It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Things settled down into a regular routine for Brock over the next two months. He and the other 'Horsemen of the Dipshit Apocalypse' as Sonny was referring to them served out their sentences with zero complaining, all involved knowing that they had royally screwed up and were lucky to escape with team-level 'family punishment' rather than any repercussions that could potentially impact their careers in the Navy.
Bravo's rookie and adopted kid spent almost two months under the watchful eye of Mama Trent, bunking in his spare bedroom and bird dogging his much-loved and respected caregiver pretty much everywhere. The kid had become accustomed to feeling like he was back living in a real home with love, consistent boundaries and meals cooked in Trent's old-school kitchen, complete with ice-cube trays and a brown dishwasher, that he ate a small, round table next to the older man he had come to adore and depend on for love and security.
Occasionally, Trent and Brock would join Sonny and Metal at Bravo's favorite diner or The Bulkhead to have dinner after work on base, or their loyal medic and team chaperone would invite Jason to join them for pizza or take-out Mexican at whatever late hour he finally made it off base at night. Trent hosted last minute cookouts for the single guys on his deck with Sonny manning the grill, Jason bringing the beer, and Metal providing entertainment late into the night filled with laughter, poker and brotherhood.
On those late nights, Brock would usually ditch poker and the retelling of old adventures he couldn't really understand in favor of the Playstation in his room, online with Tommy and Kyle. Eventually, he would reemerge to grab a late night snack of leftovers and submit to teasing or scolding by his much older brothers before crashing on Trent's nearby, comfortable couch to watch TV or scroll on his phone until he fell asleep listening to the sound of his new family talking with lowered voices to avoid 'waking the baby'.
The first time he hit the wall and passed out on Trent's couch after a marathon, all night, Saturday grill fest, Brock was surprised to wake up just after noon Sunday in his own bed. At first, he was confused as to how he ended up tucked in bed when the last memory he had was Jason tossing an extra blanket over him on the couch several hours earlier. But after lying quietly in bed, wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he vaguely remembered Trent pulling back the blankets, much to his dismay, and getting him back on his feet and stumbling to his 'own warm bed'.
In the bright light of early afternoon, the kid could remember Trent coming into his room after the other guys had left to check on him, making sure he was covered, gathering up his random empty soda cans, gently patting his back and kissing his head before heading off to his own bed across the hall. Brock remembered his mother, or occasionally his father or one of his older siblings doing the same for him back home before he left to join the Navy, moving to the opposite end of the country in a whole new world with a very different life on his own without family or parental care and guidance.
Since becoming Bravo and being taken in by Jason and his protective older brothers, Brock suddenly and unexpectedly again felt the care and security that being part of a loving family provides. Temporarily moving in with Trent gave him a sense of belonging and safety that the young operator was hesitant to leave and fearful of losing when he moved out on his own, back in base housing.
A few weeks after the 'fucking fish fiasco', as Decker angrily referred to it whenever Sonny or Metal would intentionally get him fired up and ranting, Tim approached Jason with a possible solution to Brock's current homelessness.
"So Boss," Tim said, joining Jason who was having lunch with Derrick in the cafeteria. "I might have an answer to the kid's living situation. Word on the street is that you moved him out of Animal House. I have a suggestion, and I haven't mentioned it to Brock because I wanted to run it by you first to be sure you approve."
"I'm open to any and all ideas at this point," Jason said, shaking his head. "Brock is clearly getting attached and dependent on Trent, and he needs to learn how to be independent again, living with kids his own age after the new year when his lock down is lifted."
"What are your thoughts on Brock moving across base to the 25 apartments?" Tim asked, taking a bite of his chicken sandwich.
"He just turned twenty-one," Derrick said. "He's too young to get a place over there."
"Apparently there is a way to make it happen," Tim said. "Our new support guy has been living over there in a two-bedroom with a kid from Delta support. Not one of the accomplices from the fish fiasco. This guy is twenty-six and a total straight arrow."
"And?" Jason asked, curious as to where this was going.
"And our guy is moving in with his girlfriend off base," Tim explained. "Which leaves the Delta guy, Justin, looking for someone to take the second bedroom. I know him personally, and he's a great guy. And we all know Decker won't have any crap on either Delta or among his support team. He's making life miserable for those two kids who were with Brock when he chugged the fish tank."
"Okay," Jason said, slowly. "But as Derrick said, our kid is only twenty-one."
"According to Justin," Tim explained, "There's some kind of exception to the age requirement. If one of the residents is at least twenty-five, he can apply to have a younger roommate, but there's paperwork, of course. And both you and Blackburn would need to approve the kid moving in there."
"I know this Justin," Derrick said. "Tim's right. He's a good kid. Delta's support medic, and Trent knows him too. As a matter of fact, I think this kid was in a class Trent taught a while back when he first started on support. It was right after Decker chose him for support and you took Jeff if I'm not mistaken."
"You're right, Derrick," Tim said. "I forgot about that. Justin and Jeff were in the class together, I gave them a ride over to the infirmary once for class. They were both going on about Trent and how great he is like two kids who just met Superman."
"It would definitely make me feel better if he was with someone we know and trust not to encourage any reckless crap," Jason said. "And I know Trent isn't going to want to let him go with just anyone. The kid isn't the only one who's gotten attached. Mama Trent is worried about him dealing with the added stress of being tier-one. Brock is great at his job, but as we've all said, we haven't taken on anyone under thirty since Bravo was established."
Jason leaned back in his seat, folding his arms and considering Tim's suggestion. "The fish bullshit was the first rough patch here at home," Bravo One said. "But I've been a father long enough to know that right now our boy is in the punishment phase - Brock's all tail between his legs, on his best behavior, I'll never do anything irresponsible ever again. Easy going as our rookie may be, I doubt I've had my last late night call."
Derrick chuckled. "Yeah, Jase," he said. "The kid is clearly towing the line and minding his p's and q's now. But, I agree that your little Boy Scout has at least one or two good adventures in him before you have him fully tamed and trustworthy on his own with the other young wild things."
"You think Justin would even want a kid as young as Brock moving in his place?" Jason asked, looking over at Tim. "Five years isn't anything once you hit your thirties. But I think we all know that there is a shitload of growing up, learning and maturing that happens between barely twenty-one and twenty-six. I don't want Justin to feel like we're dumping our kid and expecting him to babysit after work hours when he's off duty."
"I mentioned the idea to him when a bunch of the support guys were hanging out a few days ago, having beers after work," Tim said. "He was saying he needed to either get a roommate or move off base. But he told me that he prefers staying on base for now. He and his girl recently broke it off, and Justin feels like it's easier with all the spin ups to just live on base since he doesn't really have any responsibilities outside of work right now."
"You don't think he'll want to move off base eventually?" Derrick asked. "Most of the guys who are in it for the long hall are looking for something more long term and away from all the restrictions and watchful eyes once they hit their late twenties."
"I suspect in the next couple years he'll end up in an off base apartment, but for now I think it's mostly a convenience thing," Tim shrugged. "I told him Brock was just twenty-one, and you have him on a short leash. He wasn't bothered. Like all the young guys, he has a huge amount of respect for you and all the senior guys. I got the impression he would consider it an honor if you trusted him enough to have Brock move in."
"And my guess is that like all the support medics and regular SEAL level guys, this kid is in awe of Trent and his reputation as the best of the best," Derrick said. "We all know there are no secrets around here. I'm sure Justin and Jeff, and every other nose for news on base, see that your new baby is Trent's shadow. I suspect he will look out for Brock and shut down any shenanigans once he and the other two amigos are off lock down."
"Okay," Jason sighed. "This could solve the problem of rookie living arrangements. Let me run it by Trent since he knows this guy. I'll have him talk to Justin and make sure he's agreeable before we spring it on Brock. He's getting very comfortable with Trent as his foster mom. And we all know that Trent would let the kid move in for good. But Trent knows as well as anyone that once the kid is sorted out from his first official tier one mission and follow-up, self-created shit show that he needs to cut the cord so that Brock can gain the confidence to start taking care of himself away from the comfort level he gained in the kiddie dorm with his two sidekicks."
"Copy that, Boss," Tim said. "We all like Brock and know he's a great kid with excellent potential. He adjusted to living away from home and being a frogman at just nineteen. He can do this. And we all know that he's got a whole team and an even bigger tier-one extended family looking out for him."
"I truly appreciate this, Tim," Jason said sincerely. "And everything you and your guys do for Bravo. You didn't need to go out of your way for Brock or for me, but you did it anyway. And I won't forget it."
"That's what we do, right Boss?" Tim smiled, clearly pleased that Bravo One was acknowledging his support and dedication to Bravo. "It's a brotherhood, a family away from home. And right now, Brock is the new baby and everyone's little brother."
"Absolutely," Derrick agreed, standing and patting the kid on his back. "And right now, I need to get back to Alpha's cages to see what Metal has planned for us this afternoon. I'll probably see you back at the apartment Jase. Catherine took a few days off work to go visit her sister in D.C. Text and let me know if you want to grab dinner and beers at The Bulkhead later."
"How about you meet me there at seven?" Jason said. "I'm gonna run this possible housing solution past Trent and Ray later today when Brock is off training with the dog. Can you remind Cody to stop by and grab the kid on his way there?"
"Sure thing," Derrick nodded at his long-time brother and friend. "And I'll see you at seven. Don't be surprised if Metal and Sonny decide to tag along."
"Oh," Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "I have no doubt that we will need a table for four. At least."
As expected, Trent was both onboard and relieved at the idea of his kid bunking with Delta's support medic. Derrick was correct that Trent knew and liked Justin. And the feeling was mutual. Brock tried to hide his anxiety in front of the grown-ups, but his big brothers could clearly see he wasn't looking forward to getting pushed out of Mama Trent's nest and being forced to fly solo. However, as Tim predicted, it all worked out and Brock quickly settled in the base apartments full of older Navy guys who saw him as Justin's kid brother.
Brock hit it off with Justin right away. He reminded the kid a lot of his older brother back home in California. Like his own brother, Justin was responsible and a born leader. He looked out for Brock, let him tag along with him and his friends if he didn't have other plans with Tommy and Kyle and he wasn't busy with Bravo. And without being preachy, Justin regularly reminded his new younger brother of the expectations for him now that he was tier one.
"Don't forget, kiddo," Justin had said lightly when he left Brock in the apartment waiting for the other two musketeers to pick him up for bar hopping on the North Beach. "Just because you can't see the old guys does not mean they aren't watching. Hayes and Company know everyone. So as your older and wiser brother, I'm going to remind you to use the big brain God gave you tonight. And I'm referring to the 'upstairs brain' as your step-mama Trent would say if he were here."
"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Brock rolled his eyes at his newest brother slash warden. "I don't know why you feel the need to give me this little lecture every time I go out with my friends."
Justin shook his head, looking out the window for his former housemate who was picking him up for a double date with his fiance and a girl she knew from work.
"I can't imagine why I would feel the need to remind you to let caution be your co-pilot, Fortnight Fishstick," Justin snorted at the younger kid over his shoulder. "My ride has arrived. I'm going to end this Ted Talk by letting you know that I know Daddy Hayes is having zero bullshit from his new baby. And that Mama Trent is rumored to keep a wooden spoon handy on a hook in his kitchen that according to Delta One, his longtime brother will not hesitate to heat up across the sorry little asses of brats who think they can run wild."
"Decker told you that?" Brock grouched. "Jason says what happens on Bravo stays on Bravo."
Justin laughed, shrugging at his suddenly not so tough little brother.
"I'm just reminding you of what everyone already knows," the older kid teased on his way out the door. "Do not let yourself get talked into anything you absolutely know is unacceptable in the eyes of Hayes and his posse. Or you are likely to find yourself one very sorry little rookie. And if anything goes sideways - call. Immediately."
"I know, I know," Brock sighed at his brother behind his back as he was leaving.
Brock took his new brother and roommate's advice to heart and didn't let himself get dragged or bullied into anything that he knew would put him in hot water with Jason or the other guys. Knowing that the boss was adamant about him not getting involved with people who would be up to no good, Brock put a lot of energy into showing Jason that Tommy and Kyle were loyal friends and not troublemakers despite their collective bad decision making the night of the Old Dominion break in and seafood buffet.
Like he and Alana both when Emma and Mikey were growing up, Jason made it his business to better get to know Brock's friends. He put his Bravo brothers on detective duty, having them ask around about the young kids from Team Eight that Brock chose to be with in his free time away from the team. Both Tommy and Kyle were more than eager to rub shoulders with the tier one operators, especially the old Bravo guys who were revered by the other boys their age.
Trent encouraged Brock to bring them around to his place where they quickly became comfortable following Bravo Six and their own perpetually hungry bellies to unlimited Sunday breakfast around Uncle Trent's well-worn and always welcoming kitchen table. Sonny grouched and scolded them along with their own kid at the end of the day on Friday afternoons when they would meet up with Brock in the lounge near the cages to walk together across base to hang out either at their friend's fancy new digs or their own room back in the dorms that they shared since Bravo One had sent Tim and another support guy to unceremoniously pack up and remove their grounded brother's belongings after the now infamous fish fiasco.
Jason treated all three boys to a much appreciated night out at Scope Arena to watch The Admirals beat the Adirondack Thunder, followed by dinner at The Bulkhead. Unbeknownst to the young SEALS, Bravo One purposely chose the venue to let the senior tier-one crowd see him with not only Brock, who they all knew as his rookie, but also chaperoning who were clearly his kid's friends. SEALS were well trained to notice and analyze everything around them. Jason knew that bringing along Brock's friends to their established downtime location, and treating them like the kids they were, would signal to his senior level brothers that these very young brothers were part of Bravo's universe now.
The day after their introduction to The Bulkhead, Jason had lunch off base with Sanchez to get his take on Brock's loyal wingmen.
"Well," Sanchez grinned, leaning back in his seat after they had ordered. "My boys won't need to celebrate any holidays this coming year. It's pretty clear to me, and anyone else who will listen to them, that young Moreno and Curtis have been treated to the equivalent of Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving and The Fourth of July all rolled up together in one giant baby SEAL fantasy package."
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I never would try to sell being barked at by The Mighty Quinn or fed vegetables at Uncle Trent's Orphanage as every boy's fantasy, but hey, I'm just an old, worn out Bills fan who thought stealing my dad's Chevy and his liquor before driving to The Bronx to stand all night in line for tickets to Pink Floyd's final tour was a good time."
"Fuck Brother," Sanchez whistled. "You saw Pink Floyd on the Division Bell Tour?"
"Damn straight," Jason nodded. "Me and my best buddies from Buffalo. A week after I graduated high school and enlisted. June 94 at Yankee Stadium. Almost thirty years ago, and I can still smell the lighter fluid and smoke from the crowd when they did Comfortably Numb. Insane."
"I can definitely see how green beans with Uncle Trent would top that," Sanchez laughed.
"My dad beat my ass when I finally brought back his car," Jason chuckled. "And I had to work the rest of the summer before I left for boot camp to pay for damage to the side door of the Chevy from the parking lot, but it was absolutely worth it."
"So I assume this invitation was for me to offer thoughts on my boys," Sanchez said, diving into his lunch.
"I've spent some time with Tommy and Kyle. My medic likes them which is almost always a good sign," Jason said. "They seem like good kids in general. And they have a tight bond with Brock that I have no intention of challenging."
"They are good kids," Sanchez confirmed. "All three of them. They're my last boys, so I suspect I'll always have a special place in my heart for this particular team."
"I can understand that," Jason said. "How much longer do you have?"
"Just a few more weeks brother," Sanchez said, with obvious mixed emotions. "Twenty-five years of my life dedicated to this world and my boys. I've waited so long for this day. Even more so since my own kids have moved into junior high and high school. I missed so much of their childhoods: left the brunt of raising them to my wife. I don't want them to grow up and start their own lives without ever having spent real time knowing my own children."
"I respect that more than you know," Jason said sincerely. "I sacrificed my marriage and the joy of watching my babies' grow up for this life. There's no take backs or re-dos. And not a day goes by that I don't question my decisions. And I can only imagine how hard it is to walk away from your brothers, the Navy, the high intensity rush and honor that comes with being a SEAL. It takes a different kind of courage. My 2IC Perry has been able to walk the fine line between SEAL and family man. He's never not been there for his brothers, but Ray's always made it clear that his life is his wife and kids. I truly admire guys like you who have that strength and dedication to your family."
Sanchez was visibly surprised, looking down at his lunch. "I appreciate that coming from you," he said. Team Eight's commander was truly moved by his brother's heartfelt words. He didn't know Hayes personally, but Bravo One was well known by reputation among the East Coast teams and all the Navy guys stationed in the Norfolk area. Sanchez had always thought of Hayes as a hardass and legend in his own time. He was not expecting him to be so open and honest.
Later that night after his kids were asleep, Sanchez was sitting on the front porch with his arm wrapped around his wife of twenty years.
"I guess we're all getting old and sentimental. Soy un viejo sentimental ahora," Sanchez smiled. They looked up at the stars in the cool night air, enjoying the peaceful calm and quiet. The former high school sweethearts from Brooklyn knew their kids were sleeping safe in bed, and they were so close to completing this long journey together.
Jason's honest talk with Sanchez confirmed what he already felt in his gut. All three of the likely lifetime friends and brothers were good kids at heart. Unfortunately for his young rookie, Brock was soon to learn a very hard life lesson in cause and effect. And he and his best buddies would be dealing with the very real, adult consequences of their immature and impulsive actions.
After Commander Sanchez retired, Team Eight was led by a guy named Duke who transferred to Virginia from a team in California. With the exception of Sanchez and his 2IC who was himself planning to leave the team to teach on base within the next year, Brock's former team was made up of young guys in their twenties, none of whom were ready to become a SEAL team leader.
Duke was in his mid-thirties with a wife who worked at a local college, but no children. He had spent time on the East Coast teams and was eager to return to the area when he was offered a chance to lead his own team. He took over a week after Sanchez officially retired. The young guys on the team had become official SEALS under Sanchez. They saw him as not just a team leader, but also as a trusted adult and authority figure both in the field and at home.
Tommy and Kyle, along with the other three young guys on the team struggled to adjust to their new boss. Sanchez had been a team leader in one form or another for many years. He was in his mid-forties with nothing to prove to the young kids on his team, and he was willing to fill an advice giving father-figure away from home roll in their lives.
Duke was all business with plenty to prove. Feeling the pressure to make Team Eight his own well-oiled machine, he was a 180 degree turn away from their much loved former team leader who they referred to as 'Big Papi' when they were home and working on base. Brock had been a big fan of Sanchez himself, but Bravo was his family now, so the loss of his former boss didn't hit him the same way it did his friends.
In the field and on base, the younger Team Eight guys consistently performed at the expected high level. But when they were together off duty, Brock witnessed bitching and skepticism about his former teammates' new leader that he had never experienced when Sanchez was the boss. He talked to Trent about it one Wednesday after work when the kid showed up unannounced to have dinner and spend the night in the familiar safety of the medic's spare room.
Bravo had just returned from a stressful, high intensity five day mission in Mexico, and Brock found himself alone in the apartment. Delta and their support team were spun up for at least the next several days, and when he went looking for his friends, Brock discovered that Team Eight was away as well. He wasn't in the mood to be surrounded by people, so the kid caught a ride with another guy he knew from his old dorm who dropped him at The Bulkhead on his way to meet a girl who worked as a bartender at another place down the street from Bravo's official bar.
Brock wasn't looking to hang with the senior crowd, but he had heard Sonny say that he and Metal would be there after work. Bravo's kid knew that despite his big brother's barking and growling about 'annoying, spoiled brats who think the actual grown adults exist to serve and coddle them', he could count on Sonny to deliver him safely to Trent's place across town. His trusted brother did not disappoint, depositing the dog handler directly in the kitchen of Bravo Four who ordered the haggard looking boy to shower and get ready for bed while he made them some dinner and talked to Sonny about business that was not his concern.
"You better mind your baby," Sonny complained in a completely transparent attempt to hide his own concern after Brock had left the room. "He came wandering into the bar tonight, alone like a stray puppy looking for a nice old lady to take him in off the porch. And in case you didn't notice, he looks like three day old shit. I've got better things to do than chauffeur entitled children around town. The brat put me off my dinner and blew up my plans to spend some quality time with my girl Monique when she gets off work later after her last show."
Trent shook his head at his longtime brother, handing him a beer. "If you didn't want to drive him out here, you know damn well you could have called and I'd have come to get him. And you have plenty of time to pick up Metal at the bar and get to Foxy's and your girls before Monique puts her clothes back on."
"I don't even like fucking kids," Sonny went on ranting. "I'm not a nursemaid or a babysitter."
Trent ignored him, boiling a pot of water and tossing in a box of spaghetti.
"Do you want to eat with us?" Trent asked.
"No," Sonny said, finishing his beer and standing to put the empty bottle in the sink. "I finished my steak before I drove the kid out here. He made me feel worn out just looking at him. I'm going to head back home and call it a night. Monique will have to take a rain check."
"Thanks for driving him out, Son," Trent said, pouring a jar of heated up sauce over the pasta and digging out a bottle of water for his exhausted kid intending to get his belly full before sending him off to bed.
"Yeah well," Sonny sighed. "The boss said he was a group project when Ray brought him home. You think he's getting sick? He fell asleep leaning against me in the truck, and even Metal said I better drive him directly out here so you could get him sorted."
"He'll be okay," Trent assured his nervous brother. "Hopefully some food in his belly and a good night's sleep and we can avoid the infirmary. This last mission wore us all out, and the kid is still adjusting. He's trying to act like he's grown up now and he can handle his own shit, but Sanchez retiring hit him harder than he expected. And if I know my kid, I'm going to be hearing more on that topic over the next few days."
"I have no doubt that you most definitely know your kid." Sonny chuckled, patting his brother on the back and putting on his jacket. "I'm guessing you're keeping him here with you through the weekend? I don't expect Delta will be back before next week. And he is clearly begging for some love from Mama Trent. The first words out of his mouth when he stumbled into The Bulkhead were 'Sonny, can you bring me out to Trent?'"
"I got him now," Trent said, turning to get a look at his freshly showered boy who had plopped himself down in a chair at the table. "How you doing there, kiddo? You're looking a little frazzled around the edges, but I'm going to get you fed and then we can relax and chill out before we hit the sack. Sounds like a plan?"
"Yes, sir," Brock yawned. "Thanks for driving me, Sonny. I was gonna call an Uber but then, I don't know, I couldn't get the app to work. Tommy usually gets the ride."
Sonny made eye contact with Trent over the kid's head clearly concerned at his level of exhaustion and rambling.
"That's why you have family, short stack," Sonny scolded with no heat, resting his big hand on the kid's wet head and gently tipping his head back to get a better look at him. "You call me or this one here anytime you need a ride or anything else. We don't want you wandering around like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods. You're ours now and we don't want anyone yapping that Bravo can't take care of our baby. You hearin' me, honey?"
"Yes, sir," Brock leaned into his warm hand which just melted Sonny's big old heart. "I love you guys."
"You should love us," Sonny teased lightly, bending down to give the kid a quick kiss on his head. "You mind Trent and don't give him a hard time unless you want him to call me back here to warm your naughty tail."
"Yes, Sonny," Brock mumbled, resting his head on his folded arms and closing his eyes. "Have fun with Monique."
Sonny shook his head, walking toward the door. "I'll see you both tomorrow bright and early."
Once they had finished their dinner, Trent shooed his kid into the living room to find something to watch on TV while he cleaned up the kitchen. As predicted, they had only gotten through twenty minutes of NCIS New Orleans when during the commercials a worn out and emotional Brock started talking about Sanchez being gone and the new guy running Team Eight.
"Tommy and Kyle don't like the new guy," Brock said out of nowhere, looking over at Trent who was relaxing in his recliner, from his own position curled on his side and wrapped in a blanket on the medic's old couch.
The older man looked back without immediately responding, knowing if he was quiet his boy would tell him everything.
"All the guys think he's an ass," Brock continued quietly. "He's nothing like Commander Sanchez. I can't believe he's really gone. Everyone misses him. And Tommy says the Team isn't like it was before."
When Trent remained quiet, Brock sat up and leaned back into the couch with his bare feet up on his most dependable caregiver's coffee table. The kid had dark circles under his big, brown eyes and he was shivering and wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.
"My stomach is hurting, Trent," the kid said softly, nervously fidgeting with the ends of the blanket Trent's mother had sent him years earlier at Christmas. "Do you have any of those round things you give me sometimes? The ones that are pinkish and chalky."
Trent pushed the foot rest of the recliner down, sitting forward and looking over at his exhausted kid who was looking to be somewhere between crying and passing out on his couch. He stood and moved to take a seat next to their young rookie who appeared to be de-aging right there in front of him. He leaned back, mirroring the boy's position and putting his own feet up on the table before lifting his arm so that his boy who had clearly hit the wall could turn into Trent's warmth and rest his head against his protector's strong side.
Reaching around, Trent pushed back his kid's messy hair to rest his hand on Brock's forehead, offering comfort while checking for fever. As expected, the kid sank deeper, relaxing against his side. Wiping at his eyes and silently ordering himself not to start crying like a girl, Brock was clearly trying to pull himself together and not lose it in his most loved big brother's lap.
"Everything is gonna be okay, sweetheart," Trent whispered, gentle and calm. He rested his chin on the top of the kid's head. "It's been a long, hard, crazy few weeks. You, kiddo, are over-tired and in need of at least twelve solid hours sacked out in your old Uncle Trent's warm, quiet spare room. I promise that you won't feel so anxious and upset once you get some good sleep. You're always safe here, and I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you."
"I love you," Brock mumbled, burrowing further into Trent's side. "Jason and Sonny too. I don't know what I would do without you guys. You're my family now. I don't think I could do this without you."
"Well, tough guy," Trent said, holding the shivering boy tight in his arms. "As much as you love us, we love you back even more. And you are not doing anything without us. So how about you let me in on what this is all about and we can get you sorted and feeling a lot better than you do right now. How's that sound, honey?"
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Trent," Brock sniffled, wiping at his eyes again. "My heart is going fast, and my stomach is hurting. I'm tired, but when I try to lay down, I can't stop thinking about a hundred things at once. And I can't sleep twelve hours in my room here, because we have to be back on base at six tomorrow for practice drills."
"Okay, baby," Trent said calmly. "How about we take it down several notches. You and I don't have anything to do or worry about tonight. So we are going to sit here together and practice some of our expert sniper breathing."
Trent knew his kid, and he knew exactly what this little meltdown he was working up was all about, but he wanted to get Brock settled down so that he could talk to him calmly and get him down for the night. Once his breathing was calm and steady, the medic, experienced in handling all kinds of breakdowns and panic attacks, decided to go with some gentle, non-threatening question and answer.
"Okay, buddy," Trent said. "Now that we are both a little more relaxed, how about we get you warmed up so you can stretch out on my worn out old couch. Not sure if you've noticed, but you are curled up tight as a spring, and you're shivering like a sad puppy who got locked out in the rain."
"I'm cold, Trent," Brock said, looking up from where he was still clinging to his side like the older man might make a run for the door, leaving him behind to fend for himself."
"I can see that," Trent said. "It's definitely not cold in here, and you don't seem to be running a fever, so I'm thinking you are just worn out. I think maybe one of my old sweatshirts and a pair of socks on your bare feet might do the trick to help warm you right up. And just to be sure, I'm going to turn the heat up a notch or two. How does that sound?"
"Thanks Trent," the kid said softly, watching his big brother stand and fiddle with the thermostat before walking toward his bedroom and returning with the promised hoodie and pair of socks.
Once he had added the extra clothing, Brock sighed contentedly. "I feel warmer already. My toes were freezing before, but they feel better now. Can I try the round pink things for my stomach Trent?"
"Do you feel nauseous?" Trent asked, leaning in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with his arms folded.
"No," Brock said looking up at him. "I don't think I'm going to puke, but my stomach is really aching."
"When did your belly start bothering you?" Trent questioned. "Have you used the bathroom at all today?"
"It's been hurting on and off since we got back home," Brock admitted hesitantly. "But I wasn't trying to hide it from you. It's not all the time. I thought it was getting better on its own, but tonight when I got back to the apartment it started up again."
"Do you feel like you need to use the bathroom?" Trent asked again. "Have you pooped today?"
Brock shook his head. "Not today," he said. "I felt like maybe I needed to go earlier, but it was a false alarm."
"How long?" Trent asked, shaking his head. "And do not even think about lying to me."
"I haven't gone since before we got home," Brock admitted anxiously, expecting a scolding that didn't come.
"Okay, kiddo," Trent said lightly. "Sounds like that's the problem. So here's what we're going to do. First of all, you are going to relax and fill me in on what's been bothering you. Obviously it's important enough to cause you to get yourself stopped up and looking for boring ol' Uncle Trent to sort you out."
"Sorry for busting in on you," the kid said softly, looking down at his lap. "Did I mess up your plans?"
Trent chuckled. "Do I look like I was planning a big night out?" he asked.
Stepping into the kitchen, Bravo's medic returned to join his exhausted baby brother on the couch with the requested 'pink, chalky circles', a bottle of warmed apple juice and two packets of Miralax which Mama Trent mixed into the warm juice before handing it to his boy indicating that he should start drinking.
"And for once, Sonny was right," Trent continued. "Family is here to take care of you. Anytime, day or night, if you need help or you just don't feel like you want to be alone, you do just what you did tonight. You track down me or Sonny or the boss, and I promise we will fix everything. Capice?"
"Yes, sir," Brock said quietly. Handing the empty juice bottle to his most trusted caregiver, the kid was feeling better already. Just knowing that he was no longer going to be alone in his apartment for the next several days and that Trent as usual had everything under control was helping him to calm down and begin to relax.
"I'm going to guess that your sudden anxiety is related to the retirement of your old boss," Trent said. "Am I right as usual?"
"Do you know how old Sanchez is?" Brock asked, looking up at Trent who was back in his recliner.
"Not exactly, Shorty," Trent said mildly, letting his kid get to the point on his own. "I don't know him personally, but Jason said that he had twenty-five years in the Navy. I'd guess he's probably in his mid-forties."
"So, he's around the same age as you?" Brock said, fiddling with the blanket again. "And the other senior guys? Jason and Sonny too?"
"Yep," Trent said, smiling and leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees and look over at his boy. "All us grumpy old men are climbing the sad ladder toward fifty."
"I don't know if I want to be Bravo without you," Brock came right out and said it, too exhausted to beat around the bush.
"You think we should start filling out retirement papers?" Trent teased him lightly.
Brock looked back at him with tired, watery eyes. "It's not funny, Trent," he said, visibly trying not to lose it like the baby they already thought he was. "I'm being serious."
"I know you are, sweetheart," Trent chuckled softly, moving to rejoin his anxious boy on the couch. "If you are worrying about us calling it quits within the next few years, you can relax, son."
Brock immediately leaned back into his big brother's side, seeking warmth and reassurance that he had quickly come to depend on from his adopted mama bear.
"Sanchez is in a completely different life situation than us," Trent explained patiently. "He's married with young kids still at home. He told Jason that he always planned to go at twenty-five years so he could get a good pension and still have real time to spend with his kids before they go off to college."
"You don't want to do other things?" Brock asked quietly.
"That's not my life, honey. And it's not like that for Sonny or the boss either. Jason's kids are already out of high school and livin' their best lives with friends and school and exciting possibilities," he explained, using his thumb to gently stroke his boy's cheek knowing that would settle and put him out. "And me and that old Texas version of Oscar the Grouch are just a couple of hopeless bachelors taking in sad, naughty brats who need someone to mind and take care of them."
"But you can't be Bravo forever, Trent," Brock whispered, fading fast.
"No, honey. We can't," Trent agreed. "But that doesn't mean that we are ditching you, or taking off and leaving you on your own. We are likely to stick around as instructor's of some kind. And Brock, you are my kid now. My little old rundown house, which I have no plans to leave anytime soon, is your home too. Now, and for as long as old Uncle Trent is drawing breath. And I guarantee that both Jason and Sonny feel the same."
"I signed for six years when I made SEAL," Brock said. "I have four more years, and then I need to decide to either stay Bravo or do something else."
"So we don't need to plan your entire future tonight?" Trent said, feigning shock.
"I guess not," Brock said, smiling softly and sliding down to rest his head in Trent's lap, closing his eyes. "Do you think you guys will stay four more years with me?"
"I'm pretty confident that you will have me and my two lifetime companions, at least the next four years, keeping you in line and kicking the ass of any fool who thinks he is going to look sideways at our baby," Trent assured him.
"Love you," Brock whispered, tightening his grip on the older man and drifting off to sleep with NCIS still playing softly in the background.
"Love you too, baby," Trent said, leaning back against the couch to watch the next episode and softly stroking his sweet kid's hair while he slept peacefully in his lap.
The following weekend, Delta returned, along with Team Eight. Just in time for the proverbial shit to hit the fan.
It was 2:30 a.m. when Jason answered his buzzing phone, reaching over to pick it up off the bedside table without checking to see who was calling. He'd only returned home an hour earlier from a marathon briefing with Bravo's CIA analyst, along with Blackburn and Metal. The meeting had gone past midnight. Bravo One was not anticipating a spin up based on the information he'd received at the meeting, but he thought it might be Metal calling to get his private, brother to brother, thoughts on what they'd been told about upcoming plans for both Bravo and Alpha.
"Hayes," he answered, putting the phone to his ear and not making a move to sit up or move from his bed. Once again, as had been happening more often, Jason thought to himself that he was getting too old for this shit.
"Master Chief Hayes?" a voice much younger than his own said hesitantly, as if the caller was rethinking his decision to wake Bravo One in the middle of the night now that he actually had him on the other side of the call.
"Who is this?" Jason asked sternly, sitting up and feeling his stomach drop when he read Virginia Beach Police Department on the caller ID. "This is Master Chief Hayes."
"I'm sorry to bother you so late sir," the voice at the other end of the line continued. "I'm calling from the police department. Station 3, down by the Boardwalk. We've got a bunch of Navy guys in holding cells. I did several years of military police stationed on base here before I left the Navy and joined the civilian department. I don't know any of these kids, but I recognized one boy as being yours. My wife and I are regulars for dinner at The Bulkhead on Friday nights. We meet up with some of my old Navy friends. I've seen this kid with you and your guys. He's really young - maybe twenty. Brown hair. Looks like he's going to have a stroke because he knows he's in deep shit."
"Brock," Jason said, dressing quickly. "Yes. He's mine. Is he okay?"
"He's fine other than being clearly scared shitless," the cop reported. "Look, sir. I have a ton of respect for you. We all do. And I can see you keep this kid close. I haven't had this job for long, and I could get in serious trouble for this, so I can't go into detail right now, but I pulled him and the two kids he was with aside and put them in a back office before they were officially processed. I told the kid he needed to give me your number and he did."
"I'm on my way," Jason said, grabbing his keys and heading out to his truck. It's going to take me probably 20 minutes to get there. Bravo Three is only about five minutes from you, I'm going to call and have him haul ass there now. Sonny his name is. I have no doubt you will recognize him as well. I really appreciate this. I know your ass is on the line. Tell Brock and the other two Stooges that Bravo One says to sit down, shut the fuck up and do whatever you say until I get there."
"Yes, sir," the cop said. "It's the graveyard shift, and it's a madhouse. There was a huge brawl. It's a shit show, so I can keep your boys tucked away in the back without anyone noticing until Bravo Three arrives to collect them."
"What's your name, son?" Jason asked, speeding down the empty street.
"Carlson," the cop answered. "Mark Carlson."
"I won't forget this, Carlson," Jason said, sincerely. "The kid is very important to me. And Bravo owes you. We don't take that lightly."
"Yes, sir," Carlson responded. "Tell Bravo Three to come to the back door by the patrol cars in the lot. Don't come through the front."
"Copy that," Jason said. "We'll be there soon."
Shaking his head and fuming to himself that this kid was going to be in a world of hurt when he got his hands on him, Jason called Sonny on speaker as he sped down the mostly empty streets.
"We spun up?" Sonny mumbled into his phone.
"No," Jason said in a voice that made Bravo Three sit up immediately and begin to dress. "I don't have all the details, so I need you to just do as I say and we'll sort it all out later."
"Copy that, Boss," Sonny said, all business.
"Brock is at the police station down by the boardwalk," Jason said, in a tone Sonny knew as pissed off but in control. "A young cop, former Navy, who recognized him as being ours from The Bulkhead pulled him out from what sounds like a big group of Navy guys involved in some kind of brawl. This cop, Carlson is his name, has him and his two dipshit friends in a back office. They haven't been processed, and the kid says it's short staffed and chaotic so he can keep him tucked away for a little while before someone notices."
"I'll be there in five, Boss," Sonny said, knowing exactly what his brother needed from him without detailed instructions.
"I'm about fifteen minutes out," Jason said. "Take him back to your place. I'm going to talk to this Carlson and sort out this fucking mess. This kid is doing us a huge favor and putting his job on the line, Sonny."
"I got you, Jason," Sonny said. "No Asshole Quinn with the nice police officer. I'm pulling in now. Where are they?"
"Go to the back door by the parked patrol cars," Jason said. "Take all three of them out the back. Assuming the two who aren't my problem are not in need of medical care, drop them back at their dorm and tell them their new boss is most definitely going to hear about this because we are adults in the fucking U.S. Navy and we are absolutely not lying to a fellow SEAL and team leader under any circumstances. If they are beat to shit, call Trent. I'll be there ASAP."
"Copy that," Sonny said, heading toward the back door where he could see Carlson, who he immediately recognized from the bar. "I see the cop."
"Tell Carlson I'm on my way to talk to him," Jason said. "And Sonny, when you get that little fucker home, call Trent if he needs him, and then stick his ass in a chair. Tell him to keep his mouth shut and silently make his peace with Jesus. Because when I get there, his out of control little ass is mine, and he's going to find out what truly sorry feels like."
"Believe me, Boss," Sonny chuckled. "He may be soaking in his own piss, but that boy will most definitely know, when you arrive, his goose is fucking cooked."
When he delivered Tommy and Kyle back to their dorm, they were a mess and sporting what would probably be some fairly impressive bruises in the morning, but they didn't seem to be in need of a doctor. Sonny had scared the living shit out of all three boys who were silent, not making eye contact, and looking like they had just received a death sentence.
Just to be safe, in case they were afraid to open their mouths and tell him they had some kind of injury he couldn't see in the dark car, Sonny decided to call Trent for a consult. Jason was already as pissed as Sonny had seen his mellowing with age brother in a long time, and the last thing he wanted was Trent in a snit because he didn't call and one of the kids ended up in the infirmary or worse.
"This better be good, Sonny," Trent mumbled when he saw his brother's name on the phone.
"Well, brother," Sonny sighed, shaking his head and lifting Brock's chin to get a better look at the kid currently sitting in the 'soon to be sorry chair' as Sonny was calling it.
"It sure as shit isn't good for your little angel turned demon and his two idiot sidekicks," he continued. "And once again, good ol' Go-To Sonny is dealing with your spoiled brat when I should be getting some fucking sleep. So I decided that it's only right you should be up at zero dark thirty as well."
"What's happening, Sonny?" Trent said, fully awake and moving to get dressed. "And skip the side comments and get right to the point."
"The boss called for me to go pick up our mutual pain in the ass and his partners in stupidity at the police station," Sonny said. "I scared the three of them mute, so I don't know what exactly went down tonight, but according to Jason, who I expect to barrel through my door shortly, they got mixed up in some huge brawl down on the beach. A cop recognized Brock as our kid and called Jason to come scoop him up before he was officially arrested, processed, charged and in deep shit even the boss and Blackburn together can't fix."
"Are they hurt?" Trent asked, grabbing his bag and heading for his truck.
"Brock is looking like he might puke, contemplating this evening's horrendous decisions and the impending arrival of the boss in full blown pissed off daddy, called to the police station to pick up his unruly kid, mode," Sonny reported. "But other than some bruising and torn clothes, I can't see any major damage. The other two I dropped back at their dorm. They seemed to be okay as well, but I figured dumbass kids in panic mode are more your specialty, so I'm deferring to you on what they do or don't need relating to medical care."
"Brock's with you now?" Trent confirmed.
"His little ass is parked in Uncle Sonny's chair for naughty boys soon to be sorry," Sonny chuckled, shaking his head at the miserable kid in front of him. "Jason told me to dump Beavis and Butthead back in the dorm where their own boss can deal with them. Brock is at my place waiting for his own very unpleasant comeuppance to arrive. Jase said to call you if they needed medical care."
"If you don't think Brock needs me right away," Trent said, turning at the next light to head towards base. "I'm going to head over to the dorm and check out the other boys to confirm they don't need the infirmary. I'll drive over to your place to examine Brock when I have the other two sorted out."
"Copy that," Sonny said.
"And Sonny," Trent said seriously. "We both know Jason is going to be livid when he arrives. And I have no doubt that whatever led our boy to the police station was outrageously reckless and irresponsible. But remind the boss that he's the adult in this shit show. Kids do stupid ass things regularly. None more than the three of us when we were Brock's age. We both know the kid is going to get it good, which he absolutely deserves. But don't let Jason go overboard and do something he's going to be regretting and fretting over for the next month."
"I hear you, brother," Sonny confirmed. "Just check out the other two accomplices, and then haul ass over here to my place. I'm pretty confident by the time you arrive, our boy will have lost his ability to sit, and he'll be in a full pout, feeling very sorry for himself and needing some grouchy love from Mama Trent."
"You can tell Cool Hand Luke that his adopted daddy is no doubt going to be delivering one of those painful consequences we promised would be coming his way for reckless behavior after the Fucking Fish Fiasco," Trent said ominously.
"And you can let him know in the words of Trent's very own pissed off daddy, 'Boy, if you're going to be dumb, you'd better be tough.'".
"I'll pass that sage Southern Daddy wisdom on to our very sad little California Boy," Sonny laughed. "See you soon, brother."
Knowing his brother well, Trent was not shocked to find Jason in the dorm room of their former rookie which was currently occupied by a very nervous Tommy and Kyle. He had hoped Jason might take some time to calm down before showing up at Sonny's place.
In full 'master chief meets mad dad mode', Bravo One ripped the boys a new one while Trent examined them both, handed out some Tylenol, and ordered them to shower and get their butts straight to bed. He repeated what Sonny had barked at top volume in the car as they secretly fled the police station. Their new boss would be getting a full report from Jason first thing in the morning.
Before leaving them to stew in their collective juices and wait for their young team leader's response, Trent strongly suggested that the only words out of their mouths should be, "It was our own bad decision. We know we were wrong. We regret what we did and accept our punishment. It will never happen again."
"Yes, sir," both boys answered respectfully when Bravo's senior guys left for Bravo Three's apartment. Both Tommy and Kyle solemnly agreed that they were very relieved not to be in Brock's shoes right then.
Jason had made the decision to stop and check on the other boys before dealing with Brock because, as a father of two kids who made plenty of their own bad choices, Bravo One knew that he needed to calm down before dealing with his current kid. By the time he had followed Trent over to Sonny's place, Jason had relaxed considerably. He had gotten the details from both the cop Carlson and Brock's friends, who immediately dropped every detail of the night's adventure that led them to a back office of the police department, the second Jason entered their room and ordered them to 'sit down and start talking'.
Jason updated Trent and Sonny, who had come out to meet them in his parking lot, leaving Brock to sweat alone in the naughty chair thinking about his impending meeting with his boss-daddy.
"He's not going to shit for a month after tonight," Sonny reported when Trent asked how their boy was holding up. "But we've all survived the regret and panic of waiting for Daddy to get home when we knew damn well we'd fucked up royally. I think we all know tonight that the boy in there needs to pay the piper for his bad choices. And we all know he's going to live to take off with his dipshit posse and fuck up again."
"Kids are most definitely not for the faint of heart," Trent chuckled, shaking his head before turning to Jason.
"Jase," Trent said lightly. "Before we go full pissed off daddy and mean uncles on the kid currently occupying the hot seat, tell Sonny about how the Tenacious Triplets managed to kick off a full out Navy versus Frat Brothers brawl down at Beachside Social."
"What now?" Sonny laughed. "What the hell were they doing down there with the college crowd?"
"Apparently defending the boss's honor," Trent said. "Wait until Alpha hears about this. You know they're never going to shut up about you needing your little terriers to fight your battles."
"It's not funny, Trent," Jason said seriously. "If that Carlson cop hadn't recognized Brock as our kid and called me, he could have gotten himself in serious trouble - life altering trouble. They are all just fucking lucky none of those college kids got hurt."
Jason took a breath before continuing. "And I expect you two will both back me up with the kid in there. This is his second childish shit show since we all agreed to take him on, and I am not having it. I'm going to beat his twenty-year-old ass just like I did Mikey's when he decided he was going to pull this bullshit with me when he thought he was out of high school and all grown up. And I don't want either of you trying to argue him out of the punishment he has coming."
"I'm not going to help the brat weasel out of anything," Sonny said. "And I think we both know that Grumpelstiltskin always takes your side without argument. But before the whuppin' and howlin' wakes up my neighbors, somebody needs to fill me in on how the sad little puppy pouting in Uncle Sonny's naughty chair felt the need to defend Master Chief Jason Fucking Hayes, Bravo One, and much storied team leader of SEAL Team Bravo - the most respected, kick-ass, tier-one team on the east coast."
"It's a long-ass story Sonny," Jason sighed. "And I need to deal with the kid and get it over with before he pukes, pisses himself or both fretting about what's coming his way tonight. We all know he's naturally a rule-follower and not accustomed to being on the shit list."
"Fine," Sonny said. "Give me the abbreviated version, and I'll get the full story from the kid once he's recovered from his hero giving him a good lickin'."
"The highlight reel according to reliable sources is that Brock and his regular crew decided it would be entertaining to hit up a college bar for a change of pace," Jason explained. "Apparently, they weren't the only Navy kids who had this genius idea, and they met up with some guys they know from the dorms. One of these kids, a guy who just returned from a long deployment on a carrier somewhere, washed out from SEAL training before being shipped out and was not feeling the love of Brock being plucked up by Bravo."
"According to Tommy and Kyle," Trent continued. "This kid has a father who was a SEAL on the west coast. His dad is less than impressed with him washing out and has been giving him shit about not being up to par. The kid and his buddies from the carrier were drunk and looking for a fight. Tommy swears they were leaving the scene before things escalated, but the washed out SEAL started taunting Brock about Bravo being overrated and Jason being washed up and soon to be replaced by a younger, better team leader."
"I hope our boy kicked his sorry ass," Sonny fumed.
"Really Sonny?" Jason said. "Did you not hear what I just said about having my back with the kid? We are fucking adults. I don't give two fucks what some twenty-something- year-old kid thinks about me or Bravo. And I surely hope you don't either. You know better. And you know that Brock could have ended up in serious shit over this. It's not the fucking seventies or the fucking nineties anymore, Sonny. There are cameras and phones everywhere. He is a highly trained, fucking tier-one level Navy SEAL who was beating up civilian college kids in a bar he had no fucking business being in."
"Okay, boss," Sonny said. "I get it. But I thought you said the kid who disrespected you was Navy. How did Brock end up fighting college kids?"
"Because Sonny," Trent sighed. "This is how stupid immature choices lead to fucked up shit shows. The fight which started with Brock and the Wonder Twins three on three with the washed out SEAL and his buddies escalated to several other young SEALS who decided they too need to defend our honor facing off against a bunch of kids from the carrier backing up their brother."
"And before anyone could reign in the situation," Jason said. "A waitress got knocked down in the chaos. A bunch of college frat boys from Old Dominion, who regularly hang out at this bar, decided they too should throw down in defense of their favorite waitress who, according to Carlson down at the station, is some sweet little local girl on scholarship at Old Dominion. She is working to pay her tuition, and has a mother who is also a waitress. And coincidentally, the mother serves our Boys in Blue from Station 3 down at the diner by the station."
"Oh Fuck," Sonny grimaced.
"Yeah, Sonny," Jason bitched. "Oh fuck. So the kid is getting his ass torn up. You, Trent and every other brother on Bravo and Alpha are going to back me up on this with Brock and any other young SEALS who think that we need, want or will put up with them doing stupid shit on our behalf."
Jason continued to rant.
"We take care of them," Bravo One said sternly. "Not the other way around. And if they were hell bent on having a full on Navy brawl, they fucking well should have been smart enough to do it far away from civilians, tourists, college kids and the fucking Virginia Beach police department. But they aren't old enough or smart enough to know these things yet. So they have no fucking business out fighting with anyone about something so ridiculous as what a twenty-year-old kid, likely trying to impress his asshole father, thinks about yours truly."
Jason stopped to take a breath and scrub his hand down his face.
"Are we all on the same page here?" He asked quietly.
"Copy that, boss," Trent said.
"Absolutely, brother," Sonny nodded. "Same page. Always."