Bad Choices and Hard Lessons
Trent quickly located Tim who was holding Brock upright and still on a bed behind a curtain in a small cubicle while a clearly overworked young doctor near the end of his shift was lecturing their kid about his recent bad choices while preparing to insert a tube down his throat to pump out his stomach. Brock started to panic and attempted to free himself from Tim's grip when the doctor came at him with the lubricated tube. Assisted by an older night nurse who was shaking her head at Trent as if she had now seen it all, the annoyed doctor was losing patience with the kid he assumed was most likely an out of control, drunken frat boy from one of the local colleges.
"If you can't hold him still, I'll call an orderly to restrain him," the doctor who was most likely an intern and around Tim's age snapped at him.
The nurse, who did not seem impressed with the young doctor's attitude, was calm and in control as she ignored the doctor and spoke directly to Brock.
"Okay, baby," she soothed in a tone that the southern boy in Trent recognized as no nonsense Mamaw. "You can call me Miss Glenda. Right now I need you to settle your naughty self down and be still for your brother so Dr. Schultz can get all that nasty gunk out of your belly and Miss Glenda can get you cleaned up and settled down in a nice, quiet room. We don't want the doctor to have to call one of those mean ol' orderlies down here now do we, baby?"
The doctor, who seemed to know better than to mess with Miss Glenda, backed off and let her attempt to settle the kid. He stood back silently with his arms folded, making eye contact with Trent when he entered the area.
"Is this your kid?" the doctor asked none too nicely.
Trent, who was in no way impressed or intimidated, decided to be the mature adult. Looking the doctor straight in the eye, he stepped forward and reached out to shake his hand firmly, not breaking eye contact.
"Brock is my kid," Trent said firmly. "And no orderly is necessary. He's going to calm himself down and cooperate. I assure you that he will be still. I assume from the orogastric tube and saline that my boy is going to be having his stomach emptied."
"You're familiar with this procedure?" the doctor asked, assuming from the older man's calm demeanor and knowledge of the correct medical terms that he was likely either a first responder of some kind or possibly military.
"I'm a combat medic," Trent confirmed, still holding eye contact with the doctor. "And yes. I'm familiar with the procedure."
"Your son decided it was a good idea to get drunk with his friends and swallow a good amount of filthy, bacteria filled water and several tropical fish," the doctor explained. "I'm planning to empty as much of the water and dead fish as I can pump out from his stomach. Then I'm going to admit him to the overnight ER and treat him for bacterial infection with three injections of Strepto - one every eight hours, followed by a two-week course of oral Tetracycline which you obviously know he needs to finish."
"He'll need to come back here for the final dose of Strepto or can he get that on base in the infirmary?" Trent asked, moving to take Tim's position holding up the kid who immediately settled against his side.
"Your call on that," the doctor said, moving back toward the boy now settled against Trent, who the doctor assumed was his father when he was not told differently. Nurse Glenda was prepping the bag and attaching it to the tube to collect Brock's stomach contents now that he was no longer struggling.
"He's going to be feeling pretty awful for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Vomiting, fever, diarrhea are likely. He's going to be exhausted, and his backside is going to ache from the injections. But he's young and healthy, so I expect he will make a full recovery," the doctor continued. "We'll keep him on an IV to prevent dehydration while he's here. Electrolytes, Gatorade, liquids once he's released. I'm sure you know the drill. His throat will be sore from the tube for the next several days. He can take Tylenol assuming he can hold it down. I can prescribe it in suppository form if necessary."
"Hopefully his time here with us will serve as a reminder that the behavior he and his friends decided was a good idea tonight comes with very unpleasant repercussions," the annoyed doctor preached.
Miss Glenda rolled her eyes at Trent behind the snarky doctor's back. She handed the lubricated and bagged tubing to the doctor who proceeded to attach the pump he would be using to force out the contents of Brock's stomach. Moving back up to the top of the bed, the nurse nodded at Trent, indicating he should get the boy sitting upright.
"Okay now, baby," Miss Glenda cooed, rubbing Brock's back and holding his arm still on his left side while Trent sat next to him on the bed, wrapping his strong arm around his boy's waist and taking hold of his right hand to keep him calm and still. "You're a lucky boy to have your daddy here with you. I need you to be still and try to relax. This isn't going to be fun, but you just breathe through your nose slowly and hold on to your daddy's hand. It will be over soon and you can hopefully get some rest today."
"Yes, ma'am," Brock whispered, looking like a deer in headlights as the doctor slowly but confidently inserted the tube down the kid's throat into his stomach.
An hour later he was being held on his side by Jason while Trent was on puke collection duty. As predicted his ass was aching from the injection jabbed none too gently into his clenched muscle, and he was absolutely miserable and deeply regretting his foolish behavior.
While Brock was having his insides pumped out, his partners in mayhem were having their asses reamed in the waiting room by Decker and Sanchez who were both royally pissed off and promising punishment that would include, but not necessarily be limited to: restriction to their rooms outside of work hours until further notice, two hours daily of additional drills for the next week, and Saturday morning alcohol counseling on base for the next month. Tommy would be assigned a new roommate, as Master Chief Hayes had announced that Brock would not be returning to the dorm, being he clearly was not mature enough to handle that level of freedom.
After Brock's traumatic stomach pumping, the day dragged on slowly with hours of puking, the painful ass shot which would be repeated twice more in the coming hours, and a mortifying 'clean out' by an all business Miss Glenda to remove any bacteria and deceased pink fish that made it past his stomach into his colon. That humbling experience which left Miss Glenda unfazed and the remorseful boy red-faced, silent and feeling very sorry for himself was followed by a soothing, warm bath and hair scrubbing, thankfully given by Trent who took mercy on the kid when Miss Glenda announced it was time to lose his gown and report to the bathtub.
Just after two on Saturday afternoon, Miss Glenda returned to end her shift with the second antibiotic injection. She fussed over the polite, quiet boy like a doting grandma and left Daddy Trent, as she was now referring to Bravo's medic, with a large latex glove filled with melting ice to 'soothe the poor baby's little tail'.
Brock passed out, exhausted, humiliated and attached to Trent's side. Once he was deeply sleeping for what Jason and Trent hoped would be the next several hours, the medic got his kid settled on his side, propped up from behind with several pillows to avoid Brock waking himself up by turning in his sleep and putting unwelcome pressure on either his cramping belly or his sore backside.
Trent checked to be sure the IV tubes were not tangled and smoothly delivered the electrolytes and liquids the kid sorely needed after hours of suffering through emptying his entire digestive system from both ends. Jason pulled up a chair close to his sick kid's temporary bed and gently rubbed his hot back while softly shushing his occasional moaning and pitiful whimpering.
"Shh, sweetheart," Jason whispered in a gentle voice reserved for his own babies when they were sick or hurting. "Shh. You're okay. I'm right here with you, baby. Go to sleep now."
Twenty four hours later, Jason was relieved the kid was home safe and sound recovering on Trent's couch. And neither Bravo One nor his loyal medic were feeling much sympathy for their new rookie who had gone off the rails with his equally immature and unruly former roommates.
Sonny had arrived on the scene, and as predicted was enjoying the show. Thankfully, Nate, who rubbed Trent the wrong way on a good day, was at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg with his wife and kids for the day. Ray was home pampering his wife who could be heading to the hospital at any time to deliver an elated Bravo Two's first son. His mother-in-law had also arrived to stay with Ray's little girl once the big moment arrived, so Jason did not have his calm 2IC to be the voice of reason while in full pissed off boss-daddy mode, he had ripped their miserable rookie a new one.
When Jason took a break from the lecturing, Sonny took up where his boss and brother had left off with the miserable kid.
"Maybe Captain Ahab here would enjoy some tuna. Or a Filet O' Fish from McDonalds might fill his craving for seafood," Sonny growled, secretly feeling awful for their kid, but maintaining his hardass, no bullshit tolerated reputation. "I could always door dash you some raw sushi from the Japanese take-out if you think that would hit the spot Long John Fucking Silver."
"Please stop, Sonny," Brock begged, trying not to gag. "You're gonna make me start hurling again. My stomach is killing me, my ass feels like it's on fire, and Trent's making me go to the infirmary for another needle jab. Everyone is pissed off at me. I'm sorry Sonny. I know I fucked up. Decker's pissed. Sanchez looked at me like I let him and all of Team Eight down. I don't know what else to say. I know I was a stupid, immature asshole. I'm sorry."
The Mighty Quinn folded his arms and glared back at the boy who looked like hammered shit on the side of the road.
"Do you actually think I feel sorry for your upset tummy and sore fanny, you little shit?" Sonny scolded. "You brought this all on yourself. And you sure as shit should be thanking your lucky stars that Jason has clearly gone soft in his golden years and Trent is distracted by his crumbling love life. Because the fact that you are able to sit there on your ass on that couch tells Old Sonny that they let you off without the ass whuppin' of a lifetime that you most definitely deserved, and Mikey would have no doubt received if Daddy Jason was called at the butt-crack of dawn down to the ER to find him spewing and shitting rotten fish and rancid tank water."
"Sonny…" Brock covered his mouth. "Please stop."
"Dammit, Sonny," Trent called from the attached kitchen where he was opening a bottle of clear Pedialyte and a bag of oyster crackers. "If you make him puke, you are cleaning it up. Back-off. The boss already let him have it good. And the brat hasn't even heard about his upcoming extended punishment. And he's correct that his next painful tush shot is on his sad bingo card for today. Along with a dose of Tylenol, through the backdoor if, as I suspect, he can't keep down these crackers."
"Come on, Trent," Brock whined. "That's cruel and unnecessary punishment. I said I'm sorry like a thousand times."
"It's not punishment, son," Trent said, putting down the Pedialyte and a cup of crackers in front of the pitiful kid. "It's the medicine you need to manage your spiky fever and sore, scratched up throat. And Sonny is correct that you brought this all on yourself. And while I do not enjoy your obvious suffering, if you can't keep down the crackers, I think you know me well enough by now to understand that I will not hesitate to go with the administration route that, while less desirable for us both, is most effective."
"I can keep down the crackers Trent," Brock said, looking up at him with his sweaty head and pale skin. "I know I can."
"I have no doubt you will give it your best effort, honey," Trent said, pushing back his kid's bangs to feel his rising fever. "I'm going to take Uncle Fester here into the kitchen and give him a beer to improve his mood. You take some deep breaths to settle yourself down, think happy thoughts, and give the crackers a try. Go slow. And we'll wait for the verdict."
"You want me to stay for moral support?" Jason asked from his seat next to the couch in Trent's recliner. "Or do you think you'll have more luck on your own. Your call, kiddo."
"I know you're really mad, and I know I caused this whole mess myself, boss," Brock looked over at his hero and foster dad with feverish, watery eyes. "I know punishment is coming and I deserve whatever I get. And you're probably fed up dealing with my bullshit all weekend. But, can you please stay with me?"
Jason looked over at his loyal, lifelong brothers shaking his head. Standing, he moved to take a seat next to the sick kid looking up at him for much needed comfort and support.
"Son, I promised that if you called me for help, I would never turn you away or leave you alone," Jason said, gentle and firm. "And, no, I'm not happy with your behavior Friday night, and I'm concerned that you would do something so reckless and boneheaded. We all know that you could not be more sorry. And you most definitely have consequences you will not enjoy in your near future. But that doesn't mean that I'm ditching you or that I'm not going to give you what you need right now. So how about you and me relax on Trent's comfortable couch and give these crackers a try?"
Jason lifted his arm inviting the kid to curl into his warmth and protection. Wrapping his arm around the boy, he kissed his warm forehead and allowed him to settle. Nodding to his brothers that he had this handled, Trent and Sonny moved back into the kitchen to let the boss get the kid sorted and wait for hopefully good news and no gagging from the kids' table.
The infection, fever, and diarrhea, which was an unwelcome and tiring reaction to his oral antibiotics, hung on through most of the next week. Brock lost twelve pounds from not being able to hold anything down, and by Tuesday, Trent was forced to give him anti-nausea injections with the alternative being admitted to the infirmary for IV nutrition.
It was a rough several days for everyone. The one saving grace was Naima delivering a healthy 8lb 5oz baby boy named Ray Jr. - RJ for short. Brock was banned from going anywhere near the baby, Naima or anyone from the Perry household while he was still suffering from the bacterial infection. And Trent personally supervised Jason, Sonny and Nate who had been in contact with Brock scrubbing their hands raw and sporting masks when visiting their families' newest member, Baby RJ.
Nothing could dampen Ray's spirits, and both he and Naima who had grown very fond of Brock reminded the senior grumps that they all had accepted he was just a kid when they took him on, and that they knew what they were signing on for making him Bravo. And while the older guys, and Blackburn who had been apprised of the past weekend adventures agreed, Jason could not be convinced to reconsider the boys' punishment. And both Trent and Sonny backed up the boss.
When Trent hauled the kid back to his place after his painful third, and thankfully final, antibiotic injection in his already swollen butt, Brock laid on his belly, throbbing head resting on his folded arms propped up on the worn out arm of the medic's old couch. All he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and pass out for the rest of the day and hopefully through the night in the bed he'd claimed as his own in Trent's spare bedroom.
Unfortunately for Brock, the boss had a different plan.
"Alright son," Jason announced when he arrived with chicken soup and homemade bread from the local deli that would hopefully stay down with help from the antiemetic Trent requested be administered at the infirmary as the alternative to his at the end of his rope kid being admitted and hooked up to IV nutrition. "The three of us are going to sit down at this table, eat some of this tasty soup, get some warm bread in your empty belly, and discuss the consequences of your actions."
"Am I getting my ass beat?" Brock said from the couch, burying his face in his arms and ripping off the band-aid he'd been fretting about since Sonny not so subtly made it clear that he deserved a good lickin' and apparently his boss, hero and adopted dad was not shy about handing one out to his kids - even the boys old enough to vote and attend college.
"Is that what you think you need?" Jason asked curiously with zero emotion, dishing out the soup and motioning Brock to join them at the table on the seat where Trent had mercifully placed a pillow to make sitting marginally less awful.
"I always hated it when my dad would ask me that when he'd already decided I was going to get my butt paddled," Brock grumbled.
"I'm pretty sure no kid wants to answer that question," Trent chuckled, patting the kid's head and handing him a bottle of room temperature water. "Go slow, shorty,"
"Sonny obviously thinks it's what I deserve," Brock said softly, dipping his bread in the soup and taking a small, hesitant bite.
"I'm not interested in what Sonny thinks," Jason said, diving into his own bowl. "I'm legitimately curious as to if you think getting your ass worn out would help you understand that what you did was reckless, completely unacceptable and not going to be tolerated."
"I don't know, boss," Brock said, honestly. "I fully understand what I did was reckless and completely unacceptable. The consequences I've already suffered are a whole lot worse than getting my ass worn out, and I don't think even a belt whuppin' could make me feel worse and lower than I already do. It might even make me feel a little less guilty if you just beat the hell out of me. But, I guess, even though I'm dreading getting my already throbbing backside spanked, I understand that I made bad choices all on my own. No one made me get wasted and poison myself with pink fish. So I probably deserve the lickin'."
"Hmm," Jason said, surprised the kid would say he deserved a spanking when he could clearly see the boy was already in pain. "Well, first of all, I never 'beat the hell' out of any kid, including my own son who has made some very questionable choices himself. And I am most certainly never going to 'beat the hell' out of you for any reason. I agree that you have learned a hard lesson already about actions and consequences. But, you're still going to be punished because you acted recklessly and put your own health in danger which I will not have. I never had it from my own babies, and I won't have it from you."
"Yes, sir," Brock said, miserably.
"But you can stop fretting about getting your sorry ass torn up," Jason said, letting him off the hook. "Trent already said 'no way' while you're still swollen and likely in need of more tush shots. And even if your best advocate hadn't vetoed a spanking, there is no way I would spank you or any of my kids, when you're already hurting."
"But, I'm still getting punished?" Brock asked, confused.
"Oh, you are most definitely getting punished," Trent snorted. "And I suspect that, like your partners in stupidity, you'll be wishing you could just take the lickin' and have it over when the boss is done with you."
"You're grounded indefinitely," Jason said, making eye contact and using his signature dad voice. "I already told Sanchez to find Tommy a new roommate because your dorm days are done for the foreseeable future. If you are going to act like an out of control teenager, then I think it's only reasonable for you to live at home with adults who can monitor and manage your behavior until you show you can be trusted on your own. And if that's not something you think you can deal with, son, then Sanchez hasn't replaced you yet and is willing to have you back on Team Eight - under the same punishment he dished out to Tommy and Kyle."
"Tier-one is a huge commitment and a whole different set of expectations for someone so young to handle, Brock," Trent said gently, reaching over to squeeze the back of the panicking boy's neck. "If you aren't ready yet, it doesn't mean we won't look at you again down the road when you've had more time for growing up and maturing."
"You're family now, son," Jason said. "That's not changing whether you decide to stay with Bravo or spend some more time back with the younger guys on Team Eight. I am not ditching you. I just want you to think about what you want, and what you think you are ready to handle."
"But if you do decide to stick with Bravo," Trent said, solemnly. "The rules, expectations and consequences for bad choices are going to be non-negotiable. Your actions in the field are life and death for yourself and your brothers. And tier-one is not the kind of situation where you can run wild at home like a college kid, getting wasted and hanging out with sorority girls and random non-military guys you meet at bars and parties which is going to put you right up close to illegal life and career altering shit such as drugs, wasted driving, and God knows what else. As you and your friends learned the hard way, situations that seem harmless when you're drunk and not thinking straight can quickly get away from you and turn into a shit show."
"And, Brock," Trent continued after several seconds of silence. "It's been awhile, but even us old guys can remember what it's like to be young, unattached and looking for girls who are up for anything. But son, hard as it is to think with your upstairs brain when everyone is having a good time and the girls seem willing, you need to keep in mind that it's very risky business mixing it up with girls in this neck of the woods who might very likely have daddies with officer stripes and the power to rock your world."
"Yes, sir," Brock was red-faced, looking down and remembering how they had gone back to the dorms with the drunk girls hoping to get lucky. He was embarrassed to make eye contact with his very grown-up brothers, afraid they knew exactly what he and his friends were looking for Friday night.
Confident that their boy got Trent's message loud and clear from the embarrassed blushing and squirming, Jason switched gears.
"You are going to be briefed on situations and information at a security level higher than even the SEAL level teams," Jason explained. "You already know that from what you saw and did in Syria. Letting anything slip when you are drunk and feeling bulletproof could legitimately get you booted from the Navy and possibly put you behind bars. And that is a life-altering, very adult consequence, that even I or Blackburn can't save you from."
"Maybe I really do need that belt whuppin' boss," Brock said seriously, looking like he might lose his soup in his lap. "I never thought of all that Jason. I swear I didn't. I just figured we were going out to celebrate the guys surviving another mission. And they were all pumped up about one of their own getting picked by you - everyone in the dorms thinks you're like a god. And there was this really cute redhead. I had stopped doing shots at the last bar because I was thinking about what you and Trent said about not losing control of the situation."
Brock was starting to panic and breathe shallow.
"Hey, hey, hey," Trent said, making eye contact with Jason and letting him know they needed to dial back the Navy SEAL Scared Straight Intervention before they were heading back to the infirmary. "Brock, I need you to settle down and breathe. Hold your breath for ten seconds with me."
The kid did as he was told. Jason stood up behind his boy's chair and put his calloused hand on the kid's warm forehead to offer skin on skin contact and support.
"Relax, honey," Jason said, not moving his hand and assuring his boy he was there with him, just as he'd done for Mikey back after he'd gotten in a car wreck with a group of friends, one of whom ended up seriously injured. His son was close to hysterics when they had finally made it home from the hospital the next morning, his youngest baby covered in the blood of his best friend who they were not sure would survive.
"You're fine, Brock," Jason said gently. "Nothing terrible that can't be fixed happened last night. We need you to calm down."
Once his breathing was under control, and a full meltdown averted. Trent looked up and had a silent chat with Jason.
"How about we take this party back over to the couch, tough guy," Jason smiled down at the kid, using his thumb to stroke his sweaty cheek. "I want to hear more about this cute redhead who caused my rule-following, eagle scout, all-around good boy to lose control and decide to sample the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet."
"Can we please not talk about the fish, Jase," Brock moaned. "I almost lost it earlier when Sonny was here. And I don't think I can handle the reappearance of chicken soup right now."
"Come on, sweetheart," Trent led him back to the couch and got him settled on his side with a bottle of water. "Small sips."
When Jason sat down at the end of the couch near the kid's head, Brock inched over slowly, curling into a tight ball and resting his head in his hero's lap. Daddy Jason took the blanket Trent had pulled off of the recliner and wrapped up his shivering kid, gently rubbing his back which they all knew from experience would settle him quickly.
"Did you catch this cute redhead's name?" Jason asked softly.
"No," Brock whispered. "Well maybe I did. She was pouring the shots and I kind of lost track of what was happening. But she was definitely good looking. And pink was her favorite color. I remember that."
Trent went to clean up the kitchen while Jason continued to get their kid sorted.
"Jase," Brock was trying hard not to cry like a scared kid in his boss's lap. "Please don't send me back down. I love you guys. And I want to be Bravo more than anything. I'll do better. I swear I will."
"This isn't about you doing better or not being good enough," Jason explained calmly. "It's about whether or not you are truly ready for this level of commitment. And, Brock, you aren't the only one who messed up royally this weekend. Ray and I knew before you went back to the dorm that we needed to come up with a better housing option for you. It's a big part of the reason Trent and I were hesitant to send you back to your old room when we got back from Syria."
"I didn't know that," Brock mumbled, fading fast. "I guess I just assumed I would stay with Tommy, but go to work with Bravo. I didn't realize it would be a big problem until Friday after work. And then by the time I knew things were going down a bad road, I didn't know how to reel it back in. I'm sorry boss."
"It's over now, son," Jason said sincerely. "We are just relieved that you and your friends came out of it relatively unscathed. But moving forward, assuming you want to stay with Bravo, changes need to be made. And like Trent said before - this is non-negotiable. Either you are Bravo and you do as you're told, walk the line, and accept the consequences when you screw up, or you go back to the life you had living with your buddies on base and rolling with Team Eight. Which is a very damn good team with a great leader in my opinion."
"I want to be Bravo, Jase," Brock said. "And I will do whatever you say I need to do. And I understand that when I mess up there's going to be consequences. And I understand why I am going to be punished for this past weekend's shit show."
"Alright then, Brock," Jason said. "As I said before, you are grounded until further notice. Which means you are on lock down here with Trent until at least the end of this year which is just over a month away. And on base, you are to be with someone from Bravo at all times - unless you are in specific K9 training, in which case, Cody from Alpha will be your temporary warden until he returns you to Bravo. You eat with Bravo, workout with Bravo, attend all work related activities with someone from Bravo, and you are to be within shouting distance of a Bravo team member at all times."
"If Trent has someplace to be or he needs some time in the Brock free zone, then you are with me, Sonny or another approved sitter from either Alpha or the support team," Jason paused. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"I'm not allowed to be out of Bravo's sight, and I live with Trent?" Brock said.
"Exactly," Jason said. "And I don't want to hear any whining or complaining. Capice?"
"Yes, sir," Brock said, still holding tight to Jason's leg. "What happens to me in January? Am I going back to base housing?"
"I'm still thinking about that," Jason answered honestly. "Do you want to go back to a dorm?"
"I don't know, boss," Brock said quietly. "I always liked being in the dorm and having a roommate because I was never really alone at home with my family. I never had my own room until my brother got married, and then my oldest sister got divorced and moved back home with her kid and I shared a room with him. I'm not scared of being alone or anything like that, but I feel better if there are other people around. Even if they're in another room doing their own thing. I don't know why."
"I can understand that, son," Jason assured him. "When Mikey went off to college and it was just me wandering around the apartment alone, I didn't know what to do with myself for a long time. It took me a while to get used to being home alone. That's part of why I liked having you around - even if you were on the Playstation in your room and I was watching TV or cooking dinner - It feels more natural for me to not be alone in the apartment."
"But now Jason," Brock admitted. "After what happened on Friday, I'm not sure anymore. I'm afraid if I go back with the dorm guys things might get out of hand again. And I don't want that either. I don't know. It's all just really overwhelming and confusing. I don't know what to do."
Trent had returned from dish duty and was leaning in the doorway between his dining area and the living room with his arms folded. Jason looked over at him for support.
"Okay, Brock," Trent said. "It's been another long day, you are still sick and worn down. I want you to take your meds and go straight to bed. I need to talk to the boss, and then I'm going to come in to check on you and make sure you're settled for the night."
"Trent's right, son," Jason said, lifting the kid up off his lap and into the upright position. "I need to think about this and come up with a solution that works for everyone moving forward. We have several weeks to talk about it and figure out a plan. For right now, all you need to worry about is doing your job, minding Trent, and staying out of trouble. Which should be fairly easy since you are on full lock down."
"Jase?" Brock said hesitantly, looking between him and Trent. "I don't want to make you mad again. But can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead, kiddo," Jason said. "You don't have to be afraid to ask questions. And I don't want you to be scared to come to me when you have a question or a problem. I know sometimes I lose my temper and yell, but I always have your back no matter what."
"Am I grounded from seeing or talking to Tommy and Kyle?" Brock was anxious to bring up his longtime friends who were in deep trouble themselves. "I know we all messed up big time, boss. But they didn't force me to do anything. They're not bad guys - really I promise they're not. We've been together since we first got stationed here. Tommy's from New Jersey, and Kyle was living with some random uncle in Oklahoma before he enlisted. And my family is in California - my parents don't do planes - and I haven't seen my brother or sisters since my brother and his wife came out to see me almost two years ago."
The kid looked up at Jason and Trent like they were about to send his dog to the pound because he tore up the couch when Brock forgot to feed him.
Trent made eye contact with Jason as they were both reminded once again just how young and green this kid was, and the huge responsibility they were adding to their already stressful lives.
When the older men were silent, Brock went to full rambling mode.
"I'm not complaining or saying I don't deserve to be grounded," he said quickly. "And I'm seriously thankful you gave me a pass on the thrashing I really thought was coming. I love you guys and Sonny. The other guys too. And I know Bravo is my family now - that's what I want. I'll do anything you say. But Tommy and Kyle were my brothers when we were all alone and scared with no parents or family. We got each other through Buds and SQT. We got our Tridents at the same time, Tommy and Kyle were on Commander Sanchez's team, and once I completed the K9 training, they worked him hard to give me a chance on Team Eight. I wouldn't even be Bravo if it weren't for them."
"And Friday, we were just doing what we've always done," Brock went on sounding like a kid trying to convince his parents not to ban him from his favorite hangout. "I was relieved to have survived Syria. I'd been wondering the whole time we were deployed if Tommy and Kyle were okay. When we realized we had all made it back in one piece - and I told them you guys actually wanted me - they were so happy for me. We shouldn't have gotten so drunk. I know they understand that now too. And sneaking into Old Dominion was top level stupid. But I don't know if I can just not be their brother anymore. I mean I thought all SEALS are brothers. And Tommy and Kyle are SEALS too."
"Woah, there Shorty," Jason said, pulling the kid back into his side. "How about you take a breath. That was a very impressive closing argument for the defense, but it was not necessary."
"Brock, honey," Trent was shaking his head and trying not to smile, because the kid was legitimately a wreck thinking that he was being banned for life from his best buddies and loyal brothers. "You are talking to me and Jason, who keep in mind have been attached to The Mighty Quinn and Full Metal Jacket since we were your age. Not to mention Derrick, Josh, Decker, and a bunch of old brothers who have retired or moved on to other assignments. Were you really thinking we'd ever force you to choose between Bravo and the brothers who have been with you from the beginning?"
"I don't know, Trent," the kid said honestly. "I guess I'm not clear on what my life outside of work is going to look like now that I'm Bravo. I understand I acted like an out of control kid, and there are going to be consequences for getting mixed up in stupid shit. And I understand for now and the next month I'm on lock down, and it sounds like Sanchez is going to have Tommy and Kyle confined to quarters when they aren't on duty also. And I get that I can't do the same kind of binge drinking and hooking up with random girls I've been part of in the past, but can I still hang out with my old friends on weekends once our lock down is over?"
"Yes, Brock," Jason said. "You are absolutely allowed to have your own life and friends outside Bravo. Just because us old coots don't have anything better to do than get together for bitching, and Bravo is our life, doesn't mean we expect you to be stuck with us all the time. You can see Ray and Nate have wives and kids who are their main priority in life. Bravo is their very demanding job, and they are absolutely our brothers and part of this family, but it's not their whole world."
"What are we trying to make you understand," Trent said. "And clearly we are not doing a very good job of explaining this to you, is that, bottom line, you are our kid now. We expect you to use your head and make smart choices. And if you don't do that on your own, like you clearly didn't on Friday, then we will most definitely bring the hammer down."
"Okay," Brock said slowly.
"But you are twenty-one and officially a legal adult doing a very adult job," Trent continued. "Who you choose to be your friends, and how you spend your limited Bravo free time is your business. Just as long as your business doesn't end in the boss, or me or any of your other grown-up brothers being called at 4 A.M. to meet you at the ER. Because, Brock, you scared the shit out of us."
"We care about you and what happens to you," Jason said sincerely. "And you are my responsibility. Not just my rookie, but my kid. And I take that very seriously."
"Yes, sir," Brock said. "And I don't want you to think my friends and I are just some irresponsible screw ups. We don't just get drunk and stupid - I mean we do Playstation, watch football when we can, sometimes we catch Tides games when they're playing at Harbor Park. Tommy and I both played hockey in school and there's pick-up games and a league for military with irregular schedules we play in when we can. And we always hit the Scope Arena to catch the Admirals if we aren't spun up. Saturday nights we usually get pizza at DoughBoys on the Boardwalk. We're big Marvel geeks and we check out the old comics and see all the movies as soon as they're out."
"I didn't know you play hockey," Jason said, surprised. "Mikey loved hockey if you didn't get the message from his room. He and I had season tickets to the Admirals after he came to live with me when his mom died. Unfortunately, I missed a lot of the matches. Sonny or Trent took him for me sometimes if I was stuck on base, and Derrick's a hockey fan, so he stood in for me if Bravo was spun up without Alpha. Not being able to spend more time with my kids when they were still at home is the hardest sacrifice I made for being Bravo One. And Emma was so close to her mom growing up, but I know it was hard for Mikey basically being raised by a single mother. And he still feels resentment that I can never fix."
Brock was silent. He had never really thought about what it would be like to be Jason Hayes's actual kid. Brock and the other young guys saw him as such a hero. Now he could see for the first time what his lifetime commitment to being a SEAL and now a tier-one team leader cost his own kids.
"Well Jase," Brock said sincerely. "I obviously love my own dad, but he was so much older than the other kids' dads when I was growing up. When we were together, people who didn't know us almost always thought him and my mom were my grandparents. He was busy running my parents' diner all day, and worn out at night. He missed a lot of my games, and he didn't really have any interest in watching sports with me. My brother took me to places which I always appreciated, but it's not really the same."
He paused, looking at Trent and not wanting to overstep any boundaries.
"Boss, if you ever want to catch a game with me, that would be great," he said hesitantly. "I mean, I know you have Trent and Sonny, and I'm probably more of a pain in the ass than actual company, but if you're bored and you don't have anything better to do…"
"Kid," Jason smiled at him. "When I said I like having you around, and you are welcome here anytime, I meant it. This past week aside, you are not a pain in the ass, or a bother. And I am more than happy to bust out my old Admirals Jersey anytime you want to see a match with me."
"Really?" Brock smiled.
"Really," Jason said. "And anytime you need a place to crash and recover after a mission, or for any other reason, once you are released from Uncle Trent's Home For Wayward Boys, you have a room and a bed here. And I know Trent's spare room is officially yours as well."
"Sure is," Trent said. "Although, by the end of your lock down, you may want to enjoy your parole before you check back into Casa Trent. But, when you need me, the door is always open - 24/7."
"I know you guys are disappointed in my nonsense right now," Brock said quietly. "But, I really appreciate you taking me in like this, and looking out for me. Caring enough to show up at 4 A.M. and kicking my sorry butt back in line when I still need a dad. I really hope you guys know how much I love you, and how hard I'm going to work to make you proud."
"Yes, son," Trent said. "We can see you are doing the best you can possibly do for us and for Bravo. And we are already proud of you, and we love you too."
"So how about for now," Jason said, pulling the kid in for a side hug and kissing his warm head. "You mind Trent, take those meds, and head back to bed. He and I are going to talk and come up with a plan for the new year. And you don't need to think or fret about it now. You still have your friends, and now you are part of our family as well. And crappy and miserable as you are feeling right now, you are going to be fine. And everything is going to work out okay. I promise."
Brock nodded, visibly relieved. He stood and kissed the top of Jason's head before moving to walk into Trent's open arms where he was held for several seconds, wrapping his arms around his best caregiver's neck and burying his face in the medic's shoulder before finally releasing him and turning to head back to bed.
Trent gave him a gentle push in the right direction, swatting his ass lightly.
"Straight to bed," he ordered. "I'll be in to check your temp and make sure you're good to go after I talk to the boss."
"Am I getting a shot?" Brock looked back at him with his poor me face.
Trent picked up the Magic 8 Ball his soon to be ex-wife left on the counter when she moved on. Shaking it, he looked sadly back at his exhausted kid.
"It is decidedly so," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Ugh," Brock groaned. "Wonderful."
"Well, Captain Jack Sparrow," Jason chuckled. "I guess you might want to reflect back on how the nasty pond in your belly is churning right now the next time chugging Nemo and his fishy friends seems like a good idea."
"Boss," Brock gagged, stumbling toward the bathroom. "You guys are killing me."