Fly felt the divide clearly now. He was the builder. The one who patched cracks before they widened. He could endure. Adapt. Absorb pressure without turning it outward.
Than saw the structural failure and tore it out before the roof collapsed.
Both styles worked.
But BUD/S demanded the cut first.
Later, in the dark, the sand still grinding into skin that would never fully heal, Fly listened to Than breathe. Too even. Too controlled.
“He was hurting the team,” Than said quietly.
“I know,” Fly answered. “That’s why you made the call.”
Silence pressed in.
This was the paradox again. You cut the weak link to protect the team. Then you were expected to become the team. To trust the same men you’d just punished. To survive together.
“Doesn’t always have to be the bell,” Fly said after a moment. “You see people, Than. That’s your edge. Don’t lose that.”
Than laughed wearily, leaning back in his bunk like he wanted to be absorbed by the mattress. "You and your Gallagher logic. You can't see it at first, but then after time, it all makes sense." He sighed, and Fly heard the rustle of him reaching for the Vaseline to apply to the chafing on his body. "I was fucking landlocked in South Dakota. I never want to see another grain of sand in my life."
Fly barked out a laugh. "Then, mate, you're in the wrong bloody profession."
“Yeah, rub it in, no pun intended.” Than was quiet for a moment, then said. “So my teenaged brain, you know, Fly. The one that’s not fully developed, went, Why don't I go down to San Diego and join the Navy? It's not a job. It's an adventure. Forged by the fucking sea. No. Forged by tiny bits of glass digging into the softest, most vulnerable parts of your body. But Hoo-fucking-yah! I'm going back for more tomorrow,” Than groused.
Fly let out a low chuckle that was more of a rumble in his chest, the sound barely disturbing the heavy quiet of the barracks. He shifted on his bunk, the blanket scraping against his own collection of aches and abrasions.
"Are you finished?" he asked, voice was a low growl from the other bunk. "I'd laugh, but I hurt too fucking bad."
“Yeah, an adventure in feeling every muscle in your body and how much it could possibly hurt.”
Fly laughed again. "Sorry, mate," Fly whispered, the grin still audible in his voice. "Couldn't help myself. You paint such a pretty picture." He went quiet for a moment, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves on the beach, a sound that was both a promise and a threat. "Still," he added after a moment, "You're not wrong. I don't think any of us pictured this part in the recruitment brochure. The 'Forged by Tiny Bits of Glass' tagline probably wouldn't recruit as many unwitting candidates."
Fly’s chuckle subsided, leaving only the sound of the surf and the dual, ragged breathing of men pushed far beyond their limits. He lay on his back in the cramped bunk, staring up at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body screamed, a deep, pervasive ache that had become his new normal. As Than said, the sand was the worst. It was a personal, insidious enemy, finding its way into places he didn't know he had, grinding with every movement, a constant, abrasive reminder of the day's toll.
He could hear Than shift again, a restless sound of a man who couldn't find comfort. Fly knew the feeling. He knew the weight on Than's shoulders was heavier than the physical exhaustion. It was the burden of command, even in this small, temporary crew. Leadership here was paid for daily. Than was already paying, and was being shaped by something harsher than waves.
Fly just hoped the man he knew, the amplifier, the one who made others stronger, would still be there when this place was done trying to turn him into a wolf.
31
RCMP WILD Headquarters, TOC, Outskirts of Kamloops, British Columbia
All through the briefing, Breakneck thought he was going to crawl out of his skin. They were hitting what the DEA agents thought was the cartel’s stash house. Without Blair, and he hated it. He’d found out only because Lindstrom had let them know she was out of town.
Ayla kept giving him looks that he couldn’t decipher, and he felt like shit all over again for hurting her and sick as hell that he’d hurt Blair. To be honest, he had never known how rejection felt…until now.
Not one woman he’d wanted had said no, just fallen into his lap and given him all she had to give. Blair had left without telling him, and he figured that sent a pretty strong message. You’re not worth letting you know where I went.
Fuck, he was so crushed he could barely breathe. The numbness he’d relied on was gone, and he had no idea how to close the floodgates she’d opened. He had fucked up so bad this time. He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to handle her loss.
“Break?” Iceman said, his voice clipped. He jerked to attention and stared at his boss, who frowned. “Overwatch, here. That work?”
He looked at the map, then nodded. “Yes. That works.”
Boomer shifted and gave him a pointed look, but Breakneck avoided his eyes. He met Ayla’s gaze and her mouth tightened, then softened. He looked away.
After the meeting, he walked to the SUV, feeling disconnected. Boomer grabbed his vest and pulled him to the side. “After this op, we’re going to have a talk, junior.”
