Two days later Metal started his truck; he'd just attended an AA meeting on base. He felt a bit silly being there and he knew he'd shocked a couple of people to be in attendance. He was known to party with the boys and at times was a frequent fixture at the Bulkhead, but it never seemed like he got out of control or let alcohol affect him during work hours. He knew the meetings were confidential, but he needed to maintain his reputation of being a hardass, and he didn't really see "hardass" and "AA meetings" going together well.

Besides, he definitely was not an alcoholic; he didn't feel like he fit in at the meeting.

Metal swung by the Bulkhead on his way home for a drink – beer not whiskey – and pulled a chair up with the boys.

"Scotty," Jason nodded at him.

"Going light today?" Clay indicated towards Metal's drink.

At the comment Metal quirked his eyebrows and smirked. "I can still drink you under the table, even with beer."

Laughter erupted and Sonny began to regale them with a story of when Metal had done just that.

Meanwhile, Metal found himself tuning out the conversation. He tried to stay present, but his hypervigilance wouldn't let him. He suddenly caught Jason eyeing him and he interrupted Sonny's tirade.

"So, I heard you guys need someone to show you how to train for a marathon?"

Sonny blinked with surprise and turned to Brock. "I'm pretty sure dog boy here'll be able to run laps around ya…"

"But we'd love for you to join us," interrupted Brock, elbowing Sonny. "The race is mid-September out in D.C., the Navy Air Force Full Marathon; there is a half-marathon as well. The full marathon is in its second year, and I think someone from the Chair Force won last year."

"Well, we better show them what Tier-One can do."

The boys all cheered and clanked beers before settling in for a few rounds of pools and darts.

Before the boys could get much training in, though, they were spun up along with Charlie Company. A retired US Admiral, along with a few other dignitaries, had been fishing off the coast of Kenya when Somalian pirates had commandeered the boat. Bravo and Charlie would not only be rescuing the hostages, but they were to also scour the pirate ship for illegal weapons and ammunitions they were suspected to have.

As they started their long flight to the carrier where they would be based out of, Blackburn along with Charlie's LT discussed logistics, pointing out that Charlie team would be taking point over the pirate ship take down while Bravo would handle the hostages.

After a couple days aboard the ship, the boys were starting to get a bit antsy. They needed to wait until the right nighttime conditions and were still perfecting their op in the warehouse setup.

Lounging in their down area, Sonny cracked out a case of beer, passing the bottles around.

"Sorry we got nothing harder," Sonny apologized to Metal.

"I'm good with beer. Less consequences the next day." Metal caught Jase's frown out of the corner of his eye – Trent too. Metal sighed and turned his back on his friends, focusing on the door that Charlie team was coming through.

"Got some for us?"

"Sonny Quinn always makes sure there's enough to share." He tossed everyone a beer, though Charlie 3, Kyle Kennedy – Kiks for short – tossed his back. "What gives?" Sonny asked him.

"I'm sober," Kyle said plainly.

Metal gave him a side eye but kept sipping his beer.

After some time, Kyle sidled up to Metal, taking a seat beside him. "Hey man. I was hoping we'd have a chance to chat." He looked around and indicated maybe they could take a stroll on deck.

Metal shrugged and followed Kyle outside. "What's up, Kiks?"

"I was at the last AA meeting."

"Ahhh."

"You're still drinking beer?"

"And it's your business… how?" Metal glared at Kyle, then huffed and actually answered his question. "Beer doesn't affect me."

Kyle nodded and kept walking. "I normally wouldn't mention AA out of the meetings, but I wanted to let you know about DEVGRU's AA meetings on base. There's four of us who meet. You might find it more your speed, pretty casual."

Metal wanted to chirp back something snarky, but instead settled just for nodding. "I'm not sure that I need it, but thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

Kyle looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he gave a small smile to Metal, patted him on the shoulder and walked away, leaving Metal slightly confused.

Man, I could use a drink, he thought. Instead, he opened up his dip and stuck some in his mouth, enjoying the taste.

He suddenly remembered overhearing some sailors mention a sparring match that evening and thought that could be good fun. He made his way to where the matches were happening and waited his turn, smirking. No one could beat him. He was so solid and strong and… Full Metal.

He loved the rush of taking someone down and, to be honest, loved the endorphins from hitting and being hit. Any physical pain overrode his emotions and pushed aside his heavy thinking; it helped him to zone out. It had ever since he was a kid taking a beating from his dad. He learnt to just laugh and take it, ignoring and disassociating himself from any pain. While it was indeed a great stress reliver to physically move his body and get his heart rate up, the pain and subsequent disassociation was another high altogether.

True to form, Full Metal did not lose a match.

Three days later Bravo and Charlie were green lit and were able to complete their mission successfully with only minor scuffs and bruises. It was nice to put another notch in their belt, putting more distance between themselves and their tough trafficking op.

The following week Metal was about to leave base when he remembered Kyle's offer regarding the smaller AA meeting – before they had parted ways after the mission, Kyle had shared the next meeting was to take place that day and about five minutes prior. He knew Blackburn would ask him how that was going, so with a sigh he turned around and headed to the small chapel room dedicated solely for SEAL team 6 operators. Sometimes they just needed their own space given the extra challenges they faced.

When Metal got there, he paused suddenly nervous. I'm not an alcoholic. I don't need this shit. He opened the door anyways and walked in, finding Kyle and three others already seated.

"Scott! Glad you could make it!" Kyle made his way over to Metal, shaking his hand. "Have a seat."

Metal had never been in the room before. He wasn't sure what he had been imagining the room to look like, but it wasn't this. Several comfy couches and chairs faced each other on one side while the other part of the room housed a coffee bar and pool table. This was definitely more his speed.

He sat down cautiously and was introduced to the other three: Harris, Jordan and Matt. He didn't know any of them personally but had seen them around. After introductions he tensed up, assuming the meeting would follow the format he'd been subjected to at the other meetings, with presumed questions and little interaction. Instead, the guys slowly just started to chat, asking each other how things had been going and if they'd faced anything challenging since the last time they met.

Kyle spoke about their joint mission and the difficulty of handling boredom without alcohol, as this was how much of the men had passed their time. But then he also started speaking about his nightmares.

This made Metal lean in and take note that he wasn't alone.

"I'm new to this," offered Metal, when Harris asked him how things had been for him. "I uh… Still drink beer. I never drink alone, well no more than one in the evening after work, and I'll rarely get drunk off of it. I have to toss back a number before I'll really feel it. And I can easily take it or leave it." Metal rubbed his face, not wanting to continue but at the same time wanting to share because he knew it might help… and he'd promised Trent. "Whiskey on the other hand… That's my poison."

"Mine too," offered up Matt.

Metal nodded at Matt's acknowledgement. He wasn't ready to share much more, but he did add that it helped with the nightmares. "I… tend to think too much or have nightmares after a difficult op. The whiskey helps."

A couple of the other men piggybacked off of Metal's comments around how alcohol was a distraction from what was going on inside them. This he could relate to. Pretty soon the conversation veered off to weapons and women, then it was time to head out.

"Thanks again for the invite," Metal told Kyle while they walked to the parking lot.

"No problem, brother."

"I'll be back."

"Great to hear!" Kyle replied. "I'll add you to the group chat. Because it's just us five, we don't have set dates. Someone just types in that they need a meeting, and whoever can come, comes. The base Chaplin, Dan Metcalfe, he's in the chat too just in case someone needs to meet and no one else is available."

Metal hadn't met Dan before but appreciated how this had all been thought out. He passed along his number to Kyle and climbed into his truck, heading home.

That night he didn't have nightmares.

Things continued to go well for Metal after that. He continued to go to most of the SEAL AA meetings when they occurred, though he still didn't share much personally. He admired Kiks and Harris – they had been in the group the longest and were quite open about their struggles to stay sober. Kyle had been sober for 15 years, minus a couple one night slip ups, and Harris had been sober for 7 years.

Matt was who he could relate to the most. Matt still drank some, but seemed to want to watch how much he drank. Metal still at times battled whether he actually needed to be there, but he kept going anyways.

Throughout this time Metal also trained for the half marathon (a full marathon was too much for his huge ass). There were also no more angry outbursts or needing help at 2 a.m. The only thing was… Metal still wasn't sleeping. Of course he did always say he never slept.

He managed to keep everyone at arm's length – a bit typical to some degree, but at the same time deep down he knew it wasn't healthy.

One Saturday evening in mid-August Trent made his way to Brock's place, only a few blocks from Trent's. Even though they lived nearby each other, they rarely saw each other outside of anything work related. Brock was often training Cerberus or doing something active. Trent liked being active too… But not like Brock.

Trent remembered thinking a couple weeks back that Brock would be a good person to talk to about his feelings. Gosh, he hoped that was true. Trent was exhausted. He hadn't been sleeping well. If anyone asked, he'd just say it was the job, either because of their last few ops or because he was itching to get back into the field. But truth be told, it was because of Metal.

Brock was waiting for Trent with a couple of beers when he arrived. Trent had texted Brock that morning if they could chat, so while Brock didn't know what his brother wanted to hash out, he knew beer would be appreciated.

"Thanks man." Trent grabbed the beer and followed Brock to the chairs he had set up on the beach. Brock had a small place that backed onto the ocean, so he had a strip of private beach, just for himself and Cerberus.

"No problem." Brock smiled and sat down, throwing a stick for Cerb to catch and start chewing on.

They chatted casually a bit over their latest rounds on the gun range and new trainings Trent had taken to further his medic knowledge.

After a bit Brock went and got them some water and came back outside, sitting down and casually looking out at the water. "So, what's up?"

Trent appreciated Brock's casual manner. He always had that air about him, that he'd listen and not judge. Trent never fully understood why Brock was still single.

"Um…" Trent tried to think of how to start the conversation, what he was looking for from Brock and just how much he could share. Trent aggressively rubbed his hair and sipped his water. "Look, I'm not too sure how to mention all this. And I don't know what I want from you more than just a listening ear, really; someone to get this off my chest with."

Brock nodded and leaned in, clearly engaged but not in any rush.

"I… have this friend. We are pretty tight, see each other a lot." Trent felt like he was going to throw up. "The last month or so, I… I don't know. I had some thoughts. Or feelings, I guess. About them. And" — he sighed heavily — "fuck, man. There were these few moments and I just... felt something. Different. And it's fucked me up." Trent put his head in his hands, not wanting to see Brock's expression, even though he knew there'd be no judgement.

"That sounds hard."

"It is! I can't stop thinking about him!" Trent suddenly clammed up, unsure of himself and what he'd just said aloud. The two sat for a bit before Trent got the courage to continue.

"The first time… I was just helping him and put my hand on his shoulder. And he seemed to like… shudder? We were talking about some tough shit. But feeling that, I…"

"Got turned on?" Brock tried to help his friend, understanding how awkward this was for him.

"Yes! It was awful. I don't think he could tell, I mean I didn't get hard or anything. Just my insides were all… You know."

Brock nodded.

"Then he asks me to spend the night because we'd been drinking and I just… He's my best friend, but I felt so uncomfortable and… I don't know. Then the next day he ends up asleep on my couch and I'm just watching him and it's just… I'm probably overthinking my thoughts and just need to meet some chick somewhere." Trent couldn't believe he'd shared all that he did. I mean I practically just admitted I like a guy. "But deep down, I know that's not it. I care about him and…"

Trent started to panic, breathing way too shallow and quick.

Brock saw what was happening and put his hand on his friend's knee, coaching him through some deep breathing before Trent mellowed out.

"I'm not judging you," Brock told Trent, figuring that was part of his reaction. "And what is said here stays between us. You can trust me."

Trent nodded, relieved. "I know, sorry. This is just all so overwhelming. Now every time I see him I just get so nervous – half the time I try to avoid him, though that's difficult to do."

Brock looked at Trent and had an inkling of who he was referring to. "Do you see him often?"

"Damn near every day," Trent scowled. He gulped some of his water and then looked over at Brock, as he'd grown even more silent. Trent suddenly had a feeling of dread overwhelm him. Fuck, did I just give it away?

"Dude, it's okay," Brock reassured him. He decided not to push Trent any further. Clearly this was all so new and overwhelming to him. He didn't need to know if his suspicions were right or not. "How can I help?"

"I don't know, man. I guess just having someone to admit it to, I'm hoping there will be less power there, ya know? That my mind has just made this be a far bigger thing than it really is."

"Well, you can always talk to me, Trent."

The two leaned back and finished their waters before they decided to both take a quick dip in the water with Cerb chasing in after them.