Chapter 18
United States Naval Academy, Bancroft Hall, Common Room, Annapolis, Maryland
Fly sat there for a long moment in the dim light of the common room, letting the silence rush back in. Then he stood up and walked back to his room.
The room was quiet, the air thick with the sound of Than’s rhythmic breathing. Fly moved to his bed in the dark, sitting on the edge. He didn't lie down immediately. He just sat, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
The talk with Joker hadn't healed him. If anything, the wound felt deeper now, exposed to the air. It hadn't relieved his guilt, just reoriented him.
A cold, hard truth settled in his gut, calcifying into a permanent part of him. He would never again believe that skill guaranteed safety. He would never confuse correctness with protection. He would lead from now on, knowing that loss was possible even at his absolute best.
But underneath all that resolve, the guilt remained. It was worse now because it was specific. If he had listened to his instincts, if he had ignored Hollis and gone to shore on the first warning, Mei would be alive. No amount of "correct procedure" changed that equation.
He lay back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He would never forget that lesson. In the future, he would follow his instinct, protocol be damned.
But for tonight, he just closed his eyes, knowing he would never stop seeing Mei in the math.
Mei. Sweet and serious at the same time. The quirks that used to make him roll his eyes now cut straight through his chest. The way she hummed under her breath when she worked, unaware she was doing it. The exact cadence of her laugh, quick and bright, like she was surprised by her own humor.
He remembered her mind most of all. Sharp.
Relentless. The way she could cut through a problem without raising her voice, slicing cleanly through confusion like bright light through fog.
He remembered how easy it was to trust her judgment.
How often he’d turned to her without thinking, already knowing she’d see what he saw.
That was the cruel part.
When she was there, she was just…Mei. It was only after she was gone that he understood how rare that kind of presence had been.
What they had couldn’t be labeled. Friend. Confidant. Soul mate. Words fell short and missed the point. It had been real. True. Precious. Her spirit was woven into his life so quietly and so deeply that the emptiness she left behind would always echo.
And echo.
And fucking echo.
The knock was soft. Careful.
Fly jerked awake, rose to open the door, and knew before he saw their faces.
Petty Officer Cormac “Shamrock” Kavanaugh stood in the hall, his hair thick and haphazard, shades of caramel with tawny highlights.
He looked harder than Fly remembered. Not older exactly.
Sharpened. The easy charm had compacted into something denser, more dangerous, like a blade’s cutting edge…
or the tip of the spear. His piercing blue eyes held more weight now.
Not less mischief, just a combination that warned anyone smart enough that he wasn’t safe.
Petty Officer Indigo “Bolt” Fisher was beside him, broader through the shoulders, posture loose but coiled, the kind of stillness that came from knowing exactly how much violence lived under the skin.
His hair fell in layers of tousled, sun-lightened disarray, his face stripped of anything soft.
The perfect lines of his features, that square jaw, were a quiet testament to the boy in Coronado Fly had known, now tempered, forged by the cost of the path he was walking.
Two warriors in their prime. Lethal. Seasoned.
Fly felt it then, a tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with recognition. He wondered, briefly, how BUD/S would change him and Than, and whether he would even notice the shift when it came.
Them showing up…brotherhood.
Than stirred. Not fully awake, but alert, like some internal wire had been tripped. He pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes tracking instinctively to the door.
Shamrock tipped his chin toward him. “Lad,” he said quietly. “Your brothers are here.”
Than exhaled. A sound like he’d been holding his breath since the bay and hadn’t known it.
Shamrock lifted the bottle in his hand, the amber catching the low light. “Thought we’d bring something solid.”
Fly shook his head once. “That never helps.”
Shamrock nodded, unoffended. “Aye. This isn’t about getting drunk and dulling the pain.” He stepped inside, Bolt following, the door clicking shut behind them. “This is about two brothers sitting in support of two brothers.”
Soft and deadpan, Than said, “I’m surprised you didn’t bring a fucking load of chips with you and at least three kinds of dip.”
There was a beat of silence, then the four of them chuckled. “Fucking Kavanaugh.” Bolt and Fly said in unison.
They settled without ceremony. Shamrock took the desk chair, turning it backward and straddling it. Bolt dropped to the floor, back against the bed, knees up, arms loose. Fly stayed where he was. Than sat up fully now, blanket slipping to his waist.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The storm rattled the windows. The room breathed.
Shamrock broke the silence, voice low. “You remember that week with Bear,” he said, glancing between them. “When he ran us into the ground on purpose.”
Bolt huffed softly. “On purpose,” he echoed.
“He said we needed to learn what it felt like to think we were done,” Shamrock went on. “Not tired. Not hurting. Done. Said that’s when you find out who you can lean on.”
Than nodded once. He remembered.
“We didn’t pass because we were strong,” Shamrock said. “We passed because we didn’t leave each other behind.”
Bolt shifted, eyes on the floor. “Still don’t.”
The bottle made a quiet circle as Shamrock rolled it between his hands. He didn’t open it. Just kept it there, present.
After a while, Shamrock stood. He hesitated, then looked at Than and Fly both.
“I’m sorry about Mei,” he said. “I didn’t know her, but it was clear what she meant to you during our brief chats. I know what’s going down right now.” Shamrock glanced at Bolt.
Bolt’s throat worked. He nodded once, sharp, blinking fast.
“If we’d lost you two,” Shamrock added quietly, “there’s not enough whiskey or time in the world that would’ve made a difference.”
Fly looked away, the words hitting him almost as hard as losing Mei. His jaw locked, throat tight, eyes burning as he stared at the far wall like it might hold him together if he didn’t move.
Than dropped his gaze, shoulders hitching once. His chest heaved, and he made a soft sound as he cleared his throat, the effort of keeping control visible for the first time.
The room held its breath.
Then Fly shook his head once, a brittle huff escaping him before he could stop it. With a soft, almost affectionate edge to his voice, he said, “Fuck you, Kavanaugh.”
Shamrock’s mouth curved, just barely.
Bolt let out a soft laugh. “Some things never change,” he said.
For the first time since the bay, something inside Fly loosened. Not the pain. Never that. Just the pressure of carrying it alone.
Shamrock set the bottle on the desk and stepped back toward the door. “We’ll be around,” he said. “You won’t have to ask.”
Fly took them in for another second, then looked at Bolt and asked softly, “How’s that lightning bolt working out for you?”
Bolt’s grin flashed quick and sharp, all bright teeth and something darker behind it. “Let’s just say it’s working as intended.”
“In other words, he’s getting more head than he can handle,” Shamrock said, smugly. “I don’t mind the overflow.”
The sound that came out of Than surprised all of them. A short snort, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Fly felt the tension ease a fraction, like a knot loosening without coming undone. He didn’t smile exactly, but something in his chest unclenched enough to let him breathe.
When they were gone, the room felt different, warmer.
Than lay back down, eyes open now, but calmer. Fly sat where he was, shoulders easing a fraction.
Outside, the storm kept moving. Inside…the brothers held.
The chapel was full, but Than felt alone anyway.
He sat between Bear and his mother, Bailee close enough on the other side that her arm brushed his when she shifted.
The weight of Bear’s presence was solid, grounding, like a mountain at his back.
His mother’s hand rested lightly on his knee, warm and steady.
None of it reached the hollow place in his chest.
The stained glass caught the afternoon light and broke it into color across the pews. Blue. Gold. Red. Mei would have liked that. He thought of how she would have cataloged the angles, the refraction, the way the light bent without breaking. The thought almost undid him.
Fly stood at the lectern, clearing his throat.
Than didn’t look at him at first. He listened.
“Mei was working on a problem the week she died,” he said.
“It wasn’t for a grade. It wasn’t assigned.
She just thought it mattered.” He paused, eyes steady.
“She was trying to reduce cavitation damage in shipboard pumps. Her only concern was that it would extend service life and reduce failure under load.”
A few heads lifted. Some nodded.
“It meant fewer breakdowns at sea. Fewer emergency repairs. Fewer sailors working exhausted in unsafe conditions.” Fly’s voice didn’t change.
“She cared about the people who would never know her name. That was who she was.” He looked once at Mei’s parents.
“The Navy didn’t just lose an officer. It lost someone who was already making it better. ”