Metal wasn't the only one struggling after the failed security op. Trent was a basket case. He couldn't stop picturing Metal, and Amanya, bloody and shot up in that hallway, and in his nightmares they both died.

Unlike Metal, he did see the head doctor, talked out his feelings of failure in terms of Amanya dying under his watch. He knew this was part and parcel of being a tier-one operator medic, but he needed to go over it objectively. Of course, he wouldn't touch Metal with a ten-foot pole. So, he continued to struggle.

Trent let Jason know he needed some time. He knew himself and knew he needed a break before their deployment in November. He just couldn't shake his head clear and knew he would be more of a hindrance than a help to his team.

And so that was how Trent found himself on a Monday afternoon two weeks post op surrounded by Chinese food, playing Call of Duty. (Hey – what other game would he play?)

He felt his phone vibrate beside him and checked to see the message.

Brock: 10k run day. Cerberus says he misses you.
Trent: Right. You all just miss my sugar boosting snacks. I mean, Cerberus does.
Brock: rotfl
Brock: How's it going?

Trent sighed. He could easily lie and say he was great, but he wasn't one to lie. Even when he could get away with it.

Trent: Not great. Still having nightmares.
Brock: Understandable.

Trent didn't know what else to say.

Brock: Kicking ass at COD?
Trent: of course!
Brock: Want company?
Trent: sure.

Brock showed up, sans Cerberus, about an hour later. The two hunkered down and entered the world of Call of Duty.

Finally, around 2200, they decided to call it quits.

"Walk?" Brock asked Trent. He still wanted to chat about how things were going.

"Sure."

The pair adorned their runners and left Trent's place, content to walk a bit more leisurely than normal. They chatted about how training had been going for Brock and how Trent was doing. Trent stuck to what he had talked with the shrink about, steering clear of Metal.

Brock caught on to what Trent was leaving out. He hesitated to know if he should approach the subject, but he felt he should.

"How are things with Metal?"

"What do you mean?" Trent quickly whirled to look at Brock, a deer in headlights.

"You saw him shot up too."

"Oh. Yah. I don't know. It's fine."

Brock leveled Trent with a hard look.

"Fine. I keep dreaming that he dies too."

Brock nodded, suspecting as much. "That's a hard thing to shake."

"It is. I just can't turn off my thoughts. I know I'm useless to you guys until I get this under control." This was the first time Trent had taken any sort of leave from the team, their training was so extensive in regards to all the crazy shit they saw and endured. Trent knew, though, that he just needed some time away from training to sort through and relax his mind.

Brock let silence accompany them for a bit before asking his next question. "Have you talked to Metal?" Of course, he knew the answer to that. Alpha One was still working, and he had expressed his worry to Brock regarding the silence from Trent.

Trent shook his head. "I need to get my head right first." What Trent wasn't saying was that he was far too emotional in regards to his best friend, and he needed some space. He didn't think he could keep things hidden if he were to talk to his brother, and so he avoided him.

Brock hummed his acknowledgement, looking at Trent out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of their walk was silent. When they got back to Trent's he invited Brock for a nightcap on his back patio. When they sat down, he was suddenly reminded of the last time he was in his backyard with Metal. He closed his eyes, unaware that Brock was watching him, emotions crossing his face.

"How's your friend?" Brock asked suddenly.

"Come again?" Trent popped his eyes open to look at his friend.

"A while ago you talked about this friend you were maybe having feelings about..."

"Right," Trent interrupted Brock. Hearing someone else say those words to him was completely unsettling. "Uh, it's about the same, I guess."

"Mhm."

Trent looked at Brock and could see the question written all over his face. Trent sighed and sipped his beer, rubbing his hand over his beard. "Just ask, man. It's okay," Trent told Brock.

"You're talking about Metal, right?"

Trent knew that's what Brock was going to ask, but it still knocked the wind out of him. He side-eyed Brock and saw that he was just looking out into the backyard, looking so casual as usual, as if he'd just asked Trent what day it was.

Trent rubbed his beard, gathering up the courage to answer. "Yeah, it's Metal." With the admittance he felt a lot of tension suddenly flow out of him. What a relief it was to finally have someone to tell this craziness to.

"Okay." Brock turned to Trent. "Tell me more."

Trent was surprised, but so thankful, that Brock was opening the door to having this conversation.

"Brock, I can't stop thinking about how I react around him. Like, I've never been attracted to a man before… I don't know what to do with myself."

"Does he know?"

"Hell no! I can't… He can't know. I'd be devastated if I lost that friendship."

They sat in silence before Trent continued.

"I'm not sleeping because I keep thinking about him, worrying about him. But then when I'm actually near him… I just wish I could touch him again. Like how fucked up is that?" Trent grew frustrated, throwing his hands up in the air and leaning back, covering his eyes with his hands. "And now since Paris… I was so terrified I'd lose him, and I know he'll be able to see that."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Brock offered.

Trent snorted. "Right. I'm sure Metal would agree with you if he knew this." He rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated.

"Metal isn't an ass. He wouldn't hate you."

Trent rubbed his eyes, starting to feel emotional. "How can I keep being his best friend when I can't think straight around him?"

Brock shuffled over and laid his hand on Trent's shoulder. "Just keep being you and he'll keep being him, and it will all work out."

Trent scoffed but thanked his friend. "Thanks for listening, Brock. And for not judging."

"Why would I? It doesn't make me think any less of you… now maybe if you had the hots for Sonny…" Both men laughed, with Trent throwing a soft punch at Brock. "I really think you should talk to Metal, though. At least just give him a shout. He seems a bit lost without you."

A few days later Trent finally got up the courage to call Metal and left a message for him to call Trent back or to just come over.

Metal listened to said message while he sat at the bar, alone, drinking a whiskey. Unfortunately, since the botched AA meeting with Kyle, Metal had been floundering. Couple that with being essentially abandoned by Trent and he felt adrift. His thoughts were getting darker, and he didn't trust himself to even be home. He actually had started sleeping in his cage on base, trusting himself far more there than home alone.

Kyle and Matt had both tried to message him since that night, but he ignored them. He didn't know what to say. He also hadn't been to any further meetings and had taken to drinking a few whiskeys most nights at the Flying Aces, a dive-hole bar on the other end of town from the Bulkhead. Very little military personnel came here, so he was never interrupted.

Trent's message angered Metal. How dare he suddenly just show up? Really, he knew his anger was misplaced, that it was mostly because he was dead tired and completely wrecked. He also knew that if anyone could take his mess, it would be Trent.

He slammed back a couple more drinks and headed to his truck. He knew he shouldn't be driving under the influence, but it was just one more thing he couldn't care about these days. Besides, he didn't feel drunk and could see fine… he just felt numb. Well, normally he did; right now he felt far more than he should have given the four or five whiskeys he'd had.

Metal arrived at Trent's at 0115 and banged loudly on his door, yelling for Trent to open up. He did not particularly care, nor think, about the neighbors and the fact that it was the middle of the night.

Trent burst out of bed at the noise and stumbled to the door, opening it sleepily.

Metal tore past his friend into the house and went straight to where Trent kept his liquor. He was surprised to find none. "Need a drink," Metal growled.

"Not a chance, brother." Trent could tell Metal had been drinking; he had moved the liquor after Metal's last binge at his house.

Metal stormed up to Trent, toe-to-toe with his best friend. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He spat at Trent. Metal suddenly shoved Trent back, causing him to land on his back on the couch. "Where the fuck have you been?" Metal couldn't stop his mouth. "You're such a fuckin asshole. No wonder you couldn't save her. You're such a fuck up."

It had been a while since Trent had seen Metal this dysregulated. He kept his mouth shut, knowing Metal needed to continue and he would let him. The words hit deep, but he knew Metal; he knew something was going on behind these words and could sense that Metal needed to unload.

Metal raged further, calling Trent every name in the book and where to go before he took a swing and clocked Trent in the jaw. He then whirled around and threw a hard punch at Trent's living room wall and then again at his glass coffee table, chewing up his hand. He then stormed out to Trent's back patio, almost shattering the sliding door.

Suddenly it was as if the clouds lifted and Metal slumped down onto a patio sofa, blood dripping off his knuckles.

All the way in the house Trent could hear a sob break loose from Metal's chest. Trent zigzagged his way through the broken glass and drywall, snagging a dish towel before he made his way to his friend. His jaw hurt like a motherfucker, but Metal was in greater need than he was.

Trent sat down beside his brother and took Metal's hand with his own, removing shards of glass before wrapping it with the damp towel.

Metal hung his head too ashamed to look at Trent. He couldn't believe what he had done. "Trent…" His voice sounded so hoarse and faint.

Trent silenced him, pushing his head down onto Trent's shoulder, trying to comfort Metal.

Metal felt Trent start to rub his back before Trent suddenly jerked away from him and stood up. Metal looked questioningly at Trent, but then got up and walked to the back of the yard, sinking onto the ground.

Trent silently followed Metal, berating himself for touching Metal. This is about Metal. Not me.

"What's going on with us, man?"

Trent stared at Metal. "…What do you mean?"

"I feel like we're falling apart. I mean, I'm completely unstable right now. And you… I know something is up. I just don't know what."

Trent sat down beside Metal. "I think it's time you told me everything," Trent said softly.

Metal nodded in the dark. The nighttime was always prone to these types of conversations. It was easy to be honest in the darkness.

"I feel like the biggest failure, Trent. I can't stop thinking about how I failed Nicole, Travis, those girls, Amanya… They all died. I'm supposed to have protected them." Metal hung his head, gathering up the courage to share further. "I can't sleep. I keep having nightmares of everyone dying around me, and of finding the bodies over and over." Metal pulled in a deep breath. "I know you saw the head doctor, but I just can't do it; I don't trust them. The only thing that's been keeping me sane is the whiskey."

Trent laid his hand on his friend's shoulder so he'd know he wasn't alone.

"When I drink it numbs it all away and I can sleep. So, I've been drinking. A lot. And I quit going to AA," Metal softly admitted. "I'm not an alcoholic, I can stop if I want. I just… I need to erase the memories and intrusive thoughts, and I'm struggling to come up with another way to cope."

Metal paused. What he'd just shared was hard, but this… This next bit was going to be near impossible.

"I'm really scared, Trent. I can't stop my mind. I just keep hearing how I'm a failure, how everyone would be better off without me. And then I feel humiliated that I'm even thinking that way. And then… When I try to think of a way to stop these intrusive thoughts, to cope with the lack of sleep…All I can do is think about how good it would feel to slice my arm or shred my hand through a wall or body slam some Greenie. Because ever since I was little… Pain is just easier. I can deal with pain."

Trent put his arm around his friend and hugged him. What else could he do?

"I don't trust myself alone," Metal said, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm here, brother. I'm here."

The two sat on the grass for some time before reclining back, both laying their heads on the ground, staring at the stars.

"How can I help you keep yourself safe?" Trent asked gently.

"Being near you helps," Metal admitted. "When I'm with you I don't feel like I have to put up a shield. I can let my guard down, even though it's hard. It helps me deal with what's going on in my head."

Trent felt so honored and told Metal just that. "You never have to pretend around me."

The two locked eyes for a few moments. Trent felt his body warming under their connected gaze. His eyes darted away from Metal's glance, a shuddering breath escaping into the quiet.

Metal rolled up onto one elbow to peer down at his friend, Trent looking everywhere but at Metal.

"Trent, what's going on?"

"I can't…"

Metal placed his hand on top of Trent's chest, feeling his friend's racing heart. Am I doing this to him?

"Trent…"

"No." Trent jerked upright. "We are talking about you." Trent looked at Metal, desperate not to talk about what was going on.

Metal nodded, dropping his hand from Trent's body. He could respect his friend's wishes. For now. "I think I need some sleep before we figure out a game plan for me," he said to Trent, changing the subject.

Trent agreed, completely rattled. Sleep and space would be great right about then.

The two picked themselves up and wandered to the house.

"Thanks brother," Metal said softly before heading to the spare room.

For the first time since Paris, Metal fell asleep with ease; no nightmares broke his restful sleep.