Both men tossed and turned all night, for different reasons, though neither were able to stop the images in their minds.

While Trent lay awake, waiting for sleep to claim him, he came to the realization that he must have had way too much to drink that night — he hadn't — and that he just needed to get laid.

Meanwhile, Metal continued to see visions of dead young girls, their bodies mutilated, along with Nicole and a bathtub full of blood. Not for the first time, Metal wondered what it would feel like to run a blade over his skin. He'd taken a couple psych classes in college; knew that cutting was a powerful pain reliever. He also knew it was risky and addictive.

Speaking of, he reached for his dip and put a chunk in his mouth, pushing it around his gums, feeling the nicotine hit his blood stream and calm his nerves. Yah, I think I'll stick to this rush.

The next day in the cages Metal was back to his "Full Metal" self it seemed. Sonny was bitching and complaining about needing to go on a 10K run and Metal popped him one on the back of the head.

"Toughen up, princes," Metal mocked, smirking at Sonny.

"Yah man. Your slow ass needs to fit up – thought you were gonna have a heart attack on our run from Tonga." Clay punched Sonny lightly on the shoulder, smiling.

"Now you two see here – I can outrun both of yous. Sonny Quinn just prefers to move some weights instead of hauling ass up some fuckin mountain. Gotta maintain my lovely physique." Sonny slowly caressed his abs causing Metal to scoff and Clay to fake sucker punch him in the gut.

The sudden creak of the door had the trio quickly face the entryway to see Jason, Trent and Brock walk in.

"No Ray?" asked Sonny.

"Ray's still healing up," replied Trent.

Ray had sustained a grade three ligament tear in his leg on the last mission, requiring surgery and time resting and rehabbing.

"He won't be back for quite some time, three to six months depending on the surgery and recovery. He may not even make it back for deployment in November."

"Hence why we are graced with Metal's continued presence until further notice," shared Jason. "Now quit your bitching Sonny, and let's get moving."

"How'd ya know… Never mind." Sonny plucked his baseball cap on his head and followed Brock out the door along with Clay and Jase, leaving Metal and Trent to bring up the rear as per usual.

Trent was unusually quiet on their jog through the woods, up the local hills. He never said much, but he seemed to be further in thought than usual. He was surprised Metal didn't seem hung over from his night before, but then again, it was Full Metal he was "talking" about.

"Got an Advil?" Metal interrupted Trent's thoughts.

Trent chuckled and dug through his pocket to pass his teammate a couple pills. "I was just wondering how your head was doing after last night's extra curriculars."

Metal scoffed and dry swallowed the pills, not wanting to waste his water. "Never been better." He took a couple deep breaths and started off again, leaving Trent to shake his head.

If only he himself could shake off whatever had transpired the night before. He kept wracking his brain whether this was something new or if he'd had these thoughts before, and either way – why?

The rest of the day Metal gave several quips to his brothers, but overall was his silent, stoic self. He listened to Sonny bitch about his blisters post run and to Clay brag about his latest PR in the gym.

Brock and Cerb had outdone everyone else on the run, so Jase excused them from his lecture on needing to sharpen up during their time off. They were not expecting to be spun up for at least a few weeks, giving them time to set their minds straight, but their pre-deployment training started in August.

"Blackburn has decided there won't be mandatory psych post-op this time," Jason relayed. They had been back from overseas a week and were almost a week and a half post-op.

"Thank goodness," muttered Sonny. None of them liked seeing the head doctor.

Jason looked around the room at his men, silencing Sonny with his glare. "BUT… I expect you all to shape up and hit the gym. I don't want to be called to rescue your dumbasses because you've been drinking yourself to the bottom of too many bottles." He looked pointedly at Clay, Sonny and Metal, the resident drinkers. "For heaven's sake, please just do not get into it with some poor sailor because you're strung up from the mission and gotten yourself blackout drunk."

Metal rolled his eyes, but saluted Jason. "Aye aye, boss."

Jason shot Metal a glare as Metal packed up the rest of his gear and left the room. Clay and Sonny left in quick succession as well, leaving Jason alone with Trent.

"They handling things ok?" Jason asked Trent. He knew Trent always had a grip on whether the boys were managing a difficult op well or were hitting the sauce too much.

"For the most part."

Jason eyed Trent and looked like he was about to press him further but stopped. He knew Trent would tell him if he needed to be worried. He nodded at his brother and left Trent alone to sit with his thoughts.

Trent spent his time organizing his cage, not really wanting to head home. He found it difficult to be all alone after any mission, though particularly the bad ones; it was too similar to his childhood, essentially being neglected and left to fend on his own. These feelings in the past had driven him to seek out relationships, but he was never able to balance work with home life, leading to his failed marriage.

The thought of heading to the Bulkhead didn't appeal to him right then either, so he spent the rest of the night cleaning all his equipment and restocking his med supplies.

Trent headed home around 2200 and had a quick shower before settling into bed. He debated on cracking open where he left off on the thrilling circulatory system, but figured he'd try to fall asleep on his own; usually he slept well after running days.

It wasn't much past 0200 when Trent was awoken by his phone ringing. He gripped it and noticed the caller ID – Metal.

"What's up?" he sleepily answered the phone.

"Uh Trent?"

That voice was not Metal's, and it woke Trent instantly up and got him out of bed.

"Metal is…"

"Where are you?"

"Lala's."

The strip joint!? What was Metal doing with the boys there? He didn't think Metal had been to the strippers in close to half a decade. He'd often join the boys at the bar but drew the line at going to the strip club.

"On my way."

When Trent got there Metal, Clay and Sonny were all standing outside with an angry looking man who Trent presumed was a bouncer. His lip was bleeding and he was favoring his right shoulder.

"Uh oh, Dad's here." Metal rolled his eyes and glared at Trent.

Trent had to stop himself from reacting to Metal's unusual off-collar remark. Breathe… "What's the damage?"

"This one here," the bouncer indicated towards Metal, "riled up a group of VIPs, egged them on until they wanted a fight and then proceeded to beat the shit out of a good four or five of them." Trent wondered if that included the bouncer. "There was also about $2K in damage what with some broken chairs and fixtures."

Trent glanced bewilderly at Metal before he paid the bouncer and thanked him for ensuring no charges were being laid. Metal was just lucky he was a SEAL; the Navy was given a lot of leeway in the town. Trent said goodnight to the boys and hauled Metal's ass into his Jeep and slammed the door.

When they got to Trent's place, he hauled Metal's ass out of the Jeep and up the steps, laying him out on the sofa. Metal was asleep – or passed out – instantly.

What's going on in that head of yours?

Not an hour later Trent bolted upright, hearing angry shouts and cries. He knew that he couldn't wake up Metal – that would do more harm than good when it came to night terrors. But he could comfort him even in sleep.

Trent made his way quietly to Metal and laid his hand gently on the older man's shoulder, rubbing soft circles on his skin, telling him it would be ok. Slowly, Metal seemed to settle down and his breathing evened out, though the look on his face just broke Trent. Even with his eyes closed in sleep Metal looked equal parts terrified and destroyed, tension creasing his face.

Trent felt like his stomach was in a vice just looking at his friend. What is going on with me? Why am I feeling this way?

Before he lost his nerve he shot Jase a text.

Trent: Jase, we're gonna need help.

Trent knew Metal would be pissed, but something just was not right with his friend. It was taking a lot longer to come back from the mission for Metal.

Now for the average person it wouldn't have seemed like a long time, and that of course they would still be having nightmares or flashbacks, but because of the training the men received and the frequency they dealt with these intense situations, constant nightmares was not typical.

Being team medic, Trent also knew how each member typically recovered after missions and what behaviors were red flags for them. Trent couldn't let Metal… let Scott… continue down this path. He had needed a, for all intents and purposes, intervention after Travis died. They'd threatened him with the head doc and gave him the ultimatum that it was either that or attend a few AA meetings. They didn't really see Metal as an alcoholic, but these whiskey binders weren't too far off the mark.

Since Travis, Metal had stuck with knocking back beers and the occasional gin or mixed vodka drink. Straight whiskey binges were a huge red flag, and Trent knew that was exactly what Metal had done that night.

Metal made a low grown and flipped onto his side, curling up in himself.

Trent's breath momentarily caught in his throat before he gave his head a shake and returned to his room. Trent sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands wondering what was going on in his mind. Am I that lonely? Again, it seemed that Metal was having a physical effect on Trent.

He remembered what he'd told Metal about secrets and their power, and grimaced. Taking one's own advice was never fun. The only other person that Trent felt comfortable with was Brock. Maybe he'd swing by Brock's sometime soon, hash out this craziness in his head.

The next morning Jase, Trent and Blackburn sat on Trent's back patio, formalizing a game plan. Blackburn had previously been a part of Alpha and knew Metal well.

Trent hadn't gone into too much detail, not wanting to break his friend's trust, but had informed the leaders that Metal had been tossing back too many whiskeys and ending up in situations that weren't the healthiest. Jase and Eric knew what "unhealthy" could look like for Metal – bar fights and broken furniture.

The screen door suddenly opened and the three turned around to take in a very angry and hungover looking Full Metal.

"What the fuck?" He asked Trent. He couldn't even control his emotions, letting his anger consume him. "This better not be some fuckin intervention."

"Metal—" Trent began, before Eric put a hand on Trent's arm and stood up, almost toe to toe with Metal.

"Carter, sit down."

Metal glared at Eric.

"Now."

Metal's face blanked out and he sat down, the farthest away he could get from his brothers. Inside, Metal was terrified. He knew he was out of control. He'd downed dozens of whiskeys in a week, fucked a barely legal girl before freaking out on her ass, and had beaten up a group of civilians at a strip club. This wasn't him. He wasn't handling things well. He couldn't seem to process his thoughts and emotions about the trafficking op and was trying to numb his mind.

"First of all, Carter – Trent didn't tell us everything that has been going on. We tried to make him, but that man is a rock. But he did the right thing reaching out. Don't judge him."

Metal huffed and crossed his arms. He couldn't give in too quickly.

"As of right now, you are a hairs breath away from a leave and a forced psych eval." Eric held up his hand to prevent Metal from interrupting. "This isn't healthy, Scott, and you know it. We will not let you drink yourself to an early grave."

Jason got up and sat beside Metal. "I know the pressures from the teams are incredible." They were both team leaders and excellent in their roles. "For all it's good, the Navy still pushes perfection and, though I need to take my own advice, it's wrong. No one can do this job and not be affected."

The men all knew the struggles Jason recently had as Brave One, what with losing Nate then Alana and Adam, and having countless injuries on the team. Jason expected himself to keep everything inside, no matter what. Which, in reality, ended him up to where he was now, seeing a shrink, dealing with panic attacks and a near ulcer.

"Africa was brutal. It's okay to be bothered by it," reiterated Trent.

Metal quickly got up from the chair and began to pace. "My mind won't shut off unless I'm drunk, throwing a punch or getting some ass," he admitted. "And I keep cycling and wavering between the images of all the girls… And the crazy fear that I've lost myself."

"What do you mean?" Jase softly asked Metal.

A sigh escaped Metal's lips before he sat back down. "I've been doing this for almost 25 years and never have I ever struggled so much to shoulder on. Everyone has this expectation of me to be… Well, metal! I love messing with their heads with my darkness, but it's a lot of pressure to pretend that my mind is not completely fucked up."

Metal shuddered and leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "I know talking helps – and Trent's trying his darndest, but…" Metal drifted off, not knowing what else to say. He just wasn't good with words.

Eric nodded and set his hand on top of Metal's knee, encouraging Metal to look him in the eye. "You are one of the best operators our teams have ever seen, Carter. And it's okay to admit you're human while also scaring the crap out of the tadpoles."

Everyone had a good chuckle.

"We just care," Trent softly added, hoping his best friend didn't hate him.

Metal locked eyes with Trent and grabbed his hand, gently squeezing it, reassuring him that they were ok.

"Now here's the plan…"

It was decided that Metal would attend AA meetings at least two times a week over the next month, after which he would evaluate if he needed to continue attending, and purposefully spend time caring for himself.

Metal rolled his eyes at this, but he agreed he would think on what that meant for him and try to incorporate some things into his days. Maybe he'd take up Brock and Sonny's offer to train for the huge marathon at the start of the Fall. He hated running, but Jase wanted them lean and mean for their next deployment come November.

He'd also try to talk to Trent, though his reaction to that statement gave Metal some pause and reminded him of Trent's response to his invitation to spend the night the other day. Maybe… He shook his head and agreed with Blackburn that there would be no more visits to Lala's or any other such similar joint.

And he tried to bury the thought that maybe he wasn't good enough to be a SEAL anymore.