by Aiden Bates
Mal's stomach lurched, but he straightened his spine and held firm. "I'm sure they did. They're like a mythical creature. You cut off the head of one, and ten grow back in its place."
"So you should be out finding the main head, not sitting on your ass putting IVs into lazy bastards." Da's voice was a growl again. "You just like the cushy life you've got there. You like not having to get out in the fight. That's the omega part of you talking. I should've sent you to live with your mother or dropped you at an orphanage when you tested as an omega. You're just naturally too selfish to put your own comfort aside and think about other people."
Mal closed his eyes. "I've made a commitment here, Da. And it is useful. I'm right here on a naval base. I'm able to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the entire French fleet, to say nothing of the rest of NATO. I've worked on refugees. And going forward I'll be able to better slip into hospitals disguised as staff."
"How often do you truly need to do that, Malachi?"
"Five times in the past two years, actually. I got caught once, and I had to knock out the nurse that caught me. So maybe it would be best to be able to pull off the disguise instead of assaulting people and drawing attention, yeah?" Mal punched his pillow.
"Whatever. Wrap up whatever it is you have going on before Christmas or I'm coming down there to collect your weak selves myself." Da hung up.
Mal curled into as much of a ball as he could around the baby bump. His palms were slick with sweat and no amount of blankets could warm him.
Inside his belly the baby moved. He could barely feel the gentle kicks against the arms he'd wrapped around his bump, but they were unmistakeable.
Damn it, Trent should be here for this. Trent should have the pleasure of feeling those little pulses, like odd little bubbles. They were undeniable proof of the existence of the baby Trent wanted so badly. He should be here to revel in his baby, and to keep Mal safe from his father and the other Wolves.
Mal shook his head and unfolded himself. Other people didn't keep Mal safe. That wasn't part of his world. When had he started thinking that way, anyway? He might resent it, he might hate it, and he might be looking for an out, but he'd been born and raised a Wolf. He couldn't erase that part of himself any more than he could change the color of his hair.
Wolves kept themselves safe. They didn't turn to other people for anything, ever. Maybe Da had been right. Maybe Mal had gone soft, spending so much time at the hospital.
He rubbed his hand over his bump. "It's been real. I can't promise you anything after Christmas, but we'll do what we can."
He looked at the calendar. He and his bump had three weeks.
He didn't tell Dr. Firmin. He didn't want her to worry. There wasn't anything she could do. He did warn Morna, in case she decided to make herself scarce by then.
Mal came back to his hotel room on a Friday evening, a week after his father's call, to find his room occupied. He felt a moment's terror before he realized the man sitting in the chair wasn't his father. He was built on a more muscular scale, with a white beard and a US Navy uniform.
"Chief." Mal sagged with relief. "How are you?"
Chief grinned. "I'm not doing too badly. How about you? Still enjoying the job?"
"Absolutely." Mal smiled. "It's hard, knowing Trent is injured and so far away. But I'm helping here, and I like the work, so it helps. Keeps me busy and out of trouble I suppose."
"Hm." Chief's face was stern, but his eyes twinkled merrily. "Do you like the job well enough to stay in Toulon for the rest of your life?"
"If I have to." Mal thought about his father's impending arrival. "It would be a short life, all things considered, but it is what it is."
The mirth went out of Chief's eye. "What makes you say that? Are you having dark thoughts?"
Mal rolled his eyes. "No, Chief. My father's going to come and 'collect' us at Christmas." He put his hand on his belly. "When he sees I'm pregnant, it will be over." He looked away and out the window at the dark city street. "We spoke last week, and he made his feelings about having an omega son pretty clear."
Chief relaxed. "Ah. Well then. I have some good news for you." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a slim passport. "Congratulations, Malachi O'Donnell, Permanent US Resident." He held out the passport.
Mal gaped at the document. "That's…that's got to be a trick. That can't be real." He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. At least if he went to the States he’d know one person. And he did care for Trent more than he was willing to admit. He didn’t have to go to South Africa or Australia alone. He couldn’t help but worry it was going to be a cage.
With his father coming, what choice did Mal have?
Chief smiled. "No trick. All true. Lt. DeWitt and I had a talk with some folks in Immigration. They were…made to understand just how much you and Morna had done to help us, and how much danger it had put you both in. It took some work, but we finally got through." He ran a hand through his hair. "I think we got through in the nick of time.”
"For what it's worth, we've got an offer for Morna as well. It's contingent on her enlistment in the Navy. I don't think Lt. DeWitt would have to do much talking to convince her. We're going to wait until you're in the air and on the way back to Virginia to extend the offer, though, just in case."
Mal covered his mouth. "Thank you." He looked down, and then up again. "But seriously. How did you manage to get this done after I threatened to skin the whole unit?"
"Are you kidding?" Chief tossed his head back and laughed. "That was a centerpiece of my argument. I told them just how insistent you were that our men get saved. Lt. DeWitt would prefer that your knives stay in France, though." He winked. "I promise no one will be looking." He took a breath. "I've already spoken to Dr. Firmin. We can be in the air tonight."
Mal didn't have to think about his decision. "I didn't even unpack."
~
Trent was good at a lot of things. He was an excellent sailor, and a fantastic SEAL. He could kill a man six ways from Sunday, and he had the discretion to know when to not do that. He was great at stealth. For that matter, he was a pretty decent cartoonist, and he'd been the star of every play in high school.
He was not good at being a patient.
Fortunately, his uncles knew that. They came by to help him. They knew him well, and they knew just how much company he could take and when to slink out the door. They also knew they needed to work as a team — one to distract him while the other did the tasks he would want to do for himself but couldn't yet.
Trent knew they were doing it, and it bothered him. He couldn't do anything about it, and he loved them for it. He just couldn't stop feeling like he was taking advantage.
The first week or so passed in a haze of pain. He'd refused the pain pills the hospital tried to send him home with, on the grounds that they weren't effective and they made his head fuzzy. The doctor, who outranked him, wanted to order him to take them, but he couldn't. "The Navy is worried about sailors getting addicted, and I guess I can see where that's a concern. So while I think it's stupid to suffer needlessly, I'm not allowed to compel you to take the pills, and I wouldn't do that to you anyway."
As his body knit itself back together, Trent's haze cleared, and he started to be able to take on a few more activities. He went for short walks around the building. They wiped him out at first, but everyone from the doctor to his uncle Nick insisted they were absolutely necessary. "You have to train those slashed muscles to work again," Nick told him. "Trust me. I had a C-section, and that's basically what you're dealing with. You have to start slow and work your way up to the six pack again."
That gave Trent a start. He hadn't thought much about his appearance since he'd gotten hurt, but of course he didn't look the same. He'd been on his back for weeks, and he'd be out of commission for a lot longer. Assuming they managed to get Mal to the States, would Mal still want him?
Mal wasn't that shallow. He wasn't shallow at all, but there had to be some element of attrac
tion to make a sexual relationship work. How would he keep Mal interested and engaged if he looked like a potato?
He didn't tell anyone he was having those thoughts. No one needed to know that kind of thing. Trent was a SEAL. SEALs weren't vain. They didn't primp, they didn't preen. They did their jobs, and they didn't care about the effect on their looks.
Chief, though, figured it out because that was just the way he was. "You do know Mal doesn't care if you lose a little muscle tone, right?" He lifted an eyebrow at Trent. "First of all, he just wants to know you're alive and recovering. Second, he's been in the same line of work you are. He knows people get hurt. He knows how people recover. For crying out loud, he's working as a nurse. It's not a thing."
Trent sighed. Of course, Chief knew him that well. "I know. In my head, I know that's how he thinks. In here, I worry." He patted his chest. "I just…"
"You miss him." Chief ruffled his hair. "Some anxiety is normal. Just don't let it eat you up."
Thanksgiving arrived. They celebrated at Trent's grandmother's house, his mother's mother. Mom lived there, too. She'd moved in with Grandma after Dad was killed. That had been what had triggered Trent's move to his uncles' place. Mom had been shattered by Dad's death. She'd been pregnant, and Grandma couldn't cope with her daughter's needs and an impending new baby and a rambunctious little boy.
It had all worked out in the end. Trent had done very well with his uncles, but he wasn't going to pretend there wasn't some bad blood there. It wasn't like Grandma would even let him visit until he was fifteen, and even then he'd only been allowed once per year.
Grandma didn't seem all that thrilled to see him now. Her face was sour when she saw him coming up the walk, and she saw the cane he used to walk and scoffed. "You'll do anything for attention and sympathy, won't you, boy?"
Trent was always boy when he was with Grandma.
Uncle Jonas scowled at her. "He was injured in the line of duty. He's set to get a Purple Heart and possibly a Navy Cross."
Grandma just waved her hand. "Sure he is, Jonas. Sure he is." She stalked back into the house.
Trent hated Thanksgiving.
Mom was still pretty fragile, after all these years. She moved through the day in a kind of fog and didn't help much of anyone with anything. Trent's younger sister, Jane, showed up with her family about an hour after Trent and his uncles arrived. Jane wasn't particularly hostile, but they barely knew each other and didn't have much to say to each other. She let him hold her new baby, though, and that was good.
He could almost pretend he was holding his son.
He didn't share the news about his own impending new arrival, not even when his cousin Dave got there with his kids. Things were still too up in the air, and he definitely didn't feel like hearing about it from Grandma. Grandma wouldn't see the baby, or Mal for that matter, as a good thing. She'd see it as trying to steal the attention away from Jane and couldn't keep it in your pants for ten minutes, could you?
It was better to keep quiet. He didn't have much to say during the meal at all, which pleased Grandma just fine. That was fine. He could focus on his wine or on the stuffing Dave and his wife had brought. He didn't need to think about hostility from his relatives.
What would things be like when Mal got here? If he got here, of course. His arrival was looking increasingly unlikely, but Trent preferred to keep a positive outlook. Would Mal find a way to get along with Trent's mother's family and be a bridge, or would he just stick with the people who loved Trent and have done?
He barely even noticed when dinner was done. He'd gotten so lost in daydreaming he lost track of time, which gave Grandma ammunition to lecture him in front of everyone about what a lousy drunk he was.
Ah, well. He didn't care much right now. Her good opinion had been lost to him when he'd been four years old. He wasn't going to get it back now.
After dinner, Trent's uncles drove him home. "So, what was on your mind?" Uncle Jonas asked. "Was it that baby you have on the way?"
Trent blushed from the backseat, but he nodded. "I was just trying to figure out if Mal would fit in there or if he'd just find his trigger finger itching."
His uncles burst out laughing. "Cute. I'm hoping for the latter," Nick said. "At least for the old bat."
"Nick," Jonas chided. "Come on."
"What? She's evil." Nick looked out the window. "Yeah, she's his family, but that obviously doesn't mean much to her." He shrugged his shoulders. "But she did send Trent to us, so she's good for something."
Trent's chest warmed.
Sitting around the house got boring. Trent did his holiday shopping online since he wasn't supposed to be lifting. That got dull pretty quick, and he finished it pretty quick too. In the absence of anything better to do, he picked up a pencil and a sketch pad.
If he couldn't do, he could draw. And if he couldn't be with Mal, he would draw Mal — rather, he would draw the story of himself and Mal. As the hours ticked over into days, a small comic book took shape under his hands. He couldn't show reality, of course. Not if he wanted to sell it, and he might want that. Either way, he didn’t want to give away any classified information. He needed to disguise the SEALs, so they became policemen. Mal and Morna turned into super heroes, vigilante types defending a fictional city from evil.
Trent kept drawing, and the work kept him from losing his mind from boredom. His life and his love became much more vivid on the pages before him. He didn't have to show long training sessions or interminably dull sessions at sea. People only wanted to see the action and the good parts. He could cover the boring bits in a panel or two, for "realism," and skip over huge stretches of time all together.
Maybe someday he’d sell it. He didn’t worry about that kind of thing now. It was just a way to kill time. It was a hobby for him, and he would be lucky to make a few bucks at it. Maybe after he retired he would be able to go into this stuff full time.
He could see it all stretching before him. No one could stay a SEAL forever, after all. It was a great job, and Trent was happy to serve, but eventually his body would break down on him. The past few weeks of misery had proved that to him. He could die at any point, of course. His job was dangerous, too. But if he didn't, if he survived, he'd need to have a job or else he'd go insane.
He would have a studio somewhere. It didn't have to be big, but it did have to be away from tiny hands. He'd go there at times that worked for their family, contrary to traffic, and in ways that didn't interfere with the kids' school schedules or Mal's work schedule. After retirement he could be at every game, every recital, every awards ceremony, anything that happened in the kids' lives.
He could be a dad all of the time.
The thought kind of made him giddy.
Of course, they had to get Mal here before any of that happened. As the weather got colder and Christmas loomed, Trent could only sigh. He still hadn't been cleared for active duty. When Trent called Dr. Steed about it, Dr. Steed laughed and hung up on him.
If he wasn't on active duty, he couldn't do anything to bring Mal home. As his wound healed, his own inaction chafed to an increasing degree. Finally, Chief came over to talk to him. "Hey, Kelly. I wanted to run something by you."
"Did it involve me hopping on a plane to go back to France to get Mal this minute?" Trent chewed on his nails. "Because as soon as you tell me we've got the go ahead, I'm gone. I can't just sit around like this while he's over there suffering."
Chief snorted. "No, you're not, Kelly. You're not cleared to travel. You're not even cleared to drive. Yes, I checked. And trust me, Mal's doing just fine. He misses you, yeah, but he's got a job and a regular schedule now. He never got medical care before. Now he's getting top notch care. He misses you, but he's getting through just fine. We have to trust the process, remember?"
"But what about the baby?" Trent stood up. "What if the baby winds up being born in France?"
"Then it is. He's on an actual military base. His dad can't get to him, Trent. Listen. Things ar
e percolating along okay for his application." He scratched at his right side, near a pocket. "What I wanted to run by you was this. What do you think about Morna?"
"The sister? She wants to make a garter belt out of my insides." Trent shuddered.
"Okay, true. And Mal wants to skin DeWitt alive. What about it?" Chief sat in Trent's recliner. "Damn. Well, there went my plans for the day."
Trent smirked. "It's part of my security system."
"I can see why." Chief made a happy little face and continued. "The thing is, Morna's done a lot of work with us too. She's helped out, saved lives. She's jumped into the line of fire with us. Except for a funny accent and dropping the letter 'u' into her reports in all the wrong places, she could pass for one of us. And when her father finds out Mal's gone, he's going to go looking for someone to blame."
