I'm not much of a shipper, especially not with this show, so some background – after the season 4 finale, a few of us were talking on discord about writing fluffy fix-it fics for our resident Metal/Trent shipper. I am completely incapable of writing fluff, but it did get me thinking about what the whole experience would have been like for Trent if they were a couple. So here we are.
Fair warning that this is not fluffy. And it definitely doesn't fix anything.
Metal was stable when we left.
Trent desperately clings to Jason's words as the helicopter lifts off from the dusty ground to return them to the waiting ship. When he initially settled onto the hard lip of the bird and saw the congealing blood, all he could do was stare. Knowing it was Scott's felt wrong in so many ways, and it took his breath away. He had a hard time keeping his composure as his mind ran wild with the terrifying possibilities.
But Jason's words give him hope, and he spends the rest of the ride back in a state of cautious relief and optimism, purposely keeping his gaze averted from the stained floor of the transport helo as Jason and Clay detail what happened.
Trent has used his medical training to treat countless people over the years – his brothers, partner forces, victims they've rescued, civilians caught in the crossfire, even terrorists and worst-scum-of-the-earth bad guys.
It seems cruel that the one time Metal needed him – when it was Scotty – the person he cared for most in the world, he wasn't there to help. There was nothing he could do, and he was forced to rely on someone else to take care of him and to keep him alive. To comfort him. The thought sends an ache through his chest, and he wants nothing more than to be with Scott now. To make sure he's being well cared for and to assure him everything is going to be okay.
The accounting of what happened is scary to hear, but Trent is proud of the way Jason and Clay worked together to stabilize their fallen brother. He knows he wouldn't have done anything differently himself, and that's some kind of small comfort. It means maybe it doesn't matter that he wasn't there. Not in a medical sense, anyway. He'll be there now, and he'll be there for what is sure to be a long recovery, and that's what counts.
But everything changes when Lisa meets them on deck. They immediately know something is wrong when they see her, but Trent stubbornly holds on to the hope that maybe things simply took a complicated turn. Or perhaps it isn't even about Scott at all.
That hope is crushed as soon as she starts speaking.
And then everything just stops.
He doesn't break down and collapse. He doesn't cry or rage or run.
A heavy blanket of numbness falls over him, and he simply stands with his brothers as they take in and try to process the news. Through his rapidly tunneling vision, Trent is vaguely aware of eyes flitting his way. He can feel the palpable shock and devastation rebounding through their tight-knit team, and somewhere inside, he thinks he should acknowledge it somehow. He thinks he should say something.
But nothing feels real. His mind struggles to comprehend that someone like Scott – strong and vibrant and loved – is just gone.
Eventually, their small group slowly makes its way inside, and Trent moves with them almost on autopilot. The sense of pack makes him feel protected until they're out of sight of so many prying eyes, and he begins to make his way down to the med bay. One of the guys – Brock, he thinks – asks quietly if he'd like them to come along, but he waves them away. He wants to be alone, and he doesn't want an audience.
Even in what he knows is their own grief, they respect his wish.
The guys know about their relationship. He knows they do. He's not really sure when they figured it out, or how. But they're all so close, it's nearly impossible to really keep that kind of thing secret. It's never been discussed, and he and Scott have always kept things as discreet as possible, when working and back home. They all know what the consequences would be if they were outed, and there seems to be an unspoken agreement among Bravo to protect them, their relationship, and their roles on the team by feigning ignorance and not acknowledging it. Trent loves them dearly for it.
It isn't smart, what they've been doing. It was risky enough when they were part of the same battalion, occasionally working joint ops together. But being close like that, having each other's backs in dangerous situations, it felt right and it made the risk worth it.
It's why Scott volunteered to fill in with Bravo after Clay got hurt in Manila. Their relationship had suffered from opposing deployment and mission schedules for years, and sometimes it felt like they barely saw each other outside of the airfield as they crossed paths.
Alpha team had been sidelined because of some injuries at the time, and command was more than happy to have someone of Scott Carter's caliber supporting a team that had been beaten down emotionally and physically as much as Bravo had. Those months after Clay's injury changed everything. They were finally together, all the time. But it was more than that. Living in each other's pockets 24/7 could have dampened the relationship, but instead, it did the opposite. It deepened their bond, and it was in that stretch of time that Trent knew they would be forever.
Even so, when the arrangement became more permanent, they fought about it. It was the biggest argument they ever had, and it went on for days. Trent wasn't about to let Scott give up the mantle of leadership he'd worked so hard for, for so long. The role he clearly loved. He'd seen how much effort the older man had put into Alpha team and his men, and he refused to get in the way of that.
But no matter what he said, Scott insisted Alpha 1 wasn't what he loved the most, and that was the end of it.
Trent ultimately gave in. How could he not? He was getting what he wanted too, even if it felt selfish on his part. Even if he feared Scott would eventually come to resent him for it.
But that resentment never came, and now Trent is thankful for every moment they had together on Bravo.
No one questions him when he arrives at the med bay. The teams carry a certain status on the ship, and news of the tragedy has spread through the ranks. Besides, as Bravo's medic, it would seem perfectly reasonable to an outsider that he'd want to check in on the body and see the damage done.
The two men who were in the room clear out quickly, and Trent is left alone.
The treatment table is to the side of the room, and there's a sheet draped over its occupant, obscuring him completely aside from some tufts of hair.
The shape of this man's body under the light weight of a sheet is familiar to Trent, and for the smallest millisecond, he thinks everything has to be okay. He's seen Scott like this before, spread across their bed as the morning sun would slowly cut a bright path through the room. Sometimes, when they didn't have anywhere they needed to be, Trent would stand in the doorway for long minutes at a time and simply watch him. He'd watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest or the simple twitch of a finger and wonder how he got to be so damn lucky to have such an amazing person to share his life with.
But there's no movement now. And the sheet isn't sun streaked; it's blotted with crimson instead.
He moves forward quietly and reaches with slightly shaking hands to fold the sheet back to reveal his partner's face. He steadies his breathing and takes a moment to register what he's seeing. To let it wash over him and sink in as reality.
One thing Trent has learned over the years is that death changes the way a person looks in a way that's hard to describe. There's something about someone's soul or essence or energy being stripped away that subtly changes their body physically.
Scott's face isn't pained. And it's not peaceful. It's lax and empty. Quiet.
This isn't Scott, Trent knows. He's gone. But his body holds the memories of him, and that's not something Trent is ready to walk away from yet.
His eyes have been closed, and Trent is immensely grateful to whoever made sure that was the case. He knows what death looks like in someone's eyes, and he doesn't want to see Scott's like that. Having to see those eyes without their typical sparkle and mirth and love would likely destroy him.
Scott was able to communicate with his eyes in a way few other people seem capable of. He commanded his team with those eyes, conveyed his expectations with them. And one glimpse from across the room would say more to Trent about how he was feeling than words ever could. Whether it was simple annoyance at the childish bickering between Clay and Sonny or more intense frustration at a decision Jason made, everything could be broadcast easily through a simple glance. There was also a deep wisdom in their blue depths. The older man was incredibly intelligent, and Trent loved watching the joy in his eyes as he worked a problem or observed the dynamics of a conversation.
And the way he'd look at Trent…it made him feel like a teenager in love for the first time, not a twice-divorced 30-something with a sparse bank account and nightmares he pretended he didn't have in the light of day. It made him feel important and special.
Scott's face is dirty from battle and the explosion, and some of his hair is clumped around his forehead from dried perspiration. Trent doesn't mind. It's familiar and a comfort, somehow. It's how he's used to seeing the man, and it's a reminder that he was doing what he loved. That he went out the way he would have wanted – in the fight and protecting his brothers.
Trent's gaze shifts to his lips, and he can't help letting out a small choked chuckle. They're chapped – always chapped. It didn't seem to matter what he did, Scott's lips were incapable of holding onto moisture. He used to joke that it made him manly, but Trent insisted those lips on his skin felt like sandpaper.
He would give anything now to feel them sweep across his neck one more time. Or gently brush across the back of his hand.
Eventually, Trent reaches to fold the sheet down more, so he can see his chest and the damage it holds. The exit wound is small compared to the size of its victim, but it was well positioned to cause significant damage. Scott's body is bruised and bloodied all over, and Trent instinctively wants to soothe him, even though he knows it doesn't matter anymore.
A chest tube had been placed at some point, and it's still there, protruding from between his ribs on the right side. It means they had time to work on him before the worst happened, and Trent wonders how long Scott held on once they got him onto the ship. He wonders if he realized what was happening to him when the blood that delivered vitally needed oxygen to his body became too depleted to continue to do so. And he wonders what his last thoughts were as he drifted away. Whether he was scared. Whether he thought of Trent.
He knew this was possible, of course, they both did. They weren't naïve about the danger of the job. They both went into it knowing there was a chance they wouldn't come home.
It's something they had discussed many times. Their jobs and their relationship put them in a unique and challenging position. They both willingly ran into danger, but they also both held the role of the partner on the home front, hoping their loved one would make it back when the dust settled. It meant they could relate to each other in a way neither of them had been able to with previous partners, and it seemed to work. They savored the time they had with each other and held on to a cautious hope that the relationship and their health would outlast the war, or at least their careers. It was tough, but they made it work.
When Scott was with Alpha, Trent would marvel at how much easier it was to risk his own life than it was to know Scott was out there doing the same. He was good at pushing the anxiety away, but the unease was always there, niggling somewhere at the back of his mind.
But when the older man started running with Bravo, Trent found a relief and solace he hadn't expected. It was a comfort to know that he would be there with him if he ever sustained an injury; that he would be able to help. And he knew they would be together if the worst ever happened.
But that's not how it ultimately went down. Trent wasn't there. Instead, he got indistinct radio chatter from Jason and Clay as they worked on the man who held his heart; as the helicopter sped overhead and they took him farther away, leaving Trent behind.
He doesn't bother pulling the sheet down to look at Scott's leg. It's not something he feels a need to see – the thing that ultimately took him away.
Instead, he pushes the light cotton aside to reveal his full arm. But when Trent reaches forward to brush his hand, it's unnaturally cool to the touch.
That's when his tears finally break free. Knowing he'll never feel the heat of his lover's body again – or the tickle of Scott's thumb as it gently rubs at the pulse point on his wrist – has a finality to it that Trent has a hard time understanding.
He purposely doesn't let his hand linger for long, reaching up to clear the moisture from his own cheek instead. He doesn't want to mar the memory of the warmth. Scott always ran hot, radiating heat like a furnace, whether they were seated next to each other on the C-17 or intimately sharing a bed. That's how he's going to remember him, not like this.
Trent's legs suddenly feel weak thinking about their empty bed back home and he steps away to a stool in the corner of the room. He settles onto it in the silence and just watches him.
No, he doesn't watch. There's nothing to watch anymore. He looks at him.
It's quiet.
He hears the hum of the ship around him, but otherwise, there's no real, discernable noise.
Scott Carter wasn't a loud man in life, but he carried himself with a presence that took up space in any room he occupied. Even if he was simply reading in the corner – which was a very likely possibility most of the time – Scott's quiet confidence was something that couldn't be ignored.
That feeling is gone now. The room feels empty.
Trent leans forward with a sigh, elbows on his knees and face in his hands, and just breathes.
There's so much to think about, it feels overwhelming. He's not sure what he's supposed to do next. He worries how such a massive loss will affect the team, which has already been unsettled and struggling for years now. And he wonders what life will be like for him personally when he returns home without the person who made it home. It's something he refuses to give too much thought to yet, afraid that his mind will snowball out of control.
Scott had been so close to getting out. So close.
They had started to seriously discuss what would come after. Scott only had about 14 months left in his enlistment, and while he hadn't told anyone but Trent, he was ready to be done. His knees and back had taken about all they could, and his internal battle between duty and well-deserved rest was starting to lean strongly toward the latter.
They had talked extensively about how much more time Trent would stay in and how they would make things work in the in-between time before he inevitably retired as well. Now he mourns the loss of the plans they made and wonders what will replace them.
Trent's not sure how long he sits there before movement from the entryway draws his attention. He turns to see Jason, and when their eyes connect, his team leader silently asks permission to enter. Trent nods in acknowledgement, and Jason offers a shaky, sad smile. The area around his eyes is splotchy, like he's been crying, and his face, neck and arms are still dirty, though he's changed into clean civvies. Trent's happy not to have to look at the blood that had been smeared on his uniform.
He notices a bit of a limp as Jason makes his way over to Scott, and for a brief second, old habits kick in and Trent wants to ask him about it. But he stops himself. Jason looks like he needs the moment with his fallen friend, and Trent isn't in any position to pretend to be Bravo's capable medic right now.
Several minutes go by and Trent lets Jason have his time, not interrupting or questioning. If death had taken any other member of the team, Trent would be concerning himself with making sure everyone else was alright, Jason chief among them. He knows his friend's tendency for spiraling and self-blame. But right now, he can't. He can't think of anyone else.
Instead of leaving the room, Jason eventually moves over to stand next to Trent, leaning heavily against the cabinet full of medical supplies at his back.
It's not an uncomfortable silence that follows, but the simple, quiet companionship punches a rough, unexpected gasp out of Trent's chest and he curls forward again, roughly scrubbing his palms into his eyes.
"I understand," Jason says quietly. "How it feels -"
Trent's throat clenches painfully, and he forces a nod as the tears fall again. Jason does know, in a way the rest of them hopefully never will. Alana's loss was tragic, and at the time, Trent wondered how their team leader held it together. He couldn't imagine the pain; what it would feel like to lose the love of his life.
Turns out, it's worse than anything his imagination could have conjured up.
"I'm so sorry," Jason whispers, and Trent can hear the thick tears in his voice. His mentor's hand tentatively lands on his shoulder and gives it a squeeze, and Trent straightens and leans his head back, any pretense at hiding his despair long gone.
They continue to exist in the silence together for a long time.
"He was here because of me," Trent eventually croaks out, giving voice to the guilt that's lurking inside.
It's the closest he's ever come to admitting the relationship.
"He was here because he wanted to be here," Jason challenges softly, but firmly. "Because he cared about the job. And he loved his brothers. Loved you."
Trent knows Scott would be pissed if he blamed himself for this. It's hard not to though. He knows if it weren't for him, Scott would still be commanding Alpha. He wouldn't have been with Jason and Clay when the RPG hit.
"He was protecting us," Jason reminds him, with a shaky voice. "Me and Clay."
Of course he was. Full Metal was a lot of things, and chief among them, he was committed to his men. Trent knows he'd consider it a worthy sacrifice, dying to save his friends. They all would.
"He was in good spirits," Jason continues quietly. "He was in pain, but he was joking with us. He wasn't scared. I don't know if that…"
He trails off, and Trent's head fills in the rest …helps? makes things worse?
Trent doesn't know either.
He offers a small, sad smile. It doesn't surprise him that Scott faced his dire situation with humor. He was generally a genial guy, but he also used humor to deflect from heavy situations. In this case, probably from the extraordinary pain he was in. And maybe the fear. The thought that Scott was likely scared in that way clenches Trent's stomach with despair, and this time, it comes with a rush of jealousy. It's unfair that Jason and Clay got to be with him in some of his final moments. That they got to touch him and joke with him. Even if they didn't know what was to come once they handed him over, they still got to have those precious minutes that Trent wishes he had. That he feels he deserved.
"I wish we could have done more to help him," Jason says brokenly.
And just like that, all traces of resentment are gone. Trent knows that Scott was fortunate to have his brothers with him at the end, and that's what matters most. He knows Jason and Clay did everything they could to help and comfort him.
And that's all he can really ask for.
#####
He left a letter.
For Bravo, not for Trent. It would have been too dangerous to have something like that on the ship, so it's not surprising. But it still hurts.
Trent wants his own words.
But he already knows everything Scott would have written, because he had always been an open book with Trent. The man lived in the moment, saying what he wanted to say, when he wanted to say it. And he made sure people knew how he felt.
They bury him at sea, as he requested. It's a bright, sunny day. The kind of day Metal would grumble about, but Scott not-so-secretly loved.
As they let him go, Trent discreetly reaches forward at the last moment to brush the barest tips of his fingers against the shroud, making sure he's the last person to touch him before he's released to the depths.
For one brief moment, he feels a strong urge to follow; to jump in after him. Not in any kind of attempt to off himself, but just to get him back for a few more minutes, have a little more time with him.
He desperately wants more time.
But they ran out, as they knew they might. It's how these things go sometimes. Trent refuses to spend time thinking it's cruel or unfair. It just is.
It's a reality of the war they're fighting. Of the life they chose.
Once the ceremony is over, he stands at the railing and looks out over the vast stretch of ocean, as far as the eye can see. He knows it will always hold a new meaning to him now. He likes the idea of Scott being a part of it. It means he's everywhere.
He stays there for longer than he should, but he doesn't want to go back below yet, where Scott's bunk holds his glasses and his clothes and books and other personal effects.
Trent's ready to go home. He wants to get off the ship and away from everything for a while. But he also knows what heading back home will bring. The C-17. The cage room and the briefing room. Their apartments. The spaces they shared together that Scott left behind for him to deal with alone.
He knows he isn't truly alone, though. His brothers will be there for him if he falls, and he knows he's desperately going to need that support. But for now, he simply wants a few days to himself. To reflect and grieve quietly.
Their relationship was lived privately, and that's how he wants to say goodbye as well.
Then he'll start the real work of moving on.
He knows he'll never be the same man who left for deployment all those weeks ago and that coming to terms with everything might be the hardest thing he's ever done. But he can hear the deep rumble of Scott's voice in his head, reminding him that they talked about this; that they made promises to each other about how they would go on living if it ever came to that.
So, he's going to honor Scott the best way he knows how. He'll stay in the fight, he'll support his brothers and he'll help the wounded.
He'll make sure other frogmen know the story of Full Metal.
He'll remember.