Happy Together 08

Landstuhl, 2006: My body, my choice (II)

Summary:

"Tell your superiors to put boots on the ground and increase aerial surveillance. Pete's going to escape that compound in seventy-two hours, give or take."
"Escape? That's impossible! He is alone inside the camp. He has to wait for intelligence to locate him and…"
"Colonel Mitsopolis," cuts her Ice, who does not have time to hear about the absolute incompatibility between his friend and logic. "The message of that video is clear: three fingers extended and FN in Morse, which means "end of transmission." I don't know what happened. If something changed in the place where he is, if something changed in him, but Commander Mitchell is determined to escape or die trying.”

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Fandom: Top Gun (Movies)

Relationships: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell/Original Male Character(s), Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Ron "Slider" Kerner/Sarah Kazansky

Characters: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Ron "Slider" Kerner, Sarah Kazansky

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, Grammarly is My Wingman, Forced Pregnancy, Abortion

INDEX: https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/happy-together.html

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Iceman

They knew something had happened when they called him back to DC. He expected to be briefed and learn they had managed to reduce the search area to less than two hundred square kilometers and sixty mountains with ancient volcanic activity. Or that someone from the vast global surveillance network had gotten a clue, a gossip, or a rumor on the dark web.

Mitsopolis' worried face tells him that whatever happened it's not good.

"This week's video has something unusual," Stickell informs without waiting for inane comments and turns the laptop in his direction.

The stage is the usual one. Mav is sitting in a chair in the center, his head drooping forward. His long hair falls in clumps forward, longer than he has ever had in twenty-five years. A little way back, so they can't see his face, are four alpha guards. One goes forward, pulls his hair to force him to look at the camera, and begins to repeat the litany about his capture, the superiority of the caliphate's fight, and the moral degeneration of the West, which sends its omegas into combat instead of protecting them…

His friend's expression makes him stop hearing his captor.

Pete's face is an expressionless mask, as if all his life and passion had drained away from him. His eyelids are lowered, but he slowly raises them after fifteen seconds. He looks straight into the camera with incongruous placidity and then begins to smile. But the gesture does not convey anything positive. It is, for lack of a more sophisticated vocabulary, a near-perfect imitation of the Joker's smile and just as disturbing. Mav then starts casually scratching the joint between his shoulder and torso, using just his thumb, index, and middle fingers. Finally, a worrisome message flashes: short, long, short, long, short.

Damn, Pete!

"When did this arrive?" he asks frantically as he looks for his phone.

"Yesterday afternoon," Stickell reports.

He turns to the colonel.

"How much had they reduced the search area to?" he asks as he starts texting.

"About one hundred square kilometers. We have ISAF patrols on the ground and satellite surveillance, but without the signal from Mitchell's transmitter it is…"

"Tell your superiors to put boots on the ground and increase aerial surveillance. Pete's going to escape that compound in seventy-two hours, give or take."

"Escape? That's impossible! He is alone inside the camp. He has to wait for intelligence to locate him and…"

"Colonel Mitsopolis," cuts her Ice, who does not have time to hear about the absolute incompatibility between his friend and logic. "The message of that video is clear: three fingers extended and FN in Morse, which means "end of transmission." I don't know what happened. If something changed in the place where he is, if something changed in him, but Commander Mitchell is determined to escape or die trying. Cybercom will be able to detect his signal in seconds as soon as he leaves the mountain, and I suspect there will be a lot of unusual thermal signals as well. They can have boots on the ground in less than thirty minutes. Just do your part."

He sees that his message has not been read, grimaces, and gets up.

"But where are you going?" Mitsopolis exclaims, offended by his abruptness.

He stops and looks at her, surprised. He realizes Max is an intelligent alpha, but like most people, she has no idea about Maverick's ability to bend the world to his will.

"To Germany, of course. I have to be at Landstuhl Hospital when Commander Mitchell arrives."

Maverick

It turns out that escaping a military complex inside a mountain is relatively easy.. when someone has been planning it for almost a year. The chief omega is called Ilsa, and she is actually an MI-6 agent. She's been on this mountain for a year. Her mission was to locate and extract the omega from the next cell. The matter became complicated, of course, when she became sentimental and decided to take the twelve kids and four communal omegas who inhabit the complex.

Mav physically cringes when he hears the euphemism "communal omegas." What an awful world! Ilsa reminds him a little bit of Ice, calculating and focused but sentimental and ready to use his strategic thinking to benefit people in need. He would like to keep in touch with her when this is over, but he doubts their bosses will allow it.

The important thing now is to execute the plan, which requires two people with military training: one in front, guns akimbo, another in the rear, to carry the prisoner, ensure that the group stays together, and shoot their pursuers. However, Ilsa does not expect there to be many alive to pursue them.

It will be at dawn because getting down the mountain at the speed they need in the dark is impossible. We want to escape, Pete, not commit mass suicide. Also, right at the end of the night is the changing of the guard, which means that most of the staff are inside the complex and near the two entrances and will either die in the collapse or be too busy trying to help the victims.

Yeah. Collapse. Ilsa's plan is to cause the cave complex to collapse as a distraction from the escape and to cause as much damage as possible to the Taliban forces. That's why he has to take out the omegas and the kids. She has spent six months installing small explosives charges along the galleries, which will cause a chain reaction. Gravity will do the rest. Sure, the perimeter patrols will survive, but Ilsa is counting on them getting down fast enough to find the ISAF forces before the Taliban catch up to them. They will come out on the opposite side of the mountain and with a lead, it will have to be enough.

On the last night of his kidnapping, Pete is super nervous, but he knows he should sleep. He will need all his energy, and it is something that has been failing him lately due to the parasite that Fox planted in his womb. He sings a lullaby to himself like a hundred times, and suddenly, Ilsa is shaking his shoulder. He opens his eyes and runs his free hand over his face to stretch. Meanwhile, Ilsa opens the manacle that ties him to the wall.

"Come on," she orders.

Pete immediately follows her.

Very slowly, they open the door to the second cell. The smell of blood and urine hits him like a fist. The prisoner is at the back of the cell, not lying in the niche but sitting. She can't rest any other way because her two hands are chained to the wall. Her arms are dangerously thin and covered in wounds.

She opens one eye, watching them cautiously through strands of dirty hair that cover her face.

"It's time," says Ilsa.

The eye moves to Pete. She does not hide her distrust.

"He's coming with us," Ilsa explains, and that seems to be enough because she makes a minimal nod, and Ilsa goes over to free her from the chains.

The prisoner raises her face to Pete with a minimal, shy smile, and he gasps.

"Are you…?"

"Not a word," Ilsa silences him.

Oooh! Now, he understands the MI-6's interest. It's a good thing their agent turned out to be sentimental, and saving the girl for whom all of Europe and half of the United States pines isn't enough for her.

Once free of the chains, they help the girl to sit on the stone bed. Ilsa takes out a harness and wraps it around her torso and hips. Then she turns and crouches to align her back and the young woman's torso.

"Need your help here, Pete."

Mav hurries to close and adjust the straps over Ilsa's chest and hips to secure the young woman on her back. This part is the most complicated part of the escape, but there is no other way. Even if she were not weak from last month's repeated torture sessions, her feet are completely deformed. Those wounds have healed, so it's not a recent thing.

Ilsa takes a deep breath and stands up. Takes a couple of steps back and forth, adjusting to the change in her center of gravity.

"Are you okay back there?"

She smiles with unexpected fierceness, although Pete can see that just holding to the straps so that her arms don't hang requires effort.

"Freedom or death, sister."

They go out to the living room, where the exit door is barricaded, and pass through the green door that Ilsa always guarded when they took Pete to video sessions or to sunbathe. It gives access to the children's bedroom. He has never seen these people, only heard their voices. It turns out that they are two male and two female omegas. They wear pants, long-sleeve shirts, scarves, and veils, but the determined gleam in their dark eyes is enough. Each omega carries a backpack and an infant strapped to their chest. The oldest looks about five years old, and the youngest is a baby. None of the other eight children seem to be over twelve years old.

Of course, that's the age most people present, Mav suddenly realizes. Among the Taliban, alphas and betas immediately join the war, and if it turns out that you are an omega...

Ilsa's voice brings him out of his gloomy thoughts.

"Your boots," she says, and, in fact, she holds up his regulation boots.

"Wow!​ How?" he asks as he hurriedly puts them on.

"I said I wanted to use them to make reliquaries," one of the omegas explains with mocking eyes.

"Thank you."

He gets up with his shoes on.

"I'm ready."

Ilsa has put a pair of pistols on her waist. She hands him two handguns and a knife in a thigh sheath. Pete ties the blade to his right thigh, checks the weapons, puts one in the waistband of his pants, and keeps the second out. Ilsa stares at the omegas. Each one nods. Their eyes are moist, but the warlike glow is unmistakable. Finally, the MI-6 agent leans a little toward the children. These faces are uncovered, and he can read from fear to awe.

"I told you there was a world out there, and we are going to discover it," she tells them sweetly.

Ilsa walks to the back of the bedroom, where a curtain hides another door. She opens it to reveal the mouth of a dimly lit tunnel, the evacuation tunnel leading to an esplanade on the mountain's north side.

"This is the order: Pete goes first. He is followed by Zahir," one of the omegas nods, "then Najia and Khan," two twins hold hands, "then you, Shafaq," she points her finger to the omega with the younger baby, "then Rafeeq will guide Azizullah," a dark-skinned boy with a determined gesture nods and firmly takes the hand of another boy with fair skin and unfocused eyes, "then Mashal," the other omega man nods, "followed by Nelofer and Nafas," two girls of about ten years old holding hands, "then Sahraa," she says to the one carrying the five-years-old, "followed by Siddiq and Samira," the boy shakes like a leaf, the girl throws her braid over her shoulder with a determined attitude, "and me at the end. Remember that the tunnel is narrow. We can't push each other, but we have to hurry. Everybody will keep one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them. When we get to the exit, Pete gets out, and Zahir," she looks at him poignantly, "you stay behind the last bend, and you will keep everyone there until he calls you. Is it clear?"

Some people say "yes," others just nod. Pete sees no doubt in anyone. Ilsa must see the same thing because she pulls a small box out of her chest and smiles at them.

"Let get the party going."

She presses the button in the center of the box, and less than five seconds later, they hear the first explosion.

Pete goes into the tunnel without saying a word.

This experience is among the longest and most horrible of his life. The emergency lights are not very bright. The tunnel has many curves and step tilt, making it difficult to maintain balance. Also, he feels the mountain shaking around him. When he finally sees the arch that indicates the exit, he estimates that they have been jogging for about fifteen minutes. It's not a challenge for him, but he doesn't know what kind of resistance training the rest of the group has.

He feels the hand on his shoulder twitch and looks at Zahir with what he hopes is a reassuring expression. What the omega sees is a mask of almost psychotic ferocity.

"There goes nothing."

He goes out to the final section of the tunnel with the gun in front of him.

Ilsa chose tonight because there is a full moon. Two of the four guards are clearly visible as he walks the last few meters of the tunnel. The noise of the explosions does not allow him to hear them, but the tension in their jaws and necks tells him they are quarreling. Logical. They must be trying to decide what to do. The best thing about fighting turban-wearing soldiers under the moonlight is that their heads become perfect targets. Pete frees Taliban One and Taliban Two of their dilemmas by putting a bullet in each of their heads.

When he comes out onto the esplanade, the other two guards have reacted and start shooting. He drops the weapon, ducks, and rolls toward Taliban Three. He gets up behind him. As expected, Taliban Four doesn't react quickly enough, and some of his shots hit his buddy's chest. Pete grabs the ammunition straps across his back to keep him upright, using him as a shield. He takes out the knife and cuts his throat.

As Taliban Three bleeds out and flails his arms, Pete pushes him toward Taliban Four. He throws the now inert body against the last guard, who, horrified and confused, loses his balance for a moment. It's all he needs to pivot with a dancer's spin, stun him with a blow from the butt of the second pistol, and finish him off with a point-blank shot to the face.

Everything lasted less than two minutes.

He is gasping in the middle of the esplanade, four bodies around him. But the rage is still inside. None of them are the alpha he really wants to shoot. Pete shakes his head. This will have to do. He feels something sticky on his cheek. It must be blood from Taliban Four. He leans over to Taliban Three, rips the turban off his head, and uses it to wipe his face a bit as he walks back to the mouth of the tunnel.

"All clear," he tells Zahir.

No one bats an eyelid at the bloody results of the brief skirmish, so normalized is the violence in their lives. In fact, Najia and Khan go to strip the corpses of their weapons automatically. He helps them silently.

The esplanade is narrower than the entrance on the south side, where they brought it. There is barely room for two small trucks. When they finish collecting the weapons, grenades, and ammunition, Pete sees that Shafaq is helping Ilsa untie the prisoner and sit her in the passenger seat of one of the trucks. Zahir and Mashal are accommodating the rest of the group in the truck bed. Sahraa is busy jabbing the tires of the second transport with a forearm-length knife.

Pete puts the loot in the truck, motions for the kids to get in, and heads to Sahraa.

"Let's see if things useful," he says slowly, pointing to the back of the truck she just disabled.

The omega nods vigorously and follows him. In the back they found a thick tarp covered with some kind of waterproofing resin, some furs, and liquor bottles. They grab the furs and the tarp and run to get on the other transport. Ilsa starts the engine when the first lights of dawn appear behind the mountain, and a sound like running stones begins to approach.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Shafaq shouts, hitting the roof of the cabin.

Ilsa turns violently and gets on the narrow path down the mountain at full speed. Just when they take the first bend, stones start to rain.

"Didn't she say the landslide would fall through the south side?" Zahir asks.

"I'm a soldier, not a mining engineer," Ilsa shouts.

No one else speaks. The five adults are very busy trying to ensure the children don't get hurt by the railing or fly away with Ilsa's frighteningly fast driving. They put the furs in the area closest to the cabin, squeeze the infants on top, kneel around them with their arms linked to maintain balance, and throw the tarp over their heads. Rocks keep falling on them, some as small as fingernails and others as big as baseballs. His four companions have backpacks that cover their backs, but Pete feels the blows on his back, arms, thighs, and legs. At least they can't cut him, thanks to the thick tar cloth. The five just purse their lips, grunt, and take it. They are omegas. As the old saying goes, they are made to protect and take pain.

They keep going down the mountain under endless stone shrapnel and terrible shaking due to the poor condition of the road. As Ilsa planned, no Taliban patrol has stopped or shot them. They reach flat ground. Ilsa doesn't slow down. The bumps increase, but not fall from the truck bed is a little less challenging. How much gas do they have? Pete prays that Cybercom reports the location of his signal and that some damn ISAF squad finds them soon.

Then, out of nowhere, they stop.

"What's happening?" whimpers Azizullah, who, to make matters worse, sees the world in perpetual fog.

"Sss," Zahir silences him softly.

Pete then hears the voices, the frantic orders, and Ilsa's responses in a sharp, frustrated tone. He yanks the tarp aside and stands with his hands up.

"Don't shoot! I am Commander Pete Mitchell, United States Navy. Registration number 540416, VFA-33 Squadron."

The soldiers who have surrounded the transport and are pointing nervously at the cabin turn towards him. He recognizes their uniforms, they are Canadian.

"Commander Mitchell?" A red-haired sergeant comes forward. "Omega Pete Mitchell?"

He grimaces; he's been called omega too many times in the last month.

"Yes, it's me. I guess Cybercom told you it was on my way?"

"Something like that, but we didn't imagine that you would bring, um, company," and he looks at the rest of the entourage in amazement.

"I live to amaze, sergeant." he lowers his hands slowly, and when the officer doesn't say anything, he jumps to the ground. "Now we really have to move. The Taliban will come soon."

The mention of enemy forces makes the sergeant and his platoon react.

"I'm Sergeant Trudeau." Pete raises an eyebrow, surprised. "No relation to that Trudeau." he clarifies. "The closest point where a helicopter can land is about a kilometer from here through the forest. Can they walk?"

Pete looks at Ilsa. She purses her lips, upset, but nods.

"Yes, although we have a person who we have to be carried and..." he points to the back of the truck, where eight curious little heads appear.

"Ah, that we can solve right away. Bravo Squad!" Eight soldiers come forward. "Each one gets a kid." The soldiers look at each other, a little confused. Come on!" he chides them impatiently. "This is your chance to probe the superiority of democracy."

Another soldier approaches the cabin and slowly opens the passenger door.

"Don't be scared, please, I just want to help."

Then she raises her face. The man falls to his knees.

"Princess Meghan?!"

Megan Mountbatten-Windsor-Markle, the direct descendant of Habibullah Khan, the last king of Afghanistan, and omega wife of His Royal Highness Prince Harry of Windsor, also known as the People's Princess, like they used to call Lady D, gives him a weak smile.

"Duchess," she corrects.

Trudeau runs to see her. Then looks with respect bordering on adoration at Ilsa.

"Did you do this?"

She tilts her head and gestures toward the side of the truck, where the fugitives gather.

"We did it."

"Duchess Meghan," another soldier with Asian features and almost two meters tall, comes forward, "may I carry you?"

She looks at him and swallows dryly. Her eyes cloud and her smell turns bitter and fearful. The Canadians immediately retreat with their hands raised.

"It's okay, it's okay," says the sergeant in a conciliatory tone. "It was just an idea."

Yes, it is possible that if this giant carried Meghan, the trip would be significantly faster. Still, the horrible smell of their anxiety at the mere possibility of contact with an unknown alpha is enough to make them dump the idea.

So Zahir, Shafaq, Mashal, and Sahraa help in the complicated process of extracting Meghan from the cabin and tying her to Ilsa's back again. Meanwhile, the soldiers from Bravo Squad introduce themselves to the children and take them by the hand. The communications corporal reports, "We have the package and we found the little bird," and requests an evacuation helicopter plus escorts. The rest of the platoon systematically destroys different parts of the truck to leave it as damaged as possible without setting it on fire.

"Forest fires are bad for everyone," the sergeant explains casually.

They start moving.

After Azizullah trips on a branch for the third time, his soldier simply picks him up and places him on his hip. The boy lets out a laugh of surprise and happiness. They arrive almost forty minutes later at a large clearing. Pete can see the helicopters approaching from the north. Meghan taps Ilsa on the shoulder and she kneels. The duchess gestures towards the omegas and children.

"Come here." She struggles to control her labored breathing when they surround her and say, "For your services to the Crown, I name you, omegas Sahraa, Shafaq, Mashal, and Zahir, assistants to my royal bedroom. For your courage in the face of danger, I name you Azizullah, Khan, Najia, Nafas, Nelofer, Rafeq, Samira, and Siddiq pages of the British Crown royal houses serving Nottingham Cottage."

"Your Higness," Ilsa whispers in a tone that's half disbelief and half gratitude.

"Ssss." the duchess taps her on the shoulder a couple of times. "Let me exercise the royal power," coughs, "to," coughs, "you know," coughs, her eyelids fall, "som justice." she wrinkles her nose and gives the sergeant a hard glare. "You are a witness."

The entire platoon kneels on the ground and puts their right fist to their hearts. This is evidence that some traditional things should be maintained in the public school curriculum. You never know when you will find a princess lost for eighteen months, and they will start to give honors, and you will have to react accordingly so as not to embarrass your family, your people, and even your nation.

"We are witnesses," the sergeant confirms on behalf of his troop.

The people she named look at her without really understanding what has happened. The platoon of Canadians, Ilsa, and Pete, do realize what Meghan has done. In one motion, she placed them under the protection of the British Crown. They will not be left adrift once they arrive in Kabul but will have the right to travel with her, material support, and help legalize their residence in Britain. In a word, she has saved them from the danger - terribly real - of being stuck in a refugee camp and captured again by the Taliban.

The first helicopter lands.

Iceman

He moves with a quick step, frowning and with a dangerous glint in his eyes. For once, he is glad of his reputation as an unstoppable alpha when he marches towards his goal because no one in the hospital hallways tries to call him, either to ask where he is going or to greet him. He doesn't have time for fulls trying to score political points when the only thing they had to do in this crappy hospital, the only thing, was keep Mav isolated.

Last night, when the transport from Kabul arrived at Ramstein Base, Ice was waiting with his heart in his mouth and the forms in his hand. Pete's shock and disbelief as he exited the plane broke his heart.

"What are you doing here?" he stammered while Ice hugged him to verify that, yes, the unruly omega was really back.

"What does it look like?" he responded dryly but with smiling eyes. "You are my wingman, right?"

"Yes, but..."

Mav swallowed and looked him up and down again as if he couldn't believe someone was waiting for him.

"Excuse me, Rear Admiral," a beta in a military doctor's uniform intervened, "but we must take Commander Mitchell to Landstuhl. His wounds need treatment."

"Wounds? Yesterday on the phone you told me that you were fine," he accused him. "That you only had to deworm and would return to San Diego."

"Eh, is nothing important." Pete turned red and opened his mouth, probably to make something up, but the doctor intervened.

"Commander Mitchell was hit by an unknown number of stones while fleeing a rock avalanche." he began to explain to Ice while looking at his friend disapprovingly. "He has numerous lacerations on his back and extremities. Also, he needs an MRI to see how his left side healed from the ejection a month ago."

For a moment, Ice considered calling out Pete for keeping all this from him, but then he realized where and who they were. This officer did not treat his friend as an adult person responsible for his medical decisions - for better or worse, but as someone subhuman, with no right to autonomy over his body or privacy. Because Pete is an omega. As soon as he found an alpha who seemed to have some authority over Maverick, he began to give details of his state of health in a hangar to top it all off.

He gave the beta one of his icy glares.

"Did Commander Mitchell give you consent to reveal details of your medical record to anyone, Captain Ambrose?"

The man seemed genuinely surprised by the question. He blinked several times before answering.

"No, but Rear Admiral Kazansky, you..."

"What I discuss with my friend, Commander Mitchell, does not give you or anyone else the right to violate his privacy. I hope this doesn't happen again, or we will have to review Landstuhl Regional Medical Center's compliance with safety protocols."

The man recognized the implied threat, turned around, and left to see how the rest of the group boarded the transports.

"Wow. You're in full protective mode, huh, Kazansky?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose.

"It's late, Mav. " He handed him the forms. "Just sign the papers to make me your proxy while you are admitted to the Landstuhl, okay?"

Pete gave him a crooked, tender, slightly exasperated smile, but he signed without even reading it.

"Perfect. Now, nobody can know about you unless one of us gives express permission."

Pete raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised that Ice knew there was a particular alpha he wouldn't want around. He didn't understand his surprise. He knows Mav. He can't stand people hovering around him trying to coddle him. It suffocates him. The least he can do is keep Musgrave away. And he still doesn't know about the ring!

"Thank you, really."

"That's what friends ar for, right?"

Pete nodded, somewhat distracted. He rubbed his waist, reminding him they were not at a social event.

"Go to the transport. They don't allow visitors until nine a.m.. I'll see you then."

That Maverick didn't fight at the prospect of going to a hospital was all the evidence he needed to gauge his partner's extreme exhaustion. He watched him walk away, favoring the right leg subtly, and that was it.

When he arrived at his assigned apartment at Ramstein Air Base, about a thousand emails and forms related to the administration of the San Diego base were waiting for him. Thanks to the time difference, they could wait a little longer and went to sleep.

This morning, he woke up at seven and started working. At eight-forty, he paused to think about the agenda for the rest of the day. He still had several reports to read and at least three essential calls to make. There's nothing serious in Pete's condition, and he doesn't like having people around him when he's vulnerable. He decided it was best to finish the job, give him time to squabble with his medical team, and then appease him with lunch. It was a good plan. That was up to Pete. He must have known that nothing would turn out as he had planned.

At one minute past nine, a call came to his cell phone from an unknown number, with a German code.

"Kazansky."

"Rear Admiral, this is Nurse Nordoff-Hall speaking."

He straightened up immediately. Nyah NordoffHall is a member of the Omega solidarity network within the DoD. Lieutenant Jack Harmon gave him her contact information when he took him to Dulles Airport to catch the flight to Berlin. She instructed him on what forms to fill out to ensure Pete's privacy.

"Any change?"

"Musgrave is on his way to Commander Mitchell's room, sir. He convinced a lieutenant at the front desk that he's the commander's fiancé and wasn't on the access list because," she changes her voice to quote the alpha in a contemptuous tone. "Pete is an omega, and, you know, he forgets to sign the correct paperwork when he gets excited."

"I'm on my way."

It is a fifteen-minute drive from the Ramstein base and the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. When he crosses the hospital's main door, Nordoff Hall already has a visitor's pass ready and tells him in precise and brief terms how to get to Mav's room.

He finally reaches the door. He stops to breathe and regains calm. Then, it opens very slowly.

The couple is so involved in their argument that neither notices his arrival. He hurries to close the door so no one can hear from the hallway. Pete is sitting on the bed, the sheets covering him up to his hips, his eyes flashing with rage. Although he maintains a calm tone, Ice notices how his left hand convulsively squeezes the blanket.

John "Fox" Musgrave is standing less than three feet from the bed, but as he speaks, he leans his torso toward Mav, invading her space. He moves his arms widely, the small diamond-shaped black velvet box in his right hand. He repeatedly offers the thing, making Pete try to sink into the pillows against the back of the bed.

"What are you saying?" he urges, sounding like an angry child. "Do you want to wait until the bump shows?"

Ah! So that's why John Musgrave bought a ring and thought Maverick would accept it. What exciting times to be alive. Omegas in active combat and alphas trying to babytrap omegas. Maverick looks at him impassively, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Pete, honey," he tries now with a persuasive voice, "I'm a Musgrave, I have to maintain certain standards."

"You keep going around and around the same thing," Pete snorts. "There won't be a wedding, John. You and I never talked about that. We only fucked to relax."

"We fuck? Don't be prosaic! Owen came all the way from DC to meet you. We spend your heat together!"

"And you think that gives you special rights? I'm a combat aviator, John, I can't afford an unplanned pregnancy."

"Okay, not planned. But it's already happening, you can't..."

"Can't? How come I can't? It's my body!"

"They're my baby." Musgrave's voice goes from plaintive to threatening. "You are an omega who has just gone through a traumatic experience. No doctor in their right mind will accept that you destroy your chance to be a daddy just because…"

"Are you threatening me? Do you think you can play the hysterical omega card? Get it into your head! You're not my alpha, John Musgrave, Owen Davian is not my beta. All that," he points to the ringbox rings in his lover's hand, "is nothing more than the product of your mind. You have nothing to say regarding my medical decisions."

"You won't..."

Ice has heard enough.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Commander Musgrave," he says in a definitive tone, projecting the full weight of his authority.

They both turn to look at him, surprised. Pete's face lights up with a genuine smile. The alpha grimaces in irritation. Seeing Pete's sudden change, his face goes from anger to disgust.

"So, the rumors were true."

It is not the first time, and he is sure it will not be the last, that they have been taken for lovers. Ice has never bothered to deny it. Sarah, the only one who could be offended, finds it funny.

"Bitch," Musgrave spits.

Pete just shows his teeth.

"A free bitch. Go away."

Musgrave growls but leaves. Tom locks the door before returning to sit beside his friend's bed.

"So, that's why you decided you couldn't wait any longer."

Mav falls onto the bed and covers his face with the pillow. Now that they are alone, all his energy seems to have left him. Ice also feels a little lost after dispatching the concrete and immediate enemy. What is he supposed to do?

"Mav, look... If you want to have it. You know you won't be alone, right?" Technically he can't do this, but he also knows that Viper will accept the shittiest excuse to reinstate him into the clan. "It's been five years, Mav. You can go back."

"No. You don't have to..." he groans, his shoulders shaking.

He understands that he is crying.

"Yes, I have to, Mav." he puts a hand on his shoulder. "You are my wingman. We are your family."

Contrary to what he expected, that only increases the intensity of the sobs. For Trinity's sake, Ice can deal with a crazy aviator any day of the week, but this is an omega in the throes of emotional free fall. He hasn't desired a smoke so much in years.

"Do you want me to call Sarah or Anna?"

The response is a scream of terror.

"No!" he puts the pillow away and looks at him with desperate eyes. "Please, Ice, no. Don't tell anyone. I can't bear the shame."

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes him.

Although he seems slightly relieved, Pete can't stop crying. Tom sighs, moves from the chair to the bed, removes his shoes, and opens his arms.

"Come on, come here."

Pete clings to his chest like a desperate puppy. Ice sticks his nose in his friend's hair and inhales deeply. He has missed him so much.

"You can really come back."

"No, I can't."

"Mav."​

"Everything I touch dies, Ice. It's better if I stay away from you."

"Where do you get that from?"

"It doesn't matter."

He purses his lips and caresses his back. Pete groans. Damn! He had forgotten his physical injuries.

"Are they…?"

"No, nothing serious. The dislocations from a month ago healed with rest and I only have a lot of bruises from the rocks, but nothing torn or broken. In a little while a nurse very similar to Nicole Kidman will come to put ointment on my back and lower down as well." He tries to give his voice a lewd tone, but the effect is lost by his red eyes and the tears running down his pale cheeks.

"But…?" How can he say this without seeming like he wants to force him to keep the pregnancy? "Don't you have to wait until you regain your strength? Doesn't the procedure put your health at risk?"

Pete pulls away and looks him in the face.

"Abortion, Tom. It's called abortion," he says in a calm voice.

He turns his eyes away, ashamed of his own cowardice. He feels frustrated. He was supposed to take care of Pete. He created the Wolf Pack for him; still, an alpha came and broke his heart again. His friend takes his chin between his fingers and turns his head.

"Hey, look at me. Tom, it's not your fault. It's my body and my choice."

"Can you honestly tell me that you would make the same choice if you hadn't been kicked out of the clan?"

Something appears and disappears in a flash in the back of Maverick's eyes. His smell changes from the usual salt and leather to something bitter, almost putrid. Now, it's the brunette who looks away. Swallow dry.

"He's not the right alpha," he says, pursing his lips stubbornly.

So it's true! Pete, Pete, Pete. What twisted logic led him to destroy something so beautiful? Why does he always have to be the martyr? So much talking and doing for omega emancipation, but when it comes to himself he seems like a character from Austen or Balzac. He doesn't want to cause his friend more suffering, so it's time to change the subject. He shakes his head like an annoyed child.

"Can I at least destroy him?" he asks petulantly.

He doesn't have to say his name. He knows that Maverick understands who he's talking about and that he's offering him more than just revenge—he's offering him control. His gift is to put Musgrave's life in his hands.

"Give him your worst, Kazansky," he nods.

A little later, an omega who really has a disturbing resemblance to Nicole Kidman arrives. She is not a nurse. Doctor Claire Lewicki is a gynecologist. Blood tests confirm that Pete is seven weeks pregnant, and they go on to discuss the logistics of the termination using drugs. She has a folder with documents to sign and a to-do list she starts to check off steadily. Ice admires the confident way in which the doctor ignores him. Few people ignore an alpha when they are sitting next to the omega who wants to terminate their pregnancy. But he has to intervene when he hears the list of side effects.

"You may also have a headache, chills, or nausea. You may vomit, have a fever, and have diarrhea. We will assign you a nurse who…"

"That won't be necessary."

She looks at him skeptically, but there is no trace of fear in her attitude.

"Excuse me?"

"Ice," Pete warns.

"What? I've held your head over the toilet enough times, Mitchell. Also, I have three children. Do you think diarrhea scares me? I won't let you do this alone."

Mav looks at him again with the same mix of shock and disbelief he had last night. Ice feels happy and very angry. He is such a good person, his Pete, but he is so hurt.

Claire Lewicki smiles at him as she checks something off her list.

He manages to hold back the tears until he reaches her room at Ramstein Air Base.

Maverick

After a week in the hospital, he was finally discharged and allowed to return to the United States. Ice pulled strings: he will rest a week before going to the Pentagon for extensive briefing. After, he is allowed three months of leave and a routine psychological evaluation. Claire assured him that the abortion would be sealed apart, that no shrink would be able to bring it up to question his "mental state."

They fly together back to California.

Pete looks at his friend, asleep in the seat next to him. Unlike most pilots, Ice has no problems flying commercially. The engine's purr lulls him to sleep, and he falls like a baby. He smiles. He feels closer to Tom now. It's hard to maintain emotional distance after someone holds you down so you can shit in the toilet and not on the floor. Once again, Ice saw the most vile version of him, and he was not disgusted; he did not turn his back on him. Why? Who knows. This friendship is all he has. All he will have. He doesn't think he deserves it, but he's not stupid enough to destroy it.

"When are you coming home?" asks Ice cautiously when they approach the airport exit.

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck.

"I'm not sure." he admits. "I need some time."

Some time to regain control of my emotions, he means. Going to Tom, Ron, and Sarah's house with its aroma of discreet happiness would be like rubbing salt in the wound. One look at those three children who call him uncle, and he will crumple. He knows it.

The alpha looks at him intensely, leans in a little, and sniffs him. Pete is surprised to realize that the gesture doesn't scare or offend him. The smell is there, subtle but real. After an abortion, most omegas have post-traumatic heat, and his heat will kick in less than twenty-four hours. That's another reason to prefer the Omegas hotel/refuge in Old Town San Diego. He knows he can make a nest in Kazansky's guest house, but he wants to get drunk on whiskey and mourn Bradley's absence without fear. He has the right to keep his secrets.

Finally, Ice gives a resigned sigh and nods.

"But you're coming to lunch before you go to DC," he orders.

"As your command, rear admiral," -and he even clicks his heels and makes the military salute.

His friend raises his eyes to the sky as if imploring patience.

"Come on, let's go find you a taxi."

--------------------------------------------

NOTES:

ISAF:
The International Security Assistance Force Force (ISAF) was a multinational security mission in Afghanistan that participated in the war (2001-2014) against the country's insurgent groups.

Prosigns for Morse code
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prosigns_for_Morse_code

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex in this universe:
Alpha: Prince Harry Mountbatten-Windsor, Duke of Sussex. Son of Prince Charles (alpha), Princess Camilla (beta), and Princess Diana (omega).
Beta: Yvonne Mountbatten-Windsor-Davy, Duchess of Sussex (commoner from a wealthy white Zimbabwean family)
Omega: Meghan Mountbatten-Windsor-Markle, Duchess of Sussex (born in the United States, descendant of a branch of the Afghan royal family that went into exile in 1919 after the assassination of Habibullah Khan and the fall of the emirate under British colonial control)

Names of Afghan characters:
Taken from the article “Cinema of Afghanistan"
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinema_of_Afghanistan

Ending pregnancy with medicines:
https://medlineplus.gov/ency/patientinstructions/000835.htm

INDEX: https://palabraspulsares.blogspot.com/p/happy-together.html