was nice to still have that capacity to be mobile.
At night, he and Trent talked about the future. They talked about baby names and about Virginia. According to Trent, pe
ople almost never went to the grocery store with submachine guns. "I don't know what your media's been feeding you, but that's not a thing."
"It's so a thing." Mal gave him a pissy look. "Pictures don't lie."
"They can be doctored. And sure, there are some places where folks open-carry, just because they can or because they've been out at the range or hunting and they don't want to leave the guns in the car to get stolen or something —"
Mal shuddered. "My God. I'll have to dress my child in body armor for preschool."
Trent snickered. "Come on, it's not that bad. And you, you've got guns all over the place! And bombs! You haven't got a leg to stand on!"
