Hello, everyone! Just me, barging in before you read with a quick author's note, because I've made some changes to accommodate a few shifts in plot that did not exist when I initially planned this story out! I promise I won't make this a habit at the start of every new chapter, but I wanted to make sure it was somewhere that might just catch your eye ;).

You may notice in the snippet I've included here with our beloved Iceman that there are two new characters mentioned that don't exist in canon (Jo and Maggie). Both are characters that will feature in my Iceman/OC story Flares (But don't worry, you are certainly under no obligation to read that story to understand how they relate to the plot here!) Somehow, despite starting this story first, I wasn't quite able to resist the urge to find little connections between them, for continuity if nothing else. So for our purposes, Sarah as shown in the movie doesn't actually exist here. And I hope the end result of all of that doesn't prove too jarring!

As always, I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this story, and for your patience with my apparently continued sporadic updates. And special thanks to Roostette, SirenWolf28, and ChiTown4ever for your AMAZING feedback and support in reviews! I appreciate every last one of you far more than you can ever know, and I hope you enjoy what you find here!

Until next time, darlings…

MOMM

…

"Well it looks like you were having some fun."

The unexpected words have Casey stumbling back a few steps, while simultaneously emitting a startled shriek, because she had been so caught up in everything that had happened in the last ten minutes alone that the desire to pay attention to anything else seemed almost laughable. She can still feel the urgency behind Bradley's kisses. The heat of his palms against her skin.

Her heart is hammering at a breakneck pace, and a flare of heat is still warming the skin of her cheeks. But even with the small flare of apprehension that ignites at what Evie's reaction may or may not be, Casey cannot entirely give into it completely.

Not when, just for a moment, everything had seemed to fit together so perfectly she still thought that it couldn't possibly be real.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to cause a heart attack," Evie quips, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile as she slips to the side, allowing a still somewhat stunned Casey to slip past her and head into the house, "Wanna maybe tell me what that was all about?"

"Exactly how much did you see, Ev?"

"Enough to think I was stuck dreaming about a teenage rom-com."

"Well we're not exactly teenagers anymore."

"Oh I know. Until that accidental horn-beep, I was half-expecting you to start going at it in the Bronco."

"Going at it," Casey repeats, her shoulders shaking with a barely suppressed laugh, perhaps most especially because she can see Evie trying to restrain her own amusement with about as much success, "That's an interesting choice of words."

"Well unless you want me to continue using that choice of words, this would be your cue to tell me details, Casey. Details!"

"We—slept together."

"I knew it!"

"Evie—"

"Don't 'Evie' me, I knew this was coming. I mean, I never expected it to take so damn long, but still."

"And I'm pregnant."

Evie's eyes blow wide in response to that, just as Casey had expected, and she takes the momentary silence as leave to perch on the edge of an armchair near the couch not long after. It surprises her, to a degree, that she feels nothing other than relief in the face of Evie knowing the truth. Just like with Bradley, it is almost as though a sizable weight has been lifted from her chest.

Even if a part of her suspects Evie will never let her hear the end of this, Casey cannot entirely bring herself to resist a faint grin, particularly in light of the lingering expression of utter shock Evie wears as she tries to ensure she hasn't somehow imagined it all.

"You're—"

"Pregnant."

"I mean that's—are we—are we happy about this?" Evie asks, already searching Casey's expression for any sign of uncertainty, "Or are we exercising our legal right to choose?"

"No, we're—we're happy. I mean, I—it's weird, but—but it's good."

"Weird?"

"I mean it—we did it all in the wrong order," Casey explains, her thumbnail picking at a stray bit of thread on the arm of the chair as she tries to consider how to elaborate further, "I just kind of always assumed I'd be married, or dating a guy for a few years at the very least before—before a baby came into it."

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you and Bradshaw dating?"

"I mean—yeah. Yeah, I guess that's what you could call it."

"Well it's about damn time," Evie declares, aware of Casey's skeptically raised brow, and yet choosing to press on, regardless, "Oh come on, you can't tell me you didn't see this coming."

"I didn't, actually."

"Okay, sure, not the baby part, but the Bradshaw part? I totally saw that coming."

"I think the only part of any of this that I saw coming was you reacting like this," Casey admits, unable to fully resist the pull of an amused smile at the corners of her mouth, despite knowing it will only serve to prove her friend's point in seconds, flat.

Something Evie only confirms with her next words.

"Casey you two have been pining for each other for as long as I've known you. Probably even longer."

"Pining?"

"Yes. Pining."

"Well now you're just being dramatic."

"Am I? Or are you just in denial?"

Rolling her eyes, Casey leans over to give her friend's shoulder a light shove, another flare of relief washing over her in light of how Evie smiles so easily in response. It would be a lie to pretend a part of her hadn't wondered at the wisdom of any attempt at full disclosure, given Evie's own problems such as they are. But the blonde seems happy. At ease. Almost relieved, in a small way, herself.

And Casey is far more encouraged by that realization than she probably has any right to be, at least until Evie's smile twists into a frown, and her eyes cloud with something not all that far away from guilt.

"If this is—if this is too much, with everything I told you, I can—I can go back to the hotel."

"What?"

"I can go back to the hotel," Evie says, already anticipating Casey's almost immediate move to protest, though somehow, she manages to finish her thought before the brunette can intervene, "I—if I'd known, I—"

"You what? Wouldn't have come?"

Evie clearly intends to say nothing in response to the inquiry, but she doesn't have to, the expression she wears serving as all the confirmation Casey needs to gather an answer all on her own.

"You're staying here, Ev. Nothing's changed."

"Everything has changed. You're pregnant."

"Last I checked, that didn't change the fact that you're my friend, and you're in trouble," Casey insists, reaching out to snag Evie's hand before she can pull away, "We'll figure it out."

It is more than a little obvious that Evie isn't entirely prepared to accept Casey's apparent determination. That she still feels on some level that she would be doing everyone a favor by keeping them as far from her own troubles as she can. But she knows any further attempts at protesting will only fall on deaf ears, a soft sigh escaping before she can stop it, years of friendship between them providing ample proof that Casey is nothing short of relentless when she wants to be.

"You're staying, Evelyn Saunders. Even if I have to handcuff you to the bed to keep you in one place."

"Ooh. Kinky. Does Bradshaw know you're into that kind of thing?"

"I'm not even going to answer that."

"Spoil-sport."

Evie already suspects her attempt at a pout will not get her very far, but she isn't entirely willing to let the opportunity slip by altogether. Not when the desperation she feels to cling to any semblance of normalcy is far more overpowering than anything else. And even if she isn't entirely reassured that keeping any kind of proximity around her friend is the smartest choice, Evie would be a liar to pretend there isn't a part of her that is absolutely terrified of trying to face everything on her own.

Maybe Casey is right, though. Maybe they can do this. Maybe they can figure this out.

And maybe, if Evie is very, very lucky, no one she loves will get hurt in the process.

…

"Penny says Casey's back."

The words do a rather effective job of pulling Admiral Tom Kazansky away from his perusal of a book he'd already read at least a dozen times before, the words on the page forgotten in favor of turning to look his wife in the eye. She appears to be hovering somewhere between a smile, and a concerned frown, as though she is already able to predict exactly what will happen, now that the information she provided is out in the open.

Really, he supposes he shouldn't be all that surprised by the realization. Jo had always been something of a worrier where their bunch of kids were concerned…

Casey isn't technically theirs, of course, but as his god-daughter she may as well be. And that means she has a right to know the truth just as much as anyone else.

"Maybe we can have dinner. Tell her when we tell Pete," Jo suggests, already closing the distance between them to perch on the edge of the desk, "It might make it easier."

"Easier?"

"You know what I mean."

"Always planning for contingencies."

"I guess that's what happens when you're married to someone like Iceman for thirty-some years."

Tom cannot help but laugh at that, and even as much as the effort pains him, he cannot say that he regrets it, particularly in light of Jo's answering smile. He'd never been able to resist that smile, even when they first met.

Apparently, thirty years hadn't exactly given him much of a reason to change, and his hand finds Jo's easily not long before he replies.

"Regretting your choices?"

"Not a chance."

The complete surety behind Jo's declaration is almost enough to have the familiar stab of regret he'd been fighting to keep at bay ever since his diagnosis back at the forefront of his mind, but Tom refuses to allow it to take hold. He refuses, because there are far more important things to worry about than his own relative lack of time.

Another look at his wife shows exactly how quickly she picks up on the brief detour of his own thoughts, and Tom wishes he could say he is surprised. He wishes he couldn't see the slightest sheen of tears in her eyes, even as she fights with all she has to keep them at bay.

"This is going to break her, Tom."

"She's strong."

"She's not Mav," Jo disagrees, aware of the slight tightening of her husband's hand around her own, and hating that she is the one to bring the answering flicker of discomfort and something else—something not all that far from guilt—into his expression, "She'll try to hide what this does to her, but—"

"She'll have Maggie."

"Casey needs you. They both do."

Knowing there is nothing he can say that will change the truth, Tom remains silent. He commits the feel of his wife's hand to memory, along with the soft sound of her breathing. The smell of her perfume.

The truth of the matter is, he's leaving Jo too. And he doesn't want to. He never wanted any of this, but there's nothing either of them can do about it now.

He never ran from a fight in the Navy, even if the odds were stacked against him.

Why should cancer be any damn different?

"She needs the truth, Jo. And Maggie—"

"You don't want our daughter to be the one that has to tell her."

The statement is yet another that does not seem to require an outright answer, though this time Jo does release his hand, in favor of leaning forward to pluck a stray thread from the fabric of his shirt. Her fingertips linger against the material, and Tom can see her teeth digging into her lower lip.

"Josie—"

"I'm fine."

She's not. Tom knows Jo is not anywhere remotely close to 'fine', but he also knows attempting to push her into a confession would do little to no good at all. Not when he already knows exactly what she would have to say.

He can't exactly pretend he isn't surprised at how readily Jo throws herself into considering the eventual impact his diagnosis will have on everyone else they know and love. As if she knows, somehow, that if she even attempts to take a moment for herself, she will have nothing else to do but fall apart.

Tom does not want that for her. He never wanted that for her.

Truthfully, there are at least half a dozen things that he would have done differently, had he been given a choice, but his wife seems to be just as aware of how that was never really in the cards as he is, himself.

"I'm fine, Tom. Really," Jo persists, clearly sensing the direction of his thoughts, even if he cannot entirely keep tabs on them, himself, "You worry too much."

"Sure."

The soft laughter Jo offers in response to the singular word, and his answering smile does more to provide reassurance than expected, because she obviously recognizes the futility behind her own attempts at denial even if she cannot own up to it out loud. It is as though both of them are building a world from that precariousness, despite knowing it will inevitably come crashing down.

It may only cause more pain in the end. It may not help the current situation at all. But Jo has settled on this—on taking care of everyone else—with such ferocity that Tom knows he is not going to be able to pull her out of it alone.

While Jo slips out of the office, with a gentle reminder to not forget lunch, Tom turns back to the desk, and reaches for the phone resting beside the book he had abandoned when she first arrived. He still isn't sure how to do this. For a man who spent a lifetime never acting until he was absolutely sure of the outcome, he cannot be positive he is doing the right thing, now.

There isn't any other choice, though. Not with time running out, and a pressing need to tie up loose ends. To take care of his family, because that is all that ever really mattered.

The text sends, and Tom Kazansky places his phone back on the desk, his jaw tightening as the effort spent to haul himself to his feet brings about another spasm of pain. He follows after his wife, slowly enough to grow used to the discomfort movement sometimes brings before she can have a chance to read it in his face.

He'd never been able to deny Jo anything, but that doesn't mean he can't protect her from this as best he can until there is simply no other choice but to face it, head-on.

…

Elsewhere, on base, Captain Pete Mitchell's cell phone lights up with a notification for an incoming text, and he knows, somehow, that the request is not something he will be able to avoid for long.

Ice: I need to see you.

A furrow forms on his brow, because even without attempting a response he knows this can hardly mean anything good. He knows, even if he cannot explain how. A part of him wishes he could simply leave. That he could respond to the message, because even if whatever it is that has Ice contacting him in the middle of a work day is likely something he will not enjoy, it would serve as an excuse to pull away from the problems he has right now.

Trying to get to the bottom of the sudden sense of dread the message provokes isn't exactly something he can do now, though. Not in the middle of training. And Pete knows Ice would understand that, without a second thought.

Forgoing a reply, at least until after the last exercise of the day, Pete opts for stowing his phone in his pocket again instead, a muscle along his jawline working without any sort of conscious awareness at all. He tries to force aside his apprehension. He really does. But it is something he cannot quite seem to manage.

He's still made negligible progress with Rooster. In fact, some might even say he's taken five steps backward for every attempt at a move in the right direction. No one has successfully navigated the test course, yet, and he still isn't entirely willing to take Penny's stance on waiting for Casey to come to him to discuss whatever troubles her at face value.

A part of him thinks he should have expected this. That the relief he felt at slipping free of the threat of being grounded permanently would only be temporary. The other part had insisted on clinging to hope, though. On pushing forward, without hesitation. Don't think, just do.

Given recent events, though, that idea had done him little to no good at all. He isn't sure it ever really did. But that is not what he should be focusing on right now. Not when there are other lives on the line.

Lives he is responsible for. Lives he refuses to simply throw to fate.

Anything else will simply have to wait.

…

"You're sure you two girls don't want me to wait?"

"If you wait any longer, Jimmy, you'll be stuck in rush hour traffic," Casey replies, using the rag in her hand to pick at a particularly relentless bit of goo on the surface of the bar while Evie takes care of restocking bottles of beer, "We'll be fine."

"Place doesn't open for another forty minutes, kiddo."

"Precisely. I think Ev and I can handle the tumbleweeds on our own."

"Tumbleweeds ain't what I'm worried about," The older man gripes, aware of the slight twitch at one corner of Casey's mouth, whether she wanted him to be or not, "Never left your mom on her own like this. Not even to make a deposit at the bank."

"Well, I'm not on my own. Your granddaughter is. With a broken down car. On the side of the road, I might add."

"Casey—"

"We'll be fine," The brunette assures, offering the older man—one of her mother's first hires after she bought this place three years ago—what she hopes will be an encouraging smile, and noticing with some degree of relief that Evie appears to be attempting to do the same, "Bring her back here once the tow is sorted. I'm guessing she could probably use a drink."

"You might be right about that."

"I know I'm right about that."

"You can tell her I make a mean pina colada," Evie chimes in, Jimmy's answering laugh and exasperated shake of the head prompting a soft snort of her own, perhaps most especially after she catches Casey's skeptically raised brow after looking her way, "What? I do."

"I wouldn't know."

"Maybe if you ditched that ginger tea you're so addicted to, you would."

"You leave my ginger tea out of this. It's done nothing to you."

"It smells funny."

"It smells a lot better than what happens if I don't drink it, trust me," Casey counters, Evie's almost immediate expression of startled comprehension causing her to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stifle another laugh, "Still want to talk bad about it?"

"Nope. I love it. Great stuff."

"That's what I thought."

"Does um—does Bradley know about that?" Evie inquires, stowing the last of the beer bottles in the small fridge beneath the bar, and nudging the door closed with her foot as Casey offers a singular shake of the head, "Should he?"

"I kinda thought the actual baby part was more important than the throwing up all the time part, Ev."

"Fair point. Does—does your mom know?"

"Apparently if I don't mention it at the appointment she made, she'll take care of that for me," Casey sighs, some of her amusement dropping as soon as she recognizes that Evie's expression is shifting from a neutral sort of curiosity to something more akin to concern, "What?"

"I just—I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Ev—"

"Because if you say you are, and then you're not, I might have to kick your ass."

"So you're threatening your pregnant friend with physical violence, now."

"That depends. Is it working?"

Casey is prepared to reply in the affirmative, even in spite of the utter certainty that Evie would never actually make due on her apparent threat that rests at the forefront of her mind. She wants to put her friend at ease as best she can. But the unexpected sound of a rush of traffic noise from the highway, followed by heavy footfalls effectively stalls her in her tracks.

Someone else has just entered the bar...

Frowning as she notices Evie's features paling in seconds, Casey cannot bring herself to turn away, already moving forward to stop her friend from stumbling and slamming her back into the countertop behind her. Apprehension coils around her gut as she reaches for Evie's hand, and even then she does not seem capable of allowing herself to realize what all of it must mean.

The only thing apparently capable of forcing Casey to face what every instinct she has is all but screaming at her to believe seems to be the chill apparent behind a reply that comes to her own attempt at appearing at ease.

"Bar's not open 'til five—"

"Then I suppose it's a good thing I'm not here for a drink."

"Ev, I think there's more Budweiser in the back if you want to go check—"

"She's not going anywhere, love. And neither are you."

The directive sends a chill racing down Casey's spine, but it does not stop her from turning to meet Aiden's almost wolf-like grin with an expression that betrays none of her sudden apprehension. She is aware of Evie moving just a bit closer, and she shifts herself to partially block her friend's body behind her own.

Aiden appears to notice that in seconds, of course, a flash of teeth making Casey's spine go rigid. But she does what she can to ignore it, a quick glance at the clock on the wall above the door to the kitchen showing that they have at most ten minutes until someone else comes in, looking for a drink.

All she has to do is play for time.

"What do you want, Aiden? Because we're trying to actually do a job here."

"You mean Evie didn't actually tell you? I'm surprised."

"What do you want?"

The laugh Aiden gives in response to the repetition of the inquiry is far from reassuring, cold blue eyes looking past Casey, to land upon the blonde still hovering partially behind her instead. Evie's breaths are tremulous. Catching in her throat, as though snagging around some invisible obstruction that grows larger by the minute.

Casey steps just a fraction of an inch closer to her friend in response, and the movement appears to be enough to drag Aiden's focus back to her, an unreadable expression crossing his features before he replies.

"I want what she stole from me."

"How did—how did you even find me?"

Aiden's gaze swivels back to Evie as soon as she manages the stammered question, and Casey's jaw tightens as she feels her friend shift to stand at her side. A glance shows her that the blonde is struggling. That she is terrified. About three seconds from bolting outright. It honestly amazes her that Evie is still standing at all. Knowing what she knows, now, she isn't exactly sure she would be capable of the same.

It would be a lie to pretend Casey hadn't wanted to keep Evie out of this as best she could. That she hadn't hoped she could take the brunt of Aiden's threats until the bar opened and he was forced to either retreat entirely, or let up and blend in.

Judging by Evie's expression, though, that effort had failed entirely, leaving Casey with no choice but to risk another glance at the clock on the wall—seven minutes to go—until her attention is brought back to Aiden yet again.

"C'mon, love. You can try to go off the grid, but at the end of the day you're just so—predictable."

"I didn't—"

"No family left to speak of, but there is the best friend with connections to men who could protect you," Aiden sneers, leaning forward to place his elbows on the countertop, and cocking his head to the side before going on, "Though something tells me they don't have a clue about any of this—"

"What makes you say that?"

"I know you, Casey, love. While Evie, here, may be the sort to run to others for protection, you prefer to take care of things yourself."

"Maybe I've changed."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Is that why you're here, Aiden? To poke fun at us?" Casey demands, some small part of her all but screaming that baiting this man is just about the most foolish thing she's ever done, even if she ignores that part with all she's worth. She wants Aiden's attention off of Evie. She wants to keep him talking for just a bit longer. Five minutes, now, until someone comes walking through the door.

And that is enough to give her the strength to remain precisely where she is, even with the sudden flare of nausea that sends bile burning to the back of her throat.

"I'm here for what I'm owed."

"And what's that?"

"Why don't you ask your friend?"

"Maybe because I'm not interested in playing your games."

"Games," Aiden muses, his tone speculative, though the glint of something not all that far from satisfaction in his eyes as he turns his attention from Casey, to Evie, instead, is anything but, "Was that what your brother's death was, Evie? A game?"

"He never did—he didn't do anything to you."

"No, you're right. He didn't. But he certainly meant a great deal to you."

Casey would have to be blind to miss the sheen of tears that forms in Evie's eyes, and it takes everything she has to resist the urge to forgo the desire to avoid making things worse in favor of doing something—anything—to make Aiden pay for the torture he is putting her friend through. The torture he clearly is starting to enjoy. But she doesn't do anything. She doesn't even move, her own bravado seeming to shrivel as she realizes exactly how far out of their depth she and Evie truly are.

Even trying to keep that realization from becoming apparent in her features is nearly too much, particularly when Aiden leans just a bit closer over the top of the bar that separates them, and lowers his voice to avoid being overheard while a distant shout and the sound of footsteps on gravel signify the first of the bar's customers have started to arrive.

"You know, the two of you are lucky I haven't decided to charge interest," He states, the grin he offers doing absolutely nothing to put anyone at ease, "And I won't, so long as you give me what I want."

"When?"

Casey's singular question somehow seems barely louder than a whisper, and Aiden's grin only grows in response. But he also seems to recognize his time to threaten is drawing to a close, his body straightening from its former position leaning against the bar in little to no time at all.

"Two days. I'm staying at that little motel off the expressway. Evie should be able to give you the room number, seeing as she's paying for it."

Lips thinning into a line, Casey offers a short nod, her attention drifting to the first of the evening's patrons that are already walking through the door. They do not seem particularly alarmed by the sight at the bar, more intent on moving to find a seat than anything else. And even if a part of her wants to draw their attention in an effort to take care of Aiden here and now, Casey resists, swallowing past the constriction of her own airway before forcing herself to reply.

"We're not hiring right now. I'm so sorry."

This time, the words come out a little stronger, and Casey forces everything she has into the thin smile she offers as Aiden moves to back away, her hand instinctively finding Evie's to give a small squeeze whether the act is truly all that useful or not. She wants to feel relief over the fact that he is leaving. She wants to feel anything other than the paralyzing grip of fear that seems to have fused itself to her body, bit by bit.

She can't, though. Not even when Aiden has disappeared completely.

It isn't until she hears a muted request for a pair of beers that Casey comes back to the present in its entirety, her hand squeezing Evie's once again before she finally forces herself to speak.

"Go in the office and catch your breath. I've got this."

"Casey—"

"Go. I'll—I'll hold down the fort until Jimmy gets back, and Mom comes in, and then we can—then we can talk."

Evie's expression of utter relief is enough to allow Casey to turn her attention to grabbing the previously requested beers, despite being entirely unsure how she managed to carry them to the two aviators without the bottles shattering to the floor. Her hands cannot seem to stop shaking, and she is dimly aware of a flare of pain when her teeth work at the inner flesh of her cheek.

She has to pull it together. For Evie's sake, if nothing else. But even more than that, Casey knows that she will need to work around her friend's aversion to seeking help. She will have to, because now that Aiden is actually here, there seems to be no other choice.

Casey does not want Evie to leave. She knows, somehow, that if she does, it will only make it that much easier for Aiden to make good on his threats. He had all but confessed his involvement in Ben Saunders' death mere moments ago, and Casey would be a fool to pretend she isn't already beginning to suspect that Evie's fate will be the same if he does not get what he wants.

The idea of anything happening to Evie is nearly enough to make her sick. She can practically taste the bile lingering at the back of her throat. But rather than serving to frighten her, the sensation only seems to strengthen her resolve.

Somehow, she is capable of continuing to serve drinks, even flying solo, and the routine of the task begins to settle her mind, regardless of her suspicions to the contrary. And even if a part of her worries Evie will refuse her insistence to seek help—that her friend will hate her for pushing for it—Casey's determination does not seem to fade.

Not knowing that this is something neither one of them will be capable of facing on their own.

…