Archive of Our Own ^beta

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      It’s late morning on a lazy Sunday when Clay wanders into his favorite café down the street from his apartment for a cup of coffee and some of those scones he’s come to love. As he waits at the counter he can hear the employees talking in hushed voices among themselves about a young woman seated at a table in the corner behind him.

      “She’s been sitting there with that small cup of coffee for two hours. She’s only here for the free wifi,” one of the guys says.

      “It’s really not that big of a deal. Not like we’re busy right now,” the woman replies.

      “But, look at her.” The guy scowls in disgust.

      Clay sneaks a peek behind him at the woman. She’s almost hiding in the corner with a tablet on the table in front of her. Her dark blond hair is unkempt, accentuating the unevenness of the very short cut, and appears to not have been washed in a few days. There’s no trace of makeup on her face nor does it look like she’s made any attempt to make herself presentable. A light sheen of oil glares over her lightly sunburned skin. Her t-shirt is worn, faded, and looks to be several sizes too big. Even from halfway across the room he can see an irregularly patched hole in the knee of her baggy jeans. Spring is just around the corner, but it’s still chilly enough that even he wore a light jacket; yet, he sees no jacket or sweatshirt near her, nor any defense against the biting wind that’s trailed in behind the lingering winter. For a moment he wonders if she’s homeless, but then how does she have a tablet?

      “Just go over there and tell her it’s time to buy something else or go,” another guy says as he grabs a bag and puts Clay’s scones inside.

      Clay briefly considers buying the woman another coffee just so the employees leave her alone. He’s a little too late, though, as before he can flag down the cashier one of the male employees storms over to the table.

      “Miss? Would you like to order something else? I’m sure that coffee is cold by now,” he says, a rough accusatory tone crimping his voice.

      She slowly raises her eyes to him. For a moment it looks like she’s about to beg for pity, but a few quick blinks and it disappears into a flat affect. “No, I’m good.” Her voice is lightly melodious yet quiet enough that Clay can barely catch her words from twenty feet away.

      “Miss, if there’s nothing else you’d like to order, may I suggest you be on your way?” The employee puts his hands on his hips as he looks down on her. When she just stares silently at him while seconds tick away, he grabs her cold half-empty cup of coffee from the table and holds it out to her. “I hope you have a nice day now,” he grumbles as he steps back and points towards the door with his other hand.

      Clay can’t seem to find his voice. The employees have never treated him unkindly, even on those occasional times when he comes in hung over and spends an hour nursing a coffee as he messes around on his phone reading disremembered texts and looking at pictures of him with strangers. He’s never seen them treat anyone with disdain let alone requested that someone leave. As the cashier returns he’s about to say something to her, but she pushes his coffee and bag of scones across the counter without looking at him then quickly retreats. He grabs his items and turns back to the scene unfolding across the room.

      The woman remains silent as she drops her eyes in shame, turns off her tablet, and slowly stands. When the employee shoves the coffee cup towards her, spilling a little down her pants, she says nothing and takes it from him. She stares at the floor as she slinks towards the exit. Clay hurries his steps and beats her to the door, pulling it open and holding it as her scuffed and worn sneakers graze lightly over the threshold. A good six inches shorter than him, her presence feels so tiny as she walks past. She pauses briefly as she lifts her glazed eyes to Clay’s just long enough to whisper, “Thank you, sir.” As she turns the corner onto the sidewalk, quickening her pace after she dares a momentary glimpse back towards the café, Clay turns and scowls at the employee who’s standing there with his arms crossed and a mean smirk across his face. Clay yanks the door closed, wishing it would ‘accidentally’ hit the inconsiderate employee in the process.

      When Clay looks back to the walkway she’s already gone from view. He takes a few quick paces forward and looks either way down the sidewalk, but she’s not there. Looking at the vehicles parked on the street, he sees they’re all empty. His shoulders sag in defeat as he proceeds towards his apartment. Suddenly an old van pulls up to the stop sign in front of him; she’s behind the wheel. As the van turns the corner towards him he sees just enough space behind the driver’s seat to recognize it appears lived-in. He briefly wonders why she’s living in a van rather than asking for help; surely there’s somewhere safer she could stay in VA Beach.

      After deciding to keep an eye out for the van, he’s surprised when later that night he sees it parked outside the laundromat while on his way home from a workout on base. He drives around the corner hoping he can catch her and ask a few questions, but by the time he makes it there she’s pulling out in the opposite direction. He can’t chase her around town in the dark, so he pushes her to the back of his mind for now.

      Maybe he’ll see her again. Hopefully it’ll be under different circumstances.

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      A cool, bright sunlight-filled Saturday morning is Cerberus’ favorite time to go for a long run. Brock pulls his truck into the nearly empty gravel lot at the base of the hidden and mostly unknown hiking trail they frequent. Cerberus jumps out and runs a few circles while he waits for his best friend to get his stuff together and stretch. After a few minutes Brock realizes Cerberus has disappeared. He stands and walks around the truck as he calls for the silly dog. A quick bark draws his attention to the old van that’s parked at the other end of the lot and Brock takes a few quick steps over to see what’s happening.

      The side door of the van is open and a young woman is sitting on the edge. Brock pauses as he sees Cerberus’ tail wagging happily as she slowly and carefully pets his head and scratches his chin. Looking her over he takes in her threadbare sweatpants and mismatched sweatshirt, her bare feet braced on the running board, and her bedraggled short dark blond hair. She’s bent forward, her face near Cerberus’ as she quietly talks to him and he licks her face in response. Just as he’s about to approach the pair, Brock looks inside the van. It’s clearly a class B RV; thus, it’s sparse in amenities, but clean. He can see a small bed behind her, where a thin sleeping bag rests instead of sheets, and a gallon of water sitting on the counter near the door. The rocks under his feet crack as he steps forward; Cerberus hears it and twists his head back. The pup has a big smile on his face as if he’s telling Brock he’s found a new friend.

      The woman looks up, sees Brock, and startles slightly as if she forgot that someone must own this dog. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly as she drops her gaze and pulls her feet up onto the floor next to her hip so she can scoot back a good two feet deeper into the darkened van interior. “I didn’t know anyone else was here when I opened the door.” She hazards a second quick look at Brock then nearly jumps out of her skin when Cerberus lunges his front paws up onto the running board in an attempt to make her pet him some more.

      “Cerberus, down,” Brock calls out strongly. The dog turns towards him again as if to ask if really he has to, but then complies as his tail continues to wag. For years, his brothers on Bravo have frequently teased him about how he should be using his war dogs to pick up women between missions, but he knows that their training can make them unpredictable with strangers. His handling skills are excellent and Cerberus has never shown signs of aggression without being ordered, yet the risk is always there. “My apologies, ma’am. I should’ve leashed him right away. It seems he really wanted to make a new friend.” The curtains around the van block enough of the light that he can’t see her face well while she’s sitting deep inside the muted darkness, but her eyes are trained on Cerberus and her hands are lightly curled into fists in her lap as if she’s trying to hide her nervous apprehension yet can’t overcome it. Curious, Brock stops a few feet away and calls the dog to him, clipping on his leash before he can get away again.

      Silence falls over them for a moment until Cerberus pulls on the leash in an attempt to go back to the van door. The dog whines a few times and pulls again. This perks Brock’s interest, as Cerberus has been known to whine and show interest when drugs are present, due to his initial training having been for drug detection. When she turns and reaches out for something, Brock’s first instinct is to assume it’s a gun or a weapon to protect her stash, but Cerberus pulls harder and forces him to take another two steps forward.

      “It’s my fault,” she says softly as she sits upright again, holding a partially peeled ripened banana in her hand. “I think he wants my breakfast.” A single bite is off of the top. Cerberus sniffs the air and barks as he pulls against Brock again. Her eyes snap up, worry evident. “I didn’t give him any, though. I didn’t know if he’s allowed.”

      Brock smiles and chuckles. While Cerberus doesn’t get human food, homemade banana and peanut butter doggie treats are his favorite dessert. Of course he’s going to be excited and begging for a bite of a ripe banana when he smells it. Brock takes another few steps closer until Cerberus is just outside the van’s door again. “No wonder he likes you so much. Treats made with bananas are his favorite.”

      The worry and stress slips slowly from her face. “So he can have a bite?” Brock nods his head yes and takes another step closer then kneels, allowing enough slack in the leash for Cerberus to put his paws back on the running board. She breaks off a chunk, but before she can hold it out for him Cerberus darts forward and chomps down on the bigger part of the banana, stealing most of it from out of the peel. Before Brock can scold the dog, she giggles lightly and pops the smaller chunk in her mouth as the two smile at each other while they chew.

      Brock chuckles again and pats Cerberus’ hind quarters a few times. “By the way, this is Cerberus and I’m Brock. Clearly, he’s very happy to meet you.”

      She looks at Brock, the smile slowly fading from her lips. Opening and closing her mouth a few times slowly, she gently pets Cerberus’ head. Finally she finds her voice. “I’m Trysta.”

      “Nice to meet you, Trysta. Are you out here for an early morning run, too?” When she pops the last piece of banana in her mouth rather than answering, he assumes he’s gotten an answer. He watches her slowly bend forward and close her eyes to nuzzle against Cerberus’ snout. As she moves into the sunlight Brock notices her sunken cheeks and dull reddened skin, her thin wrists and uneven haircut. A touch of guilt settles into his stomach as he wonders if that banana was her entire breakfast, and maybe her lunch. He watches a weary smile slowly slip back across her lips as Cerberus licks her cheek and nuzzles her in return. Clearing his throat, he quietly says, “Well, we need to get our run in before his vet appointment. Maybe we’ll see you out here again soon?” He’s never seen her here before, but after she was so kind to Cerberus he figures the least he can do is be kind back in hopes that they’ll see her again.

      She places both hands around Cerberus’ jaw and gives him one last kiss on the nose before looking back at Brock. “Maybe,” is all she says. When he lightly tugs the leash and calls for Cerberus to come, she quietly adds, “Goodbye, good boy Cerberus.”

      An hour later when Brock and Cerberus finish their run and return to the lot, Trysta and her van are gone. All that’s left is a small puddle of oil where she’d been parked. After the vet appointment Brock stops at a nearby grocery store and picks up a gift card for her, but over the next few days whenever he drives past the lot she’s never there.

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      Friday mornings tend to be stressful on Jason. Unless there’s a spin up or deployment on the horizon it often means he’s got a mostly empty weekend ahead of him and not a lot to occupy his mind. Lately, he’s found that a long run by the beach before heading to base helps clear his mind so he doesn’t start getting overtly ornery with his team. Just after sunup is the best time, as few people are awake and the beach is usually empty, especially this early in the springtime. He pulls his truck into a parking space, stretches, and starts slow to warm up against the crisp morning. After a few minutes he finds his rhythm and is flying down the path that lines the edge of the sand. The days have been slowly warming over the past few weeks, but there’s still a slight nip in the fresh daybreak air. It helps keep him cool and calm as he listens to the surf gently crashing against the beach. Oh the comforts of being at home at the edge of the world.

      As he nears the home stretch of his run, he slows to a jog then a brisk walk to cool down. In the distance he notices a rusted old van parked at the far end of the parking lot. He looks for the owner, wondering why anyone else would be out there at this hour, but neither sees nor hears anything out of the ordinary. Just before he gets to his truck he stops to stretch again, facing the ocean to watch distant clouds slowly drift along the horizon while taking a few last breaths of invigorating air before heading into the smelly cages or the stuffy team room.

      That’s when he sees an arm raise from the water. At first he wonders if someone’s drowning, but then it disappears and another arm rises. Who on earth would swim in the ocean right now? He sees a head and body slowly rise as the person walks back towards shore. Jason’s curiosity is piqued so he squats down and watches. With the sun rising in the distance he can’t make out much beyond their silhouette, but they appear thin and weak as the occasional slightly larger wave tends to make them stumble. When she bends down to the sand then turns to walk back into the water he can finally tell it’s a woman with short hair and she’s rubbing her hands on her body. What is she doing? A moment later she lowers herself down until she disappears back under the cresting waves. Jason looks around, but sees no one else nearby. Either he can check on her or assume she’s fine and walk away. Finally, he decides to watch over her a little longer to ensure she’s safe.

      Several minutes pass and she still hasn’t come back out of the water, so he pulls off his shoes and socks and steps into the sand looking for her. He’s even more confused when he finds her lying at the edge of the surf, her eyes closed as wave after wave climbs up along her body. She’s wearing what appears to be either a really worn out mismatched bathing suit or a very unflattering set of bra and panties. As he gets to the edge of the water he trips over a bottle and picks it up; it looks to be some kind of environmentally friendly soap. Her actions begin to make sense as he realizes she’s been bathing in the freezing cold ocean. He takes a few steps into the water and looks more closely at her, seeing her lips and fingers are tinted blue. Worried that she’s accidentally drowned he rushes over, splashing her in his haste as he gets close.

      She jolts into a seated position and quickly wipes the water from her face then looks around. When she sees him standing over her, she can’t get to her feet fast enough. Tripping over herself, she falls back into the water multiple times as he reaches out to help her and she pulls away instead.

      “Hey! Hold up,” Jason calls out to her. He’s concerned she might be hypothermic, but he’s also really confounded why a woman would be bathing in the freezing cold ocean in the early morning, alone. He remembers the bottle in his hand and starts jogging after her. “Wait! I just want to make sure you’re okay!” She stumbles and nearly falls when her bare feet slap onto the pavement of the parking lot, but keeps running until she gets to her van.

      She fumbles with the side door for a moment, her frozen fingers unable to grasp the handle. Turning her head towards him, her eyes are wide and panicked as she sees how close he is. Finally the door cracks loose and she yanks it open. She jumps inside and slams it shut again, sending chunks of rust showering down from the bottom of the door. He arrives just as she gets into the driver’s seat and turns the key, the old engine roaring to life. He knocks on the door, but it’s too late. She’s breathing heavily as she mouths ‘I’m sorry’ through the salt water tears cascading from her hair then throws the van into drive and pulls away.

      Unsure what just happened, he watches the van disappear down the road then looks at the bottle in his hand and out to the edge of the water where she’d been laying. Setting the bottle down on a curb, he walks back to his shoes and socks. He looks out at the surf again, realizing she’d just lain in the freezing cold ocean letting it wash over her as if she were in a BUD/S class, except she was alone. No one was telling her to put her head back in the water. No one was on her left and right holding onto her. No one was making sure she didn’t drown when the water inevitably goes up your nose and down your throat. She was alone; except for him.

      He grabs his shoes and socks and walks back towards his truck. He wonders if there’s any way to track her down, but he didn’t catch the plate and he’s going to be late to meet up with the team for training if he doesn’t get moving right now. Perhaps she’ll be back tomorrow and he can approach her before she takes off her clothes and enters the water.

      On Saturday and Sunday morning just after daybreak he returns to the lot and sits for at least an hour, but she doesn’t show so it gets him no closer to figuring out who she was. Though, he did notice the soap bottle has disappeared.

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      It’s a rainy Thursday late afternoon when Ray walks into the hardware store, list in hand and a mission on his mind. Jameelah’s birthday is coming up soon and he’s planning to build a castle playset for her and her friends to play in at the park during her princess-themed party. A half hour later the lumber and supplies are gathered and he heads for the self checkout.

      Apparently, early April showers bring about thoughts of home improvement as there are several people in line already. As he waits he people watches. Bags of mulch and dirt must be for one guy’s honey-do list. An older man is buying fertilizer and plant seedlings. The woman in front of him is holding some duct tape, a hose clamp, and a screwdriver as she nervously shifts her weight back and forth. He tries to ignore how frumpy she looks and how thin she is, but he can feel the anxiety rising off her like heat off a wildfire.

      Finally the line dwindles and two self-checkouts open up next to each other; the woman in front of him takes one while he takes the other. He quickly scans his items, but pauses as he hears an exasperated and stressed grumble coming from her. Looking up, he watches as she counts the money in her hand, looks at the dollar amount on the screen, then back at her hand. She looks around her, her face contorted with worry. Resigned, she looks at her items once more and picks each one up for a moment before putting it back down. Clearly she doesn’t have enough money and needs all of the items.

      Ray pulls out his wallet and swipes his credit card then grabs his receipt. He pauses once more as he looks to the woman and sees her trying to figure out what to do. Feeling generous, he pulls a twenty dollar bill from his wallet before returning it to his pocket. He smiles as he walks up to the woman. “Everything okay?”

      She’s startles and quickly raises her eyes to his. Distraught, there’s discomfort and humiliation in her gaze. Her voice cracks as she says, “I, um,” she pauses to clear her throat before continuing, “forgot to put some more money in my wallet this morning. I’m eighty-six cents short.” She drops her face and covers her mouth with her hand as if she’s trying to hide her shame from him.

      “Here. Let me help,” Ray says as he holds the folded bill out to her. She looks at the money then at him. “Go ahead. Take it. I’ve had people there to help me when I needed it most, so I’m just paying it forward.”

      She awkwardly looks around for a moment before slowly returning her eyes to the money. “Are you sure,” she asks timidly.

      He smiles and holds the bill a little closer to her. “Absolutely. I’m sure you’ll pay it forward to someone else someday.”

      She looks him in the eye as she wholeheartedly says, “Thank you. Thank you so much, sir.” Taking the folded bill from him, she holds it in her hand for a moment as if it’s a precious treasure. Ray turns and quickly pushes the rack of lumber towards the door. He doesn’t even pause when he hears her yell, “Wait, sir! This is too much.”

      “No it’s not,” he responds as he hurriedly exits towards the parking lot.

      A few minutes later he notices her standing outside of the store, bag in one hand and money in the other, looking around the parking lot. He ducks around the side of his SUV so she can’t see him as he finishes putting the last of his purchases in the back. She looks down at the money in her hand as she gives up looking for him then stuffs it in her pocket before walking over to a rusty old van on the other side of the lot. He gets into the driver’s seat to watch her pop the hood of the van then use the hose clamp, screwdriver, and duct tape to try to fix something near the engine. It looks like she has little idea about what she’s doing, but when she gets in and starts the van it seems like the fix works well enough. Ray starts his SUV and pulls away, a bright smile across his face. The gentle rain slows and a small shaft of sunlight breaks through the clouds as he turns onto the highway and heads for home.

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      It might be 10 pm on a Wednesday night, but Alpha team just crushed an op and deserves to celebrate. The bar is open, the beer is flowing, and the team is having a grand time. Most of the sparse patrons are the usual cast of characters they’ve seen many times before, so there’s nothing holding them back from whooping it up and causing a ruckus.

      Full Metal is hyped up on adrenaline and bravado. Derek, his 2IC, is itching to go home to his wife, but Metal isn’t having any of it. “Hey D, I tell you what. If you beat me in a game of darts I’ll let you run on home to Trish. When you lose,” he pauses to chuckle, “you’re buying a round of shots for the team.”

      “Metal, brother, you know I’m not taking that bet. You cheat.” Derek laughs and quickly downs the rest of his beer, plopping the empty bottle on a table then looking back to his team leader. “I have a gorgeous wife at home. Don’t you think I’d rather be with her than staring at your ugly mug?”

      “Harsh, brother. Harsh.” Full Metal rushes over and throws his arm around Derek’s neck, putting him in a head lock. He’s so focused on trying to get his teammate to stay that he nearly knocks over the waitress bringing sliders, fries, and a glass of water to a young woman sitting in the booth next to the door.

      The waitress is used to their antics and deftly steps around them as she shakes her head and chuckles. She sets the plate down in front of the young woman. “Needing anything else?” She pulls a squeeze bottle of ketchup out of her apron and sets it on the table. The young woman shakes her head no as her gaze repeatedly shifts towards the two men wrestling each other a few feet away. “Okay then.” The waitress looks at the two empty plastic bowls sitting on the table then glances down as she takes in how thin this woman is. “There’s more free popcorn and peanuts at the end of the bar,” she says flatly. With an audible sigh she turns and takes a few steps closer to the wrestling match, laughing as she swats Full Metal on the shoulder while she passes by. “Boys, behave yourselves.”

      Derek finally gives in and agrees to a game of darts; loser pays for a round of shots before calling it a night. Somehow it turns into a game of tackle darts until a few of the dangerous projectiles start flying towards other patrons. When one lands in the floor near the young woman who’s quickly eaten her food, Derek rushes over to apologize. He barely gets an ‘I’m sorry’ out before he notices she’s deep in the booth, pressed against the wall while silently staring at him and struggling to mask her worry and anxiety. He turns on his heel and immediately shuts down the rest of the game, saying that Full Metal owes the team a round for nearly taking out an innocent.

      Full Metal shoots a look towards the woman; she’s hunched over and turned away from them, but watching out the corner of her eye as she eats the last few burnt fries. Sighing, he rolls his eyes at Derek and sulks over to the bar, orders a round of shots, and plunks down his money. The bartender sets the shots on a tray, not willing to let the staff go near the team while they’re wildly throwing sharp objects, and jokingly tells Full Metal to keep his shots tight.

      Just as Full Metal turns with the tray in his hands the young woman walks past, carrying the empty bowls towards the end of the bar. He accidentally bumps into her, sending one of the glasses tumbling and spilling its contents over the edge of the tray. She makes a small frightful noise as the plastic bowls fall from her hands and clatter loudly on the floor, and her wide eyes shoot a look up at him. “Sorry,” Metal says, his deep voice rumbling.

      She tries to hide it, but panic briefly cascades over her features. Taking a step back, her hands rise near her shoulders and splay as if she’s surrendering to him. Her voice is quiet and laced with apprehension as she says, “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes drop as she quickly takes in his height and size, then dart away as she takes a few sharp breaths. “I didn’t mean to knock into you. I’m really sorry.”

      “It’s no big deal,” he responds lightly. “I’ll grab another in a minute.” The rest of Alpha team rush forward to grab their shots before he can spill more. “You might want to deal with your shirt, though.” As the young woman senses herself being surrounded and gets bumped out of the way she glances down to see that much of the dark brown liquid that spilled has soaked the front of her worn-thin, baggy, sky blue shirt. She pulls her arms in to her chest and whimpers as she runs towards the bathroom. Full Metal returns to the bar laughing, orders two more shots, and walks closer to the bathroom as he waits to catch the young woman when she comes out. The least he can do is offer her a drink for her troubles.

      After a few minutes he sits down at a small table. He watches the rest of the team from a distance. He glances at his watch; she’s been in there fifteen minutes. He stands and knocks on the door. “You okay in there?” Listening close past the music and uproarious laughter he can’t hear the sounds of running water or the hand dryer. Walking back out to the table, he flags the waitress and calls her over. A quick explanation and request sends her into the bathroom to check on the young woman.

      The waitress emerges a moment later, her face somber. “She apologizes, profusely, but she doesn’t have enough money on her to pay for your drink.” She shakes her head lightly in annoyance. “She left me a pittance of a tip, so I’m not surprised. I told her you don’t care about that, but she’s worried.”

      “Thanks,” he says with a smile. As the waitress starts to walk away, he asks, “Anyone else in there?” She shakes her head no and waves him towards the doorway. Full Metal stretches to his full height and, leaving the shots on the table, walks back to the women’s bathroom door. Knocking softly, he slowly pushes open the door and peers inside, leaning against the metal doorframe. Her lower back is braced against the sink as she’s curled forward, her face buried in her hands. She startles and quickly turns as the door hits the wall, her arms falling to her sides and her eyes widening as she stares at him across the confined room. He tries to ignore how her now water-soaked shirt is clinging to her small chest, revealing she’s not wearing a bra underneath; but, he can’t keep his eyes from drifting down to notice how the lines of her ribs stand out, accentuated by the clinging fabric.

      Her eyes fall to the slice of doorway next to him and she takes a few steps towards it before realizing that his bulk is filling too much of the space for her to push past. Her chin trembles as her lips try and fail to form words. When she takes another step forward, pauses, then takes a step back as her eyes dart back and forth across the room, Metal realizes she’s assuming the worst of him.

      After spending his career being a badass hunting terrorists and insurgents he knows he’s quite intimidating; yet, for the first time in a long time Full Metal wishes he wasn’t. He swallows against a curious lump that’s forming in his throat and tries to keep his graveled voice soft as he says, “It’s okay. Come on out of there.” When a few seconds pass and she stays rooted to the floor, he steps back and offers out his hand the same way he has done before to hostages and victims his team saved. She stares at his hand for a few seconds, calculating the risk and realizing she has few options. Finally, she takes a step forward and slowly slips her thin fingers against his rough, callused palm.

      He leads her back out to the nearby table before releasing her hand and gesturing to the shots. “I owe you a drink,” he says with a small smile. “My name’s Scott. What’s yours?”

      She stares at the full shot glasses for a moment before looking up at him curiously. “Trysta. And I don’t drink,” she says softly, without accusation. The sound of a pool rack breaking across the room startles her and draws her attention to where the team is still congregated. As she looks around the bar she notices more eyes turning towards her and a blush begins to creep across her face as she subconsciously pulls at her shirt, clearly having forgotten it’s soaked and clinging to her.

      The youngest Alpha team member suddenly yells across the room, “Hey Full Metal, if you’re starting a wet t-shirt contest I’d better be a judge!” He wolf whistles and mimes bending someone over and slapping their rear.

      Scott immediately stands, turns, and bellows, “Silence Whisky Delta!” Even over the din of the room his powerful deep voice echoes a demand to be obeyed. Before he can turn back and apologize, Trysta is already running towards the side door on the opposite side of the bar. He walks quickly after her, but by the time he gets outside all he sees is an old van rumbling as it pulls out of the lot. Furious, he returns to his teammate and chastises him; he’d better learn quickly how to maintain some dignity in public or he’s not going to make it on this team.

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      Tuesday nights suck, according to Sonny. It’s the night that most of Bravo finds something else to do rather than sitting in a bar. Since Sonny can rarely handle being home alone in his apartment unless he’s asleep, it’s also the night he most often finds himself heading to a strip club. This night won’t be any different.

      Or so he thinks, until he pulls up to his usual Tuesday night haunt, parks his truck in the back where the staff won’t call a tow truck on him if he can’t drive it home before morning, and heads towards the entrance. Just at the edge of the streetlight beam lighting the back corner of the building he sees a young woman sitting on the ground, her arms pulled around her drawn up knees and her face hidden. He pauses and looks around, finding no one else nearby, and starts walking a wide path around her towards the door. A gentle breeze suddenly kicks up, carrying her soft cries towards him and he stops. He looks back at her, then at the door, then back at her. Sighing, he realizes if he doesn’t at least make sure she’s okay he’s not going to be able to enjoy himself inside.

      He walks closer to her and stops just a few feet away. He can’t help the hint of vexation creeping around his Texan drawl as he asks, “Hey, you okay?” She slowly raises her head to look up at him, wiping away tears streaking down from exhausted, half-closed eyes. Shading her eyes from the overhead light she blinks several times slowly. Sonny kneels down and tries again, this time being cautious to keep his voice even. “Everything okay with you?”

      Her voice is rough as she replies, “I can’t do it,” then drops her face back down.

      “You can’t do what,” he asks as he turns and sits with his back against the building a few feet from her.

      She hazards a brief glance at him through the corner of her eye as she takes a shaky breath, only to then face forward and look off into the distance. Speaking barely above a whisper she replies, “I need the money, but I can’t take off my clothes in front of strange men.”

      Sonny turns away, joining her in staring off into the distance as he rests his head back against the sharp brick wall behind him. He’s never thought to question why women would be strippers, or even that some might not have many other choices for jobs, only focusing on how much he enjoys being a patron. He opens his mouth and closes it again, realizing that any comforting platitude is going to be obviously hypocritical when he eventually walks away from her and right into the establishment that’s causing her so much distress. Finally, he settles on the only response he can come up with that doesn’t feel overly insensitive. “So what other jobs could you get? What are you good at?”

      The questions throw her and her face flips towards him as she wipes another tear from her cheek then looks in his eyes, suddenly feeling off-kilter speaking to a stranger about such topics. She ponders the thought for a moment before she drops her forehead onto her knees. “It doesn’t matter.”

      “Why doesn’t it matter,” Sonny questions gently.

      “Jobs mean identity. Identity means trouble,” she says ambiguously.

      Silence falls over them as Sonny sneaks a sideways peek at her. Her clothes look far too big, frumpy, and not recently washed. Her worn sneakers are threatening to bust open. Her fingers are thin and bony, her fingernails are dirty, and her hair is slovenly. He realizes even if she’d tried to get a job inside she likely would’ve been turned away for looking too unappealing. Taking pity on her, he tries again. “What do you wish you could do?”

      After a few breaths her body relaxes ever so slightly, as if just the thought of something better helped douse a little of her suffering. Her voice is clearer as she says, “I went to college to be an artist. I wanted to paint inspirational murals and do art therapy with kids.”

      “So why don’t you do that, then?” He can’t imagine a reason that would hold her back.

      “They would find me,” she says cryptically.

      Sonny runs through a list in his head of who ‘they’ could refer to and realizes none of the answers are pleasant. “You say you’re good at painting pictures?”

      She looks at him again, the slightest hint of a smile tugging on her lips. “Compared to the masters, no. Compared to kids, yes. I had an art scholarship if that says anything.”

      “What if I offered you a job?” He pauses, but when he notices her pull her legs a little tighter and the smile slips from her lips he adds, “My niece is having a birthday party next week; it’s some kinda princess-y theme.” When she doesn’t respond he adds, “Maybe you could, you know, do some of that face painting or show the kids how to paint a dog or the like.”

      “Thanks, but I can’t afford those kinds of supplies.” She sighs and looks past Sonny as someone exits the club far behind him, her mind fixated on the pulsating beat emanating from the doorway until it finally shuts. “Maybe…” as her voice drops off her gaze flitters over him then returns forward. “I’m sorry.”

      Sonny leans slightly to pull out his wallet. “You’d be doing me a favor, as I’ve been racking my brain figuring out what her present should be.” He’d brought a decent amount of cash to turn into singles so he pulls out a couple larger bills, fans them out then back together again, and holds them out towards her. “I don’t know what the going rate is, but how about I pay you some now so you can buy supplies then the rest after the party?” When she hesitates he repeats, “Really, you’d be doing me a big favor. If I show up without a special present I won’t hear the end of it.”

      She looks at the money then at him. He flicks the brim of his hat up a little and leans back against the wall so she can better see his smile in the overhead light. “A kid’s birthday party,” she hesitantly verifies as she looks at the money again.

      “Yes ma’am. Though if you’re as good as you say you are I might just have you paint some of them kitty whiskers on my face, too.” His guffaw is infectious and she smiles and briefly giggles in return.

      “Where and when,” she asks as she reaches out and takes the money, being obviously cautious to not touch his fingers as she does.

      “We’ll be at City View Park, by the picnic shelter near the large playground, at noon on Monday.” Sonny stands and holds his hand out in case she wants help standing up. “By the way, I’m Sonny.”

      She pretends to not notice his hand and awkwardly struggles to stands up on her own. “Thank you, Sonny. I’ll see you then,” she says, a small hopeful smile on her lips. “I’m Trysta and I’m grateful for you,” she adds before she turns and silently disappears into the darkness behind the building.

      Sonny considers heading inside, but at least for tonight the Boom Boom Room has lost its appeal. He shakes his head in defeat and heads back to his truck, deciding to stop by a liquor store on the way back to his apartment. He figures he might as well spend the evening drinking at home and trying to come up with a back-up present just in case Trysta doesn’t show up next week. Tonight sucks. Just as he’s about to close his truck door with a grumble, the creaking sound of a rusty door being slid shut layers under the thumping bass echoing from inside the building. In the sheer darkness a few parking spots away he sees a small light flick on inside a van then soon after click off again.

Chapter Text

      Midday Monday rolls around and Bravo team nearly has everything set up for Jameelah’s princess party in the park, to Naima’s exact specifications, when the guests start arriving. The men of Bravo team were required to show up because Naima was not going to set up, entertain two dozen kids alone, and clean up on her day off when they’re home and can be put to task. Ray is assembling the castle set he built for the kids to play with and take pictures in. Sonny is cooking up his famous tri tip barbeque as well as burgers and hot dogs for the kids. Jason and Clay are hauling over coolers full of drinks and cold foods, and setting up the tables. Brock and Cerberus are showing Jameelah and the early guests how a playset can be used as an obstacle course for well-trained dogs. Even Full Metal is there setting up the games, having been personally requested by Jameelah, because even if he won’t admit to it he doesn’t mind when kids jump on him and she likes to tease him about how his hair is graying too much for not having kids of his own.

      It’s quarter ‘til noon when a young woman nervously approaches Naima in the parking lot as she’s pulling a box of party favors from the car. “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you with the princess-themed party over here?”

      Naima briefly bristles, curious at the question; she doesn’t recognize this woman. For a warm late April day in the park it’s odd that this woman is dressed in baggy yet nice black slacks and a dark maroon collared dress shirt. There’s caution edging her words as she replies, “Yeah. Can I help you?” She looks closer, taking in her slicked back hair and the little bit of makeup that appears more a mask than a beauty regiment. Is she here to cause trouble?

      An unfocused gaze and quiet words respond, “My apologies, but I was hired by the birthday girl’s uncle to do face painting as his gift. I’m just not sure where I should set up. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.” The young woman is nervously clutching her hands together in front of her as she cautiously glances at all the people milling around the space then back at the woman in front of her.

      Naima smiles and motions towards the picnic shelter. “Anywhere is fine, really. If you need any help carrying supplies I can send someone over. We’ve got plenty of strong guys here ready to help.” She sets the box back down as she holds out her hand to introduce herself. “I’m Naima, the birthday girl’s mom.”

      “I’m Trysta and some muscles would be appreciated.” She smiles lightly as she shakes Naima’s hand. “Her Uncle Sonny forgot to tell me; what’s your daughter’s name?”

      Naima picks up the box again. “Her name’s Jameelah and she’s turning 10 today.”

      “You and your daughter have such beautiful names.” Trysta smiles shyly before stepping back. “I’ll get set up quick for the face painting, then if you’d like I have a simple painting I’d like to teach the kids how to make.” She hazards another glance over to the large gathering of people that continues to ebb and flow. “Whenever you and your family are ready for me to get out of your way, please just let me know.”

      Naima briefly watches Trysta as she walks to a rusty old van at the far end of the lot, which had already been parked when Naima arrived a half hour ago. Her curiosity is piqued over this strange woman Sonny has invited. She focuses back on the task at hand and hauls the party favors over to the picnic shelter, handing them off to Clay. “Apparently Sonny hired a woman to do face painting. Please go help her carry the supplies.”

      “No problem,” Clay says as he sets another table decoration in place. “Where’s she at?”

      “Her van’s in the back corner of the lot; hard to miss.” She leaves Clay to his task and heads straight for Sonny. “Hey ‘Uncle’ Sonny, did you pay a woman to come do face painting without asking me?”

      Sonny’s face lights up. “Oh, yeah. Is she here?” He looks around for Trysta before looking back at Naima. “She said she was an artist and I decided to be a patron of the arts.” He smiles big, leaving Naima wondering what he’s not telling her.

      “If you can walk away from the barbeque pit for a few minutes she could use some help hauling supplies.” Naima watches Sonny wiping his hands on his apron and standing a little straighter. A sly smile crosses her lips. “Sonny, is she someone important to you?”

      Curiosity streaks across Sonny’s face before being replaced by a cautious innocence. “I met her a few days ago and she’s an artist so I asked her to come as a present from me.” When Naima looks at him a little sideways he adds, “Plus she seemed to be in need and I wanted to help. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

      “She seems sweet, Sonny. Just keep an eye on her. I get the feeling she’s very nervous being in a crowd and I don’t want you and the boys making a scene and scaring her off in the middle of the party.” When Sonny tips his hat at her she eyes him for another moment before turning and heading towards the playground.

      Jameelah and her friends are excitedly cheering on Cerberus as he crawls through the playground equipment then jumps down and runs for the ladder to climb up to the slide. When Naima walks up behind the group Brock gets Cerberus’ attention and puts him into a stay for a short breather.

      “Now that all the guests are here you’ve got a few more minutes before we start the games, everyone.” She looks towards Brock. “It’s time for Cerberus’ big finale.” She turns and heads back to take one last inventory of the preparations and ensure everything is ready for the onslaught of kids, finishing by checking in on toddler Junior who has been helping his dad set up the castle.

Chapter Text

      As Clay approaches the van a memory from weeks ago surfaces and he pauses a few feet from the open door. He’s quiet as he watches her move inside, pulling at a large box and crawling as she drags it backwards towards the doorway. Just as she turns towards him he says, “Hey, let me help you with that.”

      Trysta startles, falls onto her rear, and presses her hand to her chest. She takes a deep breath and swallows before saying, “You scared me.” Looking him over briefly she closes her eyes tight for a few seconds before turning back to her task. She pulls the box closer then pushes it towards the edge as she breathes heavily from the effort. Her voice is unassuming as she quietly asks, “Could you carry this over for me, please? I didn’t realize I’d filled it so full.”

      Clay silently watches her for a moment without moving. Is this really the same woman he saw in the coffee shop? Does she somehow look even thinner than he remembers? She’s shown no indication she recognizes him, so he decides to not say anything about their previous, albeit short, interaction. “No problem,” he says roughly then clears his throat. Was he wrong? Was she just an eccentric artist and not really homeless after all? As he bends forward to grab the box he notices how her collarbone and the ribs on her upper chest are standing out in stark relief under the unbuttoned collar of her shirt. When he lifts the box, which really isn’t very heavy, he looks to the side and notices all the evidence of a meager life being lived within the small space. Yet he still says nothing, to not embarrass her the same way she had been by those rude employees. He steps back and smiles as he looks at her. “Do you have more?”

      Her eyes don’t meet his this time. She must have noticed him looking inside the van. Her voice is even quieter as she says, “Go ahead. I can carry the rest.” Turning away, she straightens up from her knees so she won’t hit her head on the ceiling as she grabs a few more items to set onto the floor just inside the door.

      Clay lingers. The way she’s drowning in her clothes makes her look fragile and tiny, like a little girl playing dress up in her mother’s work clothes. As she turns back towards him he purposefully smiles brightly even though she refuses to notice. Shifting the box into one arm, his large hand and arm easily holding it steady, he holds his other hand out towards her. “Let me help you down.” She only dares a glance at his chin before cautiously slipping her palm against his and slowly easing herself down as her arm trembles from the effort.

      Just then, Sonny hollers from a few feet away, “Trysta! You made it.” He guffaws as he approaches. She quickly pulls her hand away from Clay’s as she shyly smiles and turns back to the van. He slows his approach as Clay gives him a curious look, while she steps to the side and slides the door partially shut with one hand while trying to grab things with her other. “I’mma help you with that,” Sonny says as he lunges around her to grab the smaller box of canvases and an easel from her.

      She stands stock still while taking a staccato breath then grabs a pile of aprons off the floor before turning back towards him. “Thank you, Sonny,” she says then turns to Clay. “And thank you, sir.” She grips the aprons tightly between her hands as she looks to each of them, her eyes purposefully focusing just below their faces.

      “This here’s my buddy, Clay,” Sonny says before Clay can speak up. “Don’t let them pretty boy looks fool you. He’s not as interested in art as I am.” The brief smile this elicits from Trysta is unexpected, but welcomed. The two men wait as she closes and locks the van door before escorting her towards the picnic shelter. Along the way, Sonny holds out his elbow for her to grasp, but she seems inclined to ignore it, choosing to walk a half step behind with her eyes focused on the ground as they’re on either side of her.

      Naima walks closer as they get to the shelter and directs the guys to leave the items near the front of the space then sends them back to their original tasks, before approaching Trysta. “We’ve started some games so whenever you’re ready I can begin sending the kids over. Presents will be after so you can keep working during then if you need to. There’s space at the end of the table closest to the water fountain. Just tell Jason how much room you need and he’ll help you set up.”

      “Okay. No problem.” Trysta smiles brighter.

      “Oh, and we have plenty of food and drinks so feel free to grab whatever you’d like when we sit down to eat. You’re more than welcome to help yourself,” Naima adds.

      Trysta starts to respond that she’s not hungry, but Naima is already rushing off into the distance where it looks like a large man with graying hair is being trampled by kids as the game they’re playing requires tying bows around him with colored ribbons. She quickly turns on her heel, all too aware that too many large men are occupying this space for her to feel comfortable. Looking down at the mess of fabric in her hands she sets the pile on the table to untangle the largest one so she can slide it over her head and tie it around her tiny waist. A towering shadow climbs over her and she looks up, her eyes meeting Jason’s as she nearly trips from trying to put distance between them. “Um, I need to set up over here,” she says nervously as she swallows hard and quickly turns away from him.

      Jason had noticed Clay and Sonny walking her over and remembered her from a few weeks ago. He looks down at her, searching her face; he can’t tell if she recognizes him. “I’m Jason and I guess I’ll be helping you set up.” There’s a slight chill in his voice, echoing his curiosity about what she’s doing here. Remembering how she reacted to him on the beach he lightens his scowl and moves back out of her immediate space as he consciously loosens his frame; he doesn’t want to send her running off again.

      “I don’t want to keep you from the festivities, so if you could bring the supplies a little closer I can take it from there,” she says as she side-steps around him while staring at the ground. He sighs then moves a few decorations and place settings out of the way on the table before bringing the large box closer and quickly pulling items out for her to arrange. After a few minutes she reaches out and tentatively places a few fingertips against his forearm. “I can set it up. Go spend time with your family.”

      Jason looks down at the contrast of her pale thin fingers against his strong tanned arm, remembering the blue tint of her skin the last time he’d seen her. “Okay. If you need anything, just let one of us know,” he chokes out. He immediately makes a bee-line over to Clay and Sonny by the barbeque pit.

      Sonny is giving Clay a weird look as Jason approaches. “I just met her last week outside the Boom Boom Room. She said she was an artist and needed some money so I hired her to come here to paint faces.”

      Jason interjects, “Sonny, are you saying you hired a stripper to work Jameelah’s birthday party? Naima is going to murder you when she finds out.”

      Clay scowls at Jason. “J, we think she’s homeless and living in that van. I saw her being run out of a coffee shop more than a month ago because she looked disheveled.”

      Sonny grumbles. “She’s not a stripper, boss. She said something about how she’d be found if she got a regular job, and yet she couldn’t get herself to take off her clothes for money she clearly needs. When I tried to find out more she said she was educated as an artist and wanted to do art therapy with kids.” He sighs then continues. “I gave her the money I would’ve spent on strippers that night because after talking to her for a few minutes I realized she needed it more than I needed the champagne room.”

      “Who’s she running from,” Jason asks skeptically.

Chapter Text

      As Clay, Sonny, and Jason talk; behind them Cerberus barks and a happy gasp pulls their attention to watch as Trysta sets her brushes aside and turns to greet the hair missile.

      Brock is being pulled behind Cerberus and when he sees who his dog is insisting they visit with he loosens his grip on the leash with a smile. “Either there are banana peanut butter doggie treats nearby or you’re his new friend we met a few weeks ago.” She pauses her nuzzles against Cerberus’ face just long enough to look up at Brock and crack a hint of a smile that doesn’t reach her weary eyes. “Hi, Trysta.” Without a word she returns her attention to kissing Cerberus’ snout and whispering hellos against his head. Brock steps closer and slowly kneels next to his war dog, cautiously ensuring he won’t get too worked up and become aggressive. Softly he says, “You were gone when we got back from our run and we haven’t seen you there since.” When she still doesn’t respond he scratches the dog’s head and continues. “Cerberus was worried he wouldn’t get to see you again.”

      Finally she looks at Brock and hesitantly speaks. “I’m sorry I worried him.” When a canine tongue suddenly swipes her nose she giggles for a second and focuses her attention back on the pup. “I didn’t want to disappoint you that I didn’t have any more bananas to share.” She scratches his chin and cheeks more.

      “Speaking of…” Brock stands. “Cerberus, stay.” He runs off towards his truck as Trysta returns to talking quietly to the fuzzy affectionate warmth in front of her. When he gets back he holds the gift card out for her. “Cerberus wanted me to get this for you to say thank you for being so generous with your breakfast that morning.”

      Trysta pauses and looks at the card then up at Brock. “It’s okay. There’s no need.”

      Brock cuts her off. “He won’t take no for an answer.” In a secretive whisper he adds, “I’m pretty sure he’s hoping that you’ll get some more bananas and he’ll get to share them with you again sometime. Apparently I don’t give him enough treats like that.”

      She purses her lips together, thinking. Brock gently coaxes her hand off Cerberus’ fur and sets the card against her palm, holding it there for a few seconds until her resolve weakens and her fingers reluctantly close around it. “Thank you, good boy Cerberus,” she says quietly as she nervously smiles at Brock. The black snout sniffs her ear then boops her nose when she looks back at him, causing her smile to brighten. “Tell your dad I might visit your favorite trail soon and I’ll save a banana for you.” A lick to her chin in response elicits a melodious giggle. “Though, right now I need to finish getting ready to paint kids’ faces.” When Brock grabs Cerberus’ leash she looks up at him once more; a timorous yet slightly more hopeful look settles in across her features. “Thank you, Brock. I needed more puppy cuddles.”

      He smiles, but remains quiet. Her trust in a dog and distrust in his owner speaks volumes, so he doesn’t want to risk her disappearing again by pushing her boundaries any more. With the leash he nudges Cerberus towards his teammates and gives him a little chin scratch as a reward for being so polite and gentle with her.

      Jason calls Brock over as he walks away from the table. “What was that all about?”

      “What? You mean Trysta,” Brock asks as he joins Jason, Clay, and Sonny. “Weeks ago Cerberus and I met her at our running path and he ate most of her banana before I could stop him. When I realized she was living in her van and that was probably most of her food for the day I felt bad so I bought a gift card to the grocery store.” He sighs and looks back at her. “She disappeared before I could give it to her, so I’m glad we finally ran into her again.”

      “See? Told you she was broke,” Sonny says.

      Jason looks at his brothers. “I knew she was homeless when I saw her bathing in the freezing ocean, but did we really all meet her without realizing it?”

      “Hold on; you saw her bathing in the ocean?” Sonny nearly drops his tongs in surprise. “So you thought she was a stripper?” His demeanor changes as he remembers she was crying at the thought of taking her clothes off in front of men for money. “What did you say to her to freak her out?”

      “Nothing, Sonny,” Jason says defensively. “I was out for an early morning run and happened to see her in the water. She was in ratty old underwear and her lips and fingers were blue. I thought she had drowned, but she was just lying in the surf like it was a hot summer afternoon and there wasn’t a care in the world.” He looks at the faces glaring at him and a hint of anger drops over his face in return. “I didn’t touch her. When I approached to check if she was alive I must have startled her because she took off running to her van before I could stop her.”

      Clay speaks up. “Whoever she’s hiding from it must be serious if she’s going to bathe in the ocean, sleep out by a hidden running path, won’t speak up to defend herself when being bullied and berated for using free wifi in a coffee shop, and yet isn’t willing to do whatever it takes to make enough money to eat.”

      “Why are you talking about coffee shops,” the booming voice of Full Metal interrupts as he joins, having handed over the games to Naima. A few strings of ribbon still adorn his limbs and he yanks them off before the rest of the guys can harass him for it.

      “Apparently we’ve all run into that woman around town and we’re trying to figure out what’s up with her,” Brock says.

      Full Metal turns around and sees who they’re talking about. “No shit,” he grunts. “Alpha team and I were out at the bar the other night and she was there. Had to give our fresh Green Team meat an Alpha Charlie after what he said towards her.”

      Sonny is the first to get out a coherent question from this information. “Does he know her? ‘Cause she’s apparently having a rough go at life.”

      When Full Metal sees four curious faces on him, he shakes his head. “No, he was being an ass commenting about a wet t-shirt contest after I accidentally spilled a drink on her.” When the curiosity grows instead of being satiated, he continues. “She was there getting food and we were celebrating. I bumped into her and she ran into the bathroom to rinse off her shirt, but wouldn’t come back out because she didn’t have cash to replace the shot. Got her out, but dumbass made a comment and she ran off before I could get more than her name.”

      Clay groans. “So at the coffee shop she’s bullied. Jason sees her freezing in the ocean. Brock finds her at a hidden path and lets Cerberus eat the little food she had. Alpha freaks her out about a soaked shirt. Then she tells Sonny she’s running and hiding from someone.”

      “I didn’t ‘let’ him eat her food,” Brock defends.

      “Not the point, Brocade,” Clay ribs then returns to his point. “Either we’ve all witnessed or taken part in scaring her, or she’s wandering around town trying to garner sympathy.” He scoffs. “I mean, if she’s so afraid why is she sleeping in a van rather than in a shelter or with some friends or family? Considering a few of us have run into her in compromising situations, is she just here hoping some soldier or sailor will take pity on her and decide to take care of her?” Each of them looks at Clay, silently considering what he’s saying for a moment.

      Full Metal is the first to respond. “If she’s trying to play a game, she’s doing a poor job of it.” His voice gets uncharacteristically quieter as he says, “I could count each of her ribs when that wet shirt was stuck to her. She’s barely more than skin and bones, man. Plus she didn’t try to look sexy or flirty in any sense.”

      Jason clears his throat. “She let the ocean crash over her again and again like she didn’t care if it dragged her away. Her lips and fingers were blue like she’d been there long enough to go completely numb to the cold, as if hypothermia meant nothing.”

      Brock pats Cerberus’ head. “Yet she was happy to share her banana with a friendly dog while she nervously eyed me.”

Chapter Text

      As the five men watch, Trysta stands up from the table where all her paints and brushes are laid out neatly and cautiously peeks around the corner to the grassy area where the kids are tossing ping pong balls into buckets to win prizes. She gets Naima’s attention, letting her know she’s ready whenever the kids are. When she turns, she sees a little boy coming out of the wooden castle set near her and kneels a few feet from him.

      “Hey there, little one. Would you like to be the first to get your face painted?” She smiles at him as he shakes his head yes.

      Ray stands up inside the castle where he’d just finished putting in the last screws, sees a stranger talking to his son, and emerges. “Hi,” he says cautiously. When she looks up at him, he recognizes her. “What are you doing here?”

      Trysta tries to stand up quickly, but loses her balance and falls backwards instead. “Um, hi, sir,” she says as she scrambles to her feet. Her hands slide into her pockets, but find nothing there. She looks down at her empty hands then back up at the man looking her over. Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to find her words. Eventually her shoulders sag and she swallows hard. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know you’d be here,” she mumbles with a sad voice. “I tried to find you to give you the change, but after a week I,” she stops, clenching her teeth together. She takes a shaky breath and tries again. “After a week I spent it.”

      Ray shakes his hand towards her, indicating she should stop apologizing as he smiles. “Calm down. It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to give it back.”

      As if she doesn’t hear him she adds, “Jameelah’s Uncle Sonny hired me to do face painting so when he pays me I can pay you back; with interest.”

      “It’s okay. Really.” Ray smiles bigger and steps forward to gently put his hand on her delicate shoulder. “It was only meant to help you out when you needed it; nothing more.” She looks at him, slowly blinks, and takes another deep breath. “Just pay it forward someday.” She nods her head silently as she tries to force a smile on her face. His voice turns skeptical as he points to his team and says, “Now, you’re telling me that Sonny hired you to do face painting at my daughter’s birthday party?”

      Trysta nods again, a tinge of worry crossing her forehead that’s soon replaced with confusion. “Jameelah’s your daughter? Naima’s your wife?” She looks towards the barbeque pit and sees Sonny and the rest of the guys standing together staring at her. “Sonny’s your brother?” She steps back so his hand falls off her shoulder.

      Ray smiles and chuckles. “We’re family by bond, not by blood.”

      “Oh,” is all she says. She looks back at the kids then down at the little boy in front of her.

      “By the way, I’m Ray and this is my son, Junior.” He bends and picks up the toddler. “I think he’d love to get his face painted like a doggie.” Looking at his son, Ray playfully growls and nips as Junior happily giggles.

      “Would he like to be a friendly dog or a fierce dog?” She focuses only on the little boy as they walk over to the table.

      “I think we’ll stick with friendly for now.” Ray sits down with Junior in his lap as she quickly paints him to look like a puppy then shows him in a mirror. Junior happily laughs and barks. “I think he likes it.”

      Trysta smiles at Junior’s excitement. “I think you look just as cute and sweet as Cerberus,” she says to Junior.

      “Cerberus? Cute and sweet?” Ray looks at her a little sideways as he sets his son down and pats his little behind to send him towards Naima to show off his puppy face.

      “Yeah, Brock’s dog.” She indicates the pair in the background.

      “You mean the hair missile who takes out war criminals and violent terrorists as his job?” Ray laughs then gets straight-faced as he sees she’s serious, her face falling. “You didn’t know he’s a war dog?”

      “No,” she says quietly. “Brock’s a soldier?”

      Ray glances back towards his team, confused; then eyes her suspiciously. “I thought you knew Sonny; but, you didn’t know we’re Navy?”

      “I just met him last week and he hired me to help me out. You mean you’re all soldiers?” She looks behind Ray at the faces of the men she’s been running into around town for weeks. “Is this a joke? Did you set this up to screw with me?” She slides back on the bench a little, putting more space between them as her body tenses and prepares to run.

      Jameelah runs up to the table. “My turn!” She looks at Trysta with a big smile on her face. “Can you make me look like a kitty?”

      Ray puts an arm around his daughter and pulls her to his side. “Trysta, this is Jameelah, the birthday girl. I’m going to let you get to work on making her look even cuter than she already is.” He pokes his daughter in the side to make her giggle. “We can talk more, later.” He stands and gives Jameelah room to sit down before hurrying over to his teammates.

      “Yeah, okay.” Trysta watches Ray leave and join his team before lightly shaking her head then struggling to focus on the little girl in front of her. As kids begin to file through, one after another, her eyes occasionally dart up to keep a cautious watch on the men’s movements.

      Ray approaches Sonny, a slight scowl on his face. “Okay, so I’m hearing you hired a random woman you just met to come to my daughter’s birthday party.”

      “Well, it’s like this, Ray,” Sonny starts then pauses when he sees Ray turn dour. “She’s a trained artist who’s down on her luck. She’s homeless and trying to hide from someone.” When Ray doesn’t warm, he adds, “We’ve all run into her over the past few weeks and I gotta tell ya, brother, she needs a little kindness.”

      Ray sighs and finally lightens. “I know. I ran into her when I was getting supplies to make the castle. She was buying a few items to fix her van and didn’t have enough money so I helped her out.” He smacks Sonny’s arm. “She offered to pay me back with whatever you’re paying her to be here.” Then he looks at Brock. “After she painted Junior to look like a puppy she said he looked cute and sweet like Cerberus because apparently she didn’t know we’re SEALs and he’s a war dog.”

      “Well, I guess that answers that,” Clay says. When Ray looks at him questioningly, he continues. “We’ve been sitting here talking about our interactions with her, not entirely sure if she was trying to get pity from a bunch of military men or if it was just coincidence we’ve all met her and she truly is in need of some kindness from strangers.”

      Jason adds, “She’s heading towards emaciated on top of being fearful and what we’ve pieced together is she’s homeless, broke, hiding from some people, and now we know she didn’t purposefully try to get our attention because of suspecting or knowing who we are.”

      While the team changes conversation topic, since there’s little more they’ll be able to learn unless they can corner her and get her to talk, the party continues. The games are played, the castle is a big hit, and all of the kids get their faces painted like a variety of zoo animals or with symbols like rainbows and hearts. Even Sonny stuck to his word and let Trysta hesitantly paint a kitty nose and whiskers on him, which gets the kids laughing hysterically when he tries a Texas-accented meow. As Trysta cleans up, Sonny announces the steaks, burgers, and hot dogs are ready; so she gathers her things and sets them aside then approaches Naima.

      “Trysta, the kids all look great. You did a wonderful job,” Naima gushes.

      Smiling yet guarded, Trysta replies, “I’m glad they like it. It’s been so long since I got to work with kids, so thank you for giving me the opportunity. If you’d like, I can come back a little later to teach them how to paint a simple picture of a puppy that they can take home. Or I can just clean up and get out of your way.”

      “Is there somewhere else you have to be,” Naima asks, perplexed at her offer. “If not, please stay and have something to eat. As I said, we have a lot of food and we’d be happy to have you stick around.” She tries to keep herself from noticeably staring at Trysta’s protruding collarbone and ribs.

      “Yeah, okay; I’ll have a little snack. Thank you,” Trysta says quietly, her resolve melting slightly under the bright encouraging generosity. “I’ll be sure to stick around and help clean up afterwards. It’s the least I can do after your husband was so kind to me.”

      Naima is a little curious about the statement, filing it away to ask Ray about the circumstances later. “Just make sure you get your fill right away before the guys eat whatever the kids don’t.”

Chapter Text

      Naima puts the guys to work again, making the team walk around serving the kids rather than risking ending up with food dropping all over the place. The guys start cracking jokes and teasing the kids as they file past filling plates, causing lots of laughter and giggles to fill the park. With so few of the team having kids, moments like these are tranquil bliss that can cut through even the hardest exteriors for an afternoon. Trysta silently sits alone at the empty end of a table, but soon the guys are doing the same with her and heaping the plate in front of her full of food as she tries to tell them that’s more than enough. As Naima and the guys start filling their own plates Trent pulls up on his motorcycle and runs over.

      “Sorry I’m late, Naima,” he says as he gives her a quick hug. “I was visiting my mom and lost track of time.” When she gives him a mild scowl in return he adds, “I’ll stay late and help clean up as penance.”

      Naima finally smiles at him. “I’m glad you made it before the food is gone, but yes, I’ll be putting you to work after we eat.” She finishes grabbing her food then heads over to sit down.

      Trent grabs a plate and walks over by the rest of his teammates at the grill before he notices them all staring at him. “What?”

      Clay points behind Trent at Trysta. “Did you notice the extra person? We’ve each run into her around town the last few weeks; so, where’d you meet her?”

      “Who are you talking about?” Trent turns and sees Naima sitting down across from a woman he hadn’t paid any attention to. He watches for a few seconds as she looks up and smiles at Naima. “Trysta,” he questions quietly. “How can she be here?”

      “Where’d you…” Sonny starts to say, then trails off when Trent reaches back and shoves his empty plate at him before taking off at a near sprint.

      “Trysta! What are you doing here?” Trent ignores everyone else as he rushes over to her and puts his hand on her shoulder.

      She turns sharply and looks up at him; her initial startle at her name being yelled melts into confusion. “Trent?” The confusion is quickly replaced with a joyful delighted squeal as she stands and throws her arms around his neck. Ignoring the odd looks showering over them, he wraps his arms around her back and lifts her up; she bends her knees so he can haul her over the bench before spinning her around once as they hold each other tight. When he finally sets her back on her feet she places her hands onto his cheeks as she looks up at him lovingly. “How are you here? Now? Where’d you come from?” She can barely get the words out through her happy bewilderment.

      “Me? How are you here? I was just with mom. She said you called her two months ago and has been worried because you said you’d stop by, but you never did.” He looks her over, the smile on his face slipping as he realizes how thin she is. Sliding his hands over hers he gently pulls them from his face and looks at her left hand. His voice is softer and quieter as he says, “Last I heard you’d moved to the middle of nowhere and gotten married.” He swallows hard as her smile collapses and she drops her gaze away. He skims his hand under her chin to encourage her to look at him again. “What happened,” he questions in a whisper.

      Trysta bites her lip as she looks up into his concerned eyes. Finally she licks her lips and takes a shuddering breath. “He was nothing like you. Then he died and left me with nothing.” She drops her eyes away again. “I’m sorry, Trent.”

      He pulls her tight against him, hugging her close. When he finally remembers everyone around them he sees a bunch of looks that say he has a lot of explaining to do. “It’s okay. You’re here with me now,” he says softly. Carefully he nudges her back so he can look at her again. “You can tell me more, later.” He sets his palm against her cheek and she briefly nuzzles it. “I don’t know what could’ve put you back in front of me after so long, but I’m grateful for it.” He steps back and indicates for her to sit down and eat before returning to his teammates.

      “So, T, care to explain?” Clay looks at Trent with a sly smile.

      “She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Trent says, holding out his hand to get his plate back from Sonny.

      Sonny holds it behind his back. “Nope. No tri tip for you until you tell us more. We’ve been trying to figure her out and it turns out you’ve known her all along.” A smile edges across his face as he jokingly says, “Trent and Trysta? A little absurd there, buddy.”

      “Keep going, Sonny. I’m sure we didn’t get enough of that in school.” Trent says sarcastically as he glares, daring him to keep pushing the sophomoric ribbing and face the results.

      “You’ve got to give us more than that,” Brock says, pulling their attention back to the larger questions. “How is it we’ve never heard of nor met her if she’s your ex?”

      “We dated for three years in high school. She was going off to college and I decided to join the Navy. That summer her parents died in a terrible car accident and she gave up going to her dream college because they had no life insurance and she couldn’t afford the cost on her own. She asked me to stay with her, but I was due to ship off to boot camp just a few weeks later. We had a huge fight and she broke up with me because after losing her parents she said she couldn’t handle me going off to war and never coming home.” Trent holds out his hand again and Sonny finally gives him back his plate then fills it with a steak. “I tried to call her several times during the first few years, but she moved to another state to go to a cheaper college and changed her number. Last I heard she’d gotten married.”

      Jason gives him a wary look. “So why is she here, now?”

      Trent sighs heavily. “I was just visiting my mom. Apparently Trysta tracked her down and called her two months ago, asking if she could stop by for a visit; only she never showed and her phone was disconnected a few days later. Mom has been really worried about her; she always loved her and had tried to help her after her parents died. Yet Trysta was so upset I was leaving that she refused her help. Mom knew that a phone call out of nowhere like that meant something truly awful must have happened.” He sneaks a glance back then returns his attention to his brothers, wondering how much he should tell them about the woman he once believed was the love of his life. “She just told me her husband died and left her with nothing. For her to reach out to my mom could only mean she had nowhere left to turn and didn’t believe she could figure it out on her own.” He sighs quietly.

      “Well, that explains some questions,” Brock says, “though it doesn’t explain who she’s running from.”

      Trent’s eyes snap over to Brock. “What do you mean, ‘who she’s running from’?”

      Sonny chimes in. “When I met her last week she said she couldn’t get a job because ‘they’ would find her. So when she told me she went to college to be an artist and wanted to work with kids I offered to pay her to come paint the kids’ faces. We’ve all had run-ins with her over the past few weeks and she’s as skittish as a spooked horse.”

      “And she’s thin as a rail,” Full Metal adds. “Her shirt got wet when I met her and I could see practically every bone under it.”

      “Plus she’s living in her rusty old van,” Clay says.

      “Which is in real bad shape,” Ray adds.

      “She’s sleeping in places where no one would be around to help her if something happened,” Brock includes.

      Jason finishes the collective train of thought, “And she’s bathing in the ocean then lying alone in the surf like she doesn’t care if she freezes or drowns.”

      “Okay, I get it.” Trent cuts them off and waves his hand to silence his brothers. “I’ll bring her back to my apartment tonight. I won’t let her be alone any longer.”

Chapter Text

      After everyone has finished eating and cake has been served, Naima takes a break to sit with Junior while Trysta keeps the older kids busy teaching them how to paint a simple picture with Cerberus as their model. As they complete the painting and wash up, parents start arriving; Trysta watches happily as each kid excitedly shows off the picture painted ‘all on my own’. With only Jameelah and Junior left and sunlight fading, Ray and Jason convince Naima to take the kids home and let the men finish cleaning up as she did so much while the guys mostly sat around jawing.

      When Trysta realizes she’s now alone with only the guys, her demeanor changes from the happiness of working with the kids back to nervousness and timidity. She quickly tosses the last of her supplies into the larger box and tries to pick it up. It’s still too heavy for her; yet, she silently tries to lift it alone, seemingly wanting to disappear without causing any bother. Trent has been watching her closely after hearing how she’d run away in fear before; he notices her struggle, walks over, and nudges her out of the way then holds his hand out to her. “What,” she questions, avoiding looking up at him.

      “Keys,” he replies. “I’ll carry this for you.”

      She hesitantly pulls out her keys and gives them to him. “It’s the van RV in the corner of the lot,” she says quietly, shame awash through her words.

      “I know. The guys told me.” Trent heads straight for her rusted old van as she gathers the easel and pile of aprons then follows him. When she gets there the larger box is already inside and he’s leaning against the passenger door, watching her slowly bridge the space between them. He’s giving away nothing; his affect is flat, though his gentle nature shines though his eyes as his mind continues to race through the stories his brothers had told him about her.

      Trysta sets the last items inside the doorway and holds her hand out. “Keys?” Instead, he shoves her keys in his pocket. “Trent, you need to get back to your friends and I need to go.”

      “Go where?” His expression is soft, yet defiant.

      She stutters briefly. “Wherever,” is her quiet answer as she slides the door shut, as if he didn’t just see all the evidence she’s been living in there and she still needs to protect the secret. When he continues to silently watch her instead of responding, she anxiously looks at his hands. “Keys,” she says a little stronger as she holds her hand out again. Still he doesn’t give them up. “Trent, I need my keys,” she says forcefully, only to subconsciously jump slightly when his body shifts and he stands straight to make it clear he won’t give in to her request.

      His voice is purposefully temperate and tender, yet unwavering as he states, “Trysta, you’re staying with me tonight.” When she starts to shake her head no, he takes her hand in his. “You know I joined the Navy. What you don’t know is I joined the SEAL teams. These guys are my teammates, my brothers.” He sighs softly as she hazards a quick look back before losing her nerve and staring at her left hand in Trent’s right. “They each told me what happened when they met you.”

      Trysta’s voice is barely above a whisper as she says, “Your mom told me you became a SEAL and I think she believes it’s because after I left you and moved you became unfettered and reckless.” Her eyes trail up his arm and pause on the scars left behind as evidence of his inherently dangerous career choice. “It’s because of me you put yourself in harm’s way.” She clenches her teeth and presses her eyes shut until he squeezes her hand; opening her eyes, she continues up his arm until she finally meets his eyes again. “I looked up what it takes to become a SEAL. I should have been there to support you through those sacrifices.”

      “I found my purpose,” he says matter-of-factly. “It wasn’t recklessness or because I didn’t have you. I wanted to challenge myself. It helped make me a better, stronger man.” He slowly brings her hand up, kissing it then holding it to his cheek to keep her attention on him. “My brothers are concerned about you after your brief interactions with them, and now I’m concerned, too.” He reaches out his left hand and holds her side, his fingers gently tracing along her ribcage through her shirt as if to notify her he’s noticed how anorectic she is. “I know you’re living in this van and bathing in the ocean. I know you’ve had no money for food. I know you’re afraid and running from someone.” As he talks he can see her body close up tighter and tighter until she puts her free hand to her mouth and tries to cover a tiny whimpering cry while her eyes turn away from his and slowly close. Finally he releases her hand and pulls her close, folding her into himself. He whispers, “Whatever’s going on you know I’ll do anything I can to help; I just need you to let me. Tell me what’s going on so I can protect you.” He can feel her body shudder slightly with each stressed breath, yet she still remains silent even as her fingers clench deeply into his back. “You know, I think my mom loved you more than me most days. This morning she wouldn’t let me leave her house until I promised to find you and convince you to come see her. She’s still so worried after you didn’t show up when you said you would.”

      Trysta takes a sharp breath. “Please tell her I’m sorry. I realized I couldn’t show up on her doorstep destitute and desperate.”

      “Why not? She would’ve welcomed you with open arms.” He can feel her face bury against his neck, trying to hide the tear that drips onto his shoulder.

      “I’m ashamed of how I treated you after my parents died, Trent. I couldn’t accept losing you too, so I pushed you away instead. It wouldn’t have been fair for me to suddenly show up begging for forgiveness all these years later.” Her hands slide up his back until her fingers curl around the edge of his shoulders and dig in again, clinging to him. She lightly chokes out the heartbreaking words, “I got what I deserved.”

      Trent’s breath flutters across the wispy hair at her temple as he asks, “What do you mean? What happened?” He can’t help himself; he lightly brushes his lips against the soft skin just like he did when she clung to him the same way at her parents’ funeral so many years ago.

      She loosens her hold on him just enough that her timid words can be said more clearly. “About a year after I finished my master’s degree for children’s art therapy, after working constantly to afford it then working a second job while completing my internship, I was set up on a blind date. He said he wanted to take care of me and I shouldn’t have to work so hard. We were married less than a year later, only for me to realize not long after he didn’t care about me. He was controlling, mean, and narcissistic; I was a trophy for him to show off so he could feel better about himself. He kept sabotaging my chances to get the jobs I’d studied and trained so hard for, and a few years ago he also made me quit my part time job; but, he gambled away more and more of his own paychecks every year. When he realized he was deeply in debt to some very scary people he killed himself and left me with little savings and mountains of unpaid loans from guys who collect in flesh and pain what they can’t in money.” Her voice falters, shattering like thin glass on the picture frame façade that had once been her mask; but, Trent silently holds her a little tighter to encourage her to continue. He wants to know about all the rough edges she doesn’t want to expose. “As I tried to put my life back together terrifying men started following me and threatening to do awful things, saying I now owed his debts and they’d take payment in one way or another. They broke into the apartment and stole anything of worth then left behind a note saying they owned the cops and would take me in payment if I reported it. I used nearly all of the money I had been hiding away from my husband to buy this crappy van so I could try to escape them; the only people I could think to beg for help were you and your mom. My husband had succeeded in cutting me off from the world; but, I had kept an old work tablet locked away for when I finally worked up the nerve to leave him, hoping it would be enough to figure out where to go. Though I ran out of money quickly, ran out of food, and soon after ran out of hope.” Trysta’s death grip holding her in Trent’s comforting embrace has slowly loosened with each word until her touch is feather-light, as if her very life is draining out with every breath and every painful word. “I sat parked down the street from your mom’s house for an entire day, but I couldn’t bear to step foot outside let alone walk up to her door knowing if they were watching me I’d be putting her at risk.” Suddenly she pushes away from him, breaking his grasp and taking a few steps away so her back is towards him. Her hands hide her face as if she can’t bear to risk seeing anyone looking at her shamed misery. Cries lace through her words as she confesses, “I was afraid some of your teammates were those men following me, wanting to hurt me or drag me back to be sold to pay off what was owed.” Her clenched shoulders and fragile back start to heave from the effort to breathe through her sobs. “I realized I had no right to come back into your life, dragging along with me all the consequences of my failures; all I could do was acknowledge whatever happened to me no longer mattered.”

      “Yet, here you are.” Trent walks up behind her and slowly rubs his palms along her arms. Nothing she said could’ve turned him away; but, how does he convince her that these revelations only further convince him that they’re together again for a reason? “Time and fate brought you back to me. You escaped, made it here, got my brothers’ attention, and through them we were brought to this place in this moment so we could be reunited.” He slowly and gently presses himself against her back so he can lean down and place another light kiss against her jaw. “Time was against us so long ago, but if people are meant to be together fate will bend time to its will; just like you depicted in that painting you made when we broke up for a month at the beginning of senior year, after I told you I wanted to enlist.”

      “Time Takes Two,” Trysta whispers. She slowly turns and looks at him again, her palms lightly settling against his powerful chest. “Can you forgive me for pushing you away and disappearing, leaving you to face your challenges alone? Can you overlook that once again I have nothing to offer you except neediness? Could we ever have another chance if I can turn my life around?”

      Trent smiles as he leans closer, holding her to him and not wanting to let her escape his embrace again. “I forgave you long ago. I’ve just been wishing for you to come back to me. There’s so much you can offer, starting with your love.” He looks longingly at her lips, but pauses to let her make her choice to believe his sincerity or not. Finally she rises up and kisses him, leaning into his stoic strength like he’s slowly filling her wilted body with life once more. When she pauses for a breath she slides her fingers up into his hair, kissing him harder as if his lips alone can save her soul from the depths of utter despair.

      Cheers and wolf whistles from across the park break them apart and the pair looks to the rest of the team who have been watching in the distance. Trysta blushes and cuddles into Trent’s embrace as he snickers and waves them off to quiet the ruckus.

      “Sounds like you’re being welcomed into a whole new family,” Trent says happily. He steps back from her, but slips his hand into hers. “I think it’s time for some proper introductions with my brothers. Then I’m taking you home with me. You’ll never have to sleep in this van alone again. Later we’ll figure out how to clean up whatever messes that bastard left you with so you can start your future fresh.” He leads her back towards the picnic shelter. “Tomorrow morning I’m taking you to Mom’s house.” Nudging her slightly he adds, “Just don’t blame me if she locks you in and makes you stay for a few days, or weeks. I think she might never let you out of her sight again.” He chuckles and she echoes him. “She really did love you more than me.”

      Trysta smiles brightly up at him through the tear stains quickly disappearing from her cheeks. She slips her free hand around his large sinewy arm as she squeezes his hand a little tighter. “As long as you promise to always do your best to make it home safe I think I can handle that.” This time when she meets each of the Bravo teammates she can happily smile and thank them for their kindness without fear or shame.

      Time and circumstance ripped apart two people from their happiness. Time and fate brought them back together when they were ready to start over with their sights set on a better future. It takes two hearts destined to be one for time to weave an undeniable forever story.