Not two days later the boys got spun up on a short mission in France as detail security. Because of the nature of the security Bravo One decided it would be himself and Alpha One on ground security. They were the stone colds of the team and looked the most threatening. They would be with a young female UNICEF worker from Iran, Amanya, who was to be presenting on the dangers of the Taliban to female education. The two would be with her the full five days she was in Paris, and Sonny would be joining them for the time she was presenting.

Trent was on scene in case of a medical emergency, walking the crowd along with Brock while Clay was in the control room.

Metal was not a fan of these ops. They didn't require a firefight, which definitely was his preference. He could play the role of big bad security guard well though, so he understood why it would be him and B1.

Him and Jase shared an adjoining room to their principle with the agreement that the door would be always unlocked and only left open while she was asleep. The other boys were scattered on different floors to keep watch.

On their second night, Jason and Metal settled into their room around 2200, acknowledging they would be up with Amanya at 0700. Jason thought this would be a great time to ask Metal how he was doing.

"How have things been going?"

Metal looked at Jase before removing his shirt for the night. He was sleeping the first half while Jase stayed awake. "It's fine."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ease up, man. It's all good," retorted Metal. Brave One could be so touchy sometimes.

"I know I've seen you drinking…"

"Beer. That's it."

Jason eyed Metal and nodded. "Okay. You attending the meetings?"

Metal sighed. "Yes, I've been to a few." He laid down on his bed and put on his reading glasses, picking up a book. "Look, I'm not in the mood to powwow right now, B1. I've got myself on a short leash, alright? We're all good."

Jason again nodded at Metal, then shook his head. "I just need to know where you're at, Scotty. If your head is on straight or not."

Metal looked about ready to jump up and body slam Jason to the ground.

"I know, I know. You're big bad Full Metal. I just want you to stay that way, okay?"

Metal gave Jason a curt nod and turned to his book. Jason's questions had his nerves all wound up. He'd been doing fine, minus the sleeping, but he hadn't been triggered too badly, not having too many flashbacks. He knew himself.

The day of the conference and presentation everything started out fine. Sonny joined the duo and they made their way downstairs. Suddenly gun fire erupted at them, and they pushed their principle to the ground. Jason called for backup from Bravo Four and Five. Metal stayed with the girl, covering their rear while the two burst into the room the shooter had fled to.

Suddenly someone else entered the hallway, using a flashbang and then firing a couple shots in Metal and Amanya's direction before Metal fired back, eliminating the threat.

By the time Trent and Brock got to the hallway, Jason and Sonny were just returning to find both Amanya and Metal shot up, Metal trying to cover as much of Amanya's body as possible so she could not get hurt any further.

"HAVOC, this is Bravo One. Request med support. How copy?"

"That's a good copy, Bravo One. Med Evac eta 5 mikes. Who is down?"

"Alpha and Principle," replied Jason. "Both require an urgent med evac…."

That was the last thing Metal heard before he passed out.

Metal woke up several hours later in a hospital bed. He immediately jerked to get out of the bed, but Trent was up and by his side immediately.

"Scott, you're in the hospital. You're safe."

Metal finally focused on Trent's face and settled down.

"How long have I been out?"

"Six hours, give or take."

"What happened?" It was all a bit fuzzy to Metal, most likely due to the flashbang.

Trent looked everywhere but at Metal.

"What?"

"Jason should be here…"

"Damn it, Trent! Tell me!"

Trent hesitated but understood Metal's impatience and need to know. "You guys took fire from in front. When Sonny and Jase went on the attack, you were ambushed from behind."

Metal looked bewildered at Trent, slowly remembering Sonny and Jase leaving him with Amanya. He was supposed to keep her safe. "What about the principle?"

Trent ran his hand through his hair. "Metal—"

Suddenly Jason burst through the room.

Thank God, Trent thought. He was barely keeping it together himself without having to share with Metal what had happened to Amanya. When he had found Metal over top of Amanya, bleeding…

"Scotty! You're awake." Jason grinned at Metal as he pulled up a chair on his other side.

"Would someone fuckin tell me what happened to Amanya?!" Metal was livid and anxious. No more of this bullshit small talk.

"Calm down, Alpha One," Jason said hotly. "Your wires aren't too happy." He pointed at the heart and BP machine Metal was hooked up to.

Metal growled and tried to calm his breathing. When he seemed to relax a bit, at least according to the monitor, Jason nodded and continued.

"You were both shot. Pretty severely at that." Jason sighed, glancing at Trent before back at Metal. "The principle took a bullet to her femoral artery."

Jason and Trent watched Metal pale.

"She bled out in surgery."

"Fuck!" yelled Metal. "Fuckin hell!" He pounded the bed with his fist, sending his heart rate through the roof, setting off alarms at some nurses desk and sending the doctor and nurse running to his room.

"Mr. Carter, you need to calm down." The doctor was really not equipped to deal with someone of Metal's size and anger.

"Like hell…"

"Scott, you're gonna tear open your stitches!" Trent tried to reason with Metal. The fury and pain in Metal's eyes twisted Trent's gut.

Metal suddenly remembered he too had been injured. He threw his hands up in front of him, "okay, okay. I'll behave," trying to talk himself down.

"Mr. Carter," the doctor tried again, "you were shot three times."

"Your Kevlar took two of the hits but your ribs are pretty bruised," Trent stated.

The doctor gave Trent a funny look before continuing. "Yes, and the other grazed the back of your head. You lost a lot of blood, but no permanent damage." The doctor was not used to these dynamics and quickly left the room, uttering something under his breath about "damn Yankees."

Metal reached up subconsciously to touch the bandage at the back of his head he was only just feeling. "When can we leave, Jase?" Metal dropped his head back onto the pillow a little too forcefully and grimaced.

"I just talked to Blackburn before coming in here. Once you're stable the hospital will release you to us, and we'll be on our way home. The flight won't be too fun with your head injury…"

"But it will be damn better than being here," Metal interrupted Jason.

Jason gave Metal a curt nod and went to see if he could convince the doctor to release this grumpy giant lunatic back to Bravo team.

As soon as Jason left the room Trent pulled his chair closer to Metal and sat down.

"She's really dead?" Metal softly asked Trent, his hand over his eyes.

Trent nodded.

"I tried…" Metal pinched the base of his nose and looked out his room window. It was raining outside. "Why do we do this, man?"

Trent knew Metal wasn't looking for an answer. He leaned over and gripped Metal's shoulder, causing Metal to look back at Trent. The two locked eyes for a few seconds before Trent imperceptibly shook his head and released Metal's shoulder.

Metal gave Trent a look of confusion as Trent practically jumped out of his chair and backed away.

"I'll uh… go check on Jase," explained Trent, as he almost ran from the room.

As soon as Trent got outside the room he doubled over, heaving, trying to catch his breath. A nurse started over to him before he waved her away. He needed a minute. Or two. Trent looked around and headed for the stairwell, sinking down onto the top steps as he tried to calm his racing heart. When he had seen Metal laying there, surrounded in blood, well… His gut had never hurt so bad. He had helped Brock roll Metal off Amanya and had instructed Brock how to stem the blood from Metal's head wound as he tried to save Amanya, though he knew it was a losing battle.

Trent and Brock had gone up to their respective rooms before making their way to the hospital. Brock seemed to sense Trent wasn't himself and offered to drive the two of them over. He felt Brock eyeing him on the drive, but he couldn't manage to pull himself from his thoughts. How bad is Metal hurt?

Almost psychically, Brock and Cerb suddenly appeared beside Trent, slowly sitting beside their brother. Trent looked at Brock and fell apart, Cerb nudging Trent to try and make his human friend okay.

"Wheels up in an hour," Brock gently told Trent after a minute. Trent sniffed and nodded at his friend. "You good?"

Trent sighed and stared at his hands, slowly nodding. With that the two made their way back to Metal's room, just in time to hear the doctor give Metal the all clear.

On the flight back to Virginia, Metal and the boys were debriefed with Blackburn and after they filled out their AARs, they strung up their hammocks and settled in for the remainder of the eight hour flight.

Of course, Metal couldn't sleep. He spent a good chunk of the time silently tormenting himself as to why he couldn't save Amanya. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, he told her in his head. He tried to clear his mind so he could sleep, but his head was filled with not only this one, but all mission failures. Fuck, I need some whiskey. After sitting with his last thought for too long, he got up and made his way to his lockbox. He hadn't changed the contents since Spring, so he knew what was waiting for him: a Woodward Reserve Double Oaked Bourbon. It was one of his favorite whiskeys, followed by the classic Jack Daniels and Crown Royale. A good Fireball was never knocked either.

Metal popped the top and took a sniff. Even just the whiff of the oaky caramel liquor seemed to take the edge off. He didn't have a glass around, so after looking around to ensure everyone was either asleep or preoccupied, he just tipped the bottle back and had a few good sips.

After drinking a few drinks worth Metal made his way to his hammock, warmed and numbed from the bourbon. He settled into his hammock and cozied in, relieved that he could finally sleep, if only for a short while.

Three days after they returned home Metal found himself on the way to the gym at 0500. He was having trouble sleeping – he'd woken up during a nightmare – and eventually figured he might as well go for a run. Of course it was raining, so he drove on over to the base, figuring he'd run on the treadmill.

As he ran he thought about Amanya and the op and his total failure. The more he thought about it the harder he ran, sweat dripping from him. Suddenly he was too out of breath to continue, and he stopped, his chest heaving from the exertion. His bruised ribs made the run extremely painful, and his head ached from where the bullet nicked him; he technically was supposed to take it easy this week, but he was okay with the pain. Unfortunately, it didn't tone down the intrusive thoughts of not only this last mission, but of the trafficking op back in July. Too many girls were dying on his watch.

Metal rubbed his chest while he tried to ignore his shaking palms and pounding head. Just a drink… Metal contemplated stopping by the Bulkhead, though he knew it would look bad, asking for a whiskey before breakfast.

His phone suddenly pinged, a notification about a hail warning a couple towns over. Metal accidentally clicked on his messaged and suddenly found himself scrolling to the AA chat. His fingers hovered over the message box until he started typing before he lost his nerve.

Scott: Hey guys. Sorry it's early. I could use a meeting I think.

Metal quickly hit send and dropped his phone like a hot potato. He lay back on the cool down mats, doing a couple stretches, trying to ignore his phone.

It was only a few minutes later when his phone pinged with a reply.

Kyle: Be there in 10.

Metal sighed, mostly relieved, and got up to quickly shower before heading to the chapel.

When Metal arrived at the chapel Kyle stood at the table with a couple of coffees. He smiled when he saw Metal come in and offered him a drink before they sat down on one of the large sofas.

The two chatted about the upcoming hockey season before Metal sighed, knowing he needed to be forthcoming as to why he'd sent that message.

"Just got back from a failed op," Metal relayed. "Was security detail and the principle died on my watch; we got shot up pretty good. I had trouble sleeping after on the flight back…" Metal felt like a failure in that moment. "I still had a bottle of bourbon in my lockbox, so I had a few drinks. Still struggling with sleep, to be honest." The words quickly tumbled from Metal before he could filter them too much.

Kyle looked compassionately at Metal, acknowledging why Metal was with him on the couch. "So, you messaged us instead of drinking."

"I guess."

"That's good, Scott. You should be proud of that."

Metal scoffed and looked away. "Not much to be proud of these days." Metal clenched his fist, staring out into nothing, watching the rain drip down the window. Some badass Alpha One he was being.

Kyle hummed, and looked outside, seeing the sun start to rise behind the clouds. "You have a lot on your shoulders. Care to share the load?"

Metal glanced at Kyle and crossed his arms. To tell him about everything felt like defeat. To say he wanted liquor or a good fuck or fight to numb himself wasn't something he could share. He was Full Metal – nothing phased him; he laughed at pain, rushing into danger head on.

Kyle seemed to read his mind. "Struggling doesn't mean you're a failure. You're still the toughest operator I know. It just means you're human, not actually metal."

Metal scoffed again and got up, walking away to collect his thoughts. After a minute he joined Kyle back on the couch.

"Did you hear about our trafficking op in South Africa?" If Metal didn't have to relay the whole thing, then he wouldn't.

Kyle nodded. What the boys had found had spread throughout SEAL Team Six. Was considered one of the worst ops in years in terms of discovery.

"I helped recover the dead girls."

Kyle was taken aback. He had heard Bravo had been exempt from that duty, focusing only on the living.

Metal could tell what Kyle was thinking. "I offered. They needed help and I couldn't let any of the other boys…" He dropped his head.

"You seen psych?"

"No!" Metal was adamant about that. "It doesn't help." After Nicole had died, and then Travis, Metal had tried to see a counselor supposedly qualified in dealing with PTSD. "Look, it may work for others, but it doesn't for me." Therapy had left him questioning everything and had almost cost him his life on his first mission back after Travis, doubting his brothers and their integrity. In general DEVGRU operators had little use for therapy – they didn't want to have to partake in anything that could get them sent home or discharged.

"The nightmares keep me up. Between them and Nicole and now Amanya…"

"Nicole?"

Oh God, he doesn't know. "I found my ex after she slit her wrists," Metal relayed matter of fact.

It was Kyle this time who stood up to gather his thoughts. No wonder he struggles. I can't even imagine.

"Things had been good until South Africa," Metal tried to reassure Kyle. "I've always liked to party hard but have learned to stick to beer. Whiskey eases things too well."

Kyle suddenly looked down as his phone went off with the tone assigned to his team leader. He hung his head, hating to admit he had to go.

"It's okay," Metal waved him off.

Kyle didn't like leaving Metal like this and sent Matt a quick message to check in on Metal in a couple of days. "You got this," he told Metal.

Metal nodded and watched Kyle leave the room. Metal knew that he should spend as little time alone as possible; his head was too dark right now.