Eh, because I was sitting home, bored.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute, hold up. We're going where?" Sonny interrupted. "To do what again?"

"Vogar, Iceland." Mandy repeated. "To escort…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Friar Tuck." Ray tapped buttons on his laptop. "Didn't know Irish monasteries still existed."

"They do." Mandy sighed wearily. "In many countries." man, they could wear her out.

"A monk?" Sonny slapped his laptop closed. "Don't they run around in hemp robes and rope sandals? What the hell they doing in Iceland? Wouldn't they freeze?"

"Is it winter over there?" Brock tossed a ball to Cerberus. "I think it's winter over there."

The dog returned with the ball to Ray, who threw it again.

"I don't want to go. I hate the cold." Sonny shook his head. "Snow, ice, all white all over, everything frozen."

"Wheels up at 0800." Eric shut down the wall screen. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, a minute, still catching up here." Sonny sat back. "We all going?"

"Just Bravo 6." Eric replied. "Problem with that?"

"Hell, yeah." Sonny pushed his chair back from the table but didn't stand up. "Why us? Seems to me any Seal Team unit can babysit Friar Tuck, escort him to a transport plane."

"Yeah," Trent agreed. "Why do we have to escort the mamby-pamby? No escape plan needed. Not retrieving any top secret item."

"Why not send our Tier 2 unit?" Ray questioned, scratching the dogs ears.

Eric rubbed his forehead. Why, again, was this team his favorite? Whine, whine, whine. Wine. Oh yeah, wine was definitely needed…..

"Above your pay grade." Mandy answered before Eric could. And he wasn't any happier with that response than the team was.

"So, no mechanics, no pilots, no drivers, no medics, no support team? Just shooters?" Sonny continued. "Like, for real?"

"For real." Mandy confirmed.

"So, that means you're going with us, right?" Jason finally spoke up. "You know," he paused. "If it's need to know and we don't need to know."

"I'm not, and it's early spring in Vogar, you won't freeze. Beautiful country, Winter Wonderland."

Jason looked at Blackburn, Eric nodded. Yes, he would be accompanying them along with Davis.

"Pack a hat." Davis quipped saucily.

"Question is, are we taking the kid with us?" Sonny asked.

"There a reason we shouldn't?" Jason cupped his chin in his hand, raised an eyebrow.

"Well now, you see boss," Sonny crossed his ankles, feet on the table. "We have this habit of losing him."

"We don't lose him." Ray countered, but couldn't hide his grin. "When have we lost him? Jace, you know what he's talking about?"

"Aah, the Saudi Prince had a harem….they wanted a pet?" Sonny reminded them. "I can go on."

"He wasn't hurt." Mandy laughed.

"Smelled so pretty when you brought him back." Lisa grinned.

"He keeps us on our toes." Trent agreed. "He's back from med leave tomorrow."

"Doc cleared him." Brock said. "Bruised hip is all. You know, from the last time we didn't lose him."

Jason stood up. Retrieval of a monk from his monastery on some ice-capped mountainside, in a remote fishing village, in a friendly country shouldn't be difficult. Was even a short flight. Two days, tops.

What could go wrong?

No jumping, no diving, no suicide bombers, no shooting, no gun fights…..easy/peasy.

"Page him."

***000***

Sonny was not happy. Not at all. Oh no. He was mad. He was pissed. Hell, he was fucking furious. If Mandy Ellis was in front of him right now, tromping on this fucking path with them, he'd have quite a few, unpleasant things to say to her.

Above his pay grade? He'd give her a fucking 'grade'! A big fat F minus!

Jason had ordered him three times to shut up, they would deal with it later, but he couldn't let it go. Holding onto his anger heated his blood, made him hot! And he was making a list to rub in her face the next time he laid eyes on her.

1. Vogar had not been their final destination. It was simply the closest inhabitable village near the monastery.
2. They were hiking because their transport could go no further into the hills. Lack of roads.
3. Snowmobiles had not been provided, nor were they available.
4. They were not adequately dressed for the sixish mile round trip hike.
5. If this was fucking spring, he didn't ever want to see winter.
6. Friar Tuck had complained since they first laid eyes on him.

He hated the cold, the snow, the ice….and damn, it was cold. Winter Wonderland, his ass! Not.

Blackburn and Davis had remained on the plane at the airport. The team had dressed for a ride in a heated vehicle; hats, gloves, jackets. And hell yeah, all were great for short dashes to and from the truck, to and from buildings. But not for a fucking hike. Not in pants that didn't cut the fucking wind. Pants that didn't repel water.

"Thought you bible thumpers took vows of silence." Sonny gave the good brother a shove to get him to pick up his pace. The monk had yet to stop complaining and Sonny was really getting tired of hearing him bitch.

"No need to hurl insults." The monk said stiffly. "This is not the extraction I was expecting."

"Now would be a good time to take that vow, don't you think?" Sonny retorted. He was in a mood to vent some anger. "Think I want to be out here, marching your ass…"

BOO-BOOM!

Simultaneously, six bellies hit the ground. The monk was shoved forward so hard and so fast, he hit the ground with a thud that rendered him silent. Sonny took pleasure in the push.

"Boss!"

"The fuck was that?!"

"Stay down! Count off! One, good!" Jason yelled.

Two through six counted off.

"Anyone got comms?" Ray yelled. "Comms? Anyone?"

7. Faulty equipment.

BOO-BOOOOooooOOOmmmMMMMMM!

The Seals belly crawled towards one another, bringing rifles around as each sought for the threat, the cause of the noise, and attempted to establish communication with Blackburn and Davis.

"Anyone got a location?"

8. Bullshit intel.

"The fuck?" Brock bellowed. "The hell's this shit?"

"Who's shooting? There wasn't supposed to be any shooting!" Trent ducked his head.

8A. Bullshit intel resulting in;
no sniper rifle, limited ammo, no vests, no helmets.

"Ray! You and Brock give cover. Sonny, Trent, take him and head for that copse of shrubs." Jason commanded.

"Cover where!" Ray yelled.

And that blew the lid completely off Sonny's temper. Protect the man who had argued with them since introduction? The man who had dragged his feet, delayed their departure, traveled slowly deliberately? Protect him at the possible cost of a bullet in the back?

His big hand clamped down on the monk's scrawny neck and dragged him to his knees. "You run, you got me?!" Sonny yelled.

"I don't see what all this fuss is about." The monk sniffed disdainfully, flicking snow from his sleeves. "It's merely a hunter."

Trent and Sonny dragged the protesting monk to the protection of some shrubs that covered a rock they could shelter behind.

"You good?" Ray yelled.

"Good." Trent yelled back.

Kneeling on the monk with a knee firmly between his shoulder blades, Sonny and Trent took aim but didn't fire. Ray and Brock joined them.

"Let me up! Let me up! Get off me, you big oaf!" the monk was flailing in the snow, making a face-down snow angel. If he were in a pool, he'd be swimming some mighty fast laps. "This is unacceptable!"

"Shut up!" all four chorused.

"Boss!" Ray yelled. "Jason?! JASON!"

Jason slid down the rock from above, landing in a crouch. "Anyone got comms?"

"Nothing."

"Nope."

"No."

"I order you to get off me. I demand to be allowed to get up!"

"Shut up." Ray snapped. "You don't get to issue orders."

"Can I tie him up?" Sonny asked. "Gag him?"

"No." Jason pulled a cell from his pocket. "No signal." He shoved it back in his pocket. "Sat phone?"

"Spencer?" Sonny said. "Sat got a signal?"

No answer.

Five Seals looked around. Looked at one another. Looked at the spot in their circle where a sixth Seal should be standing.

"DAMMIT!" Jason exploded, whipping his gloves to the ground. "Why is it every FUCKING time we lose that kid, comms are out?"

9. They'd gone and lost Clay – again.

"You." Sonny sat the monk up, turned him around and shook him until his teeth rattled. "Who the hell hunts around here?"

"Your language is despicable."

"God-dammit Jason, I'm going to wring his fucking neck." Sonny seethed.

"Taking the Lord's name in…."

"Jesus Christ! Shut UP!" Ray, Trent, Brock, yelled.

There were no more shots. The monk wisely remained silent.

"Trent, you and Brock take the good brother, make transport. Ray, you trail." Jason was scanning the terrain. "Sonny, with me."

"Tellin' ya Boss, no more above my pay grade shit." Sonny said. "Sent us in here blind, anything happens to that kid, I'm shedding blood."

"Now see here," the monk began. "Your job is to see me to safety. Splitting up and taking time to search for your lost employee is not serving me to the best of your ability." His nose was in the air. "And you're supposed to be the best." He added disdainfully. "I shouldn't have to point that out to you."

"Our job?" Trent repeated slowly.

"You bitched over leaving with us." Brock reminded the monk. "Now, you're our job?"

"Employ….." Sonny sputtered. "Empl…employee? Did he say employee? Did he just call Clay an employee?!"

"What would you suggest we do?" Ray asked incredulously. "Leave him out here?"

"That's exactly what I am suggesting."

"Oh, that's war." Sonny went for blood.

Both Ray and Jason pulled him up short.

"You have your orders." Jason said once Sonny was subdued. "We're not leaving him Sonny."

"You most certainly are!" the monk gained his feet and drew himself up, chest out, shoulders back. "Do you know who I am? I am…mmfffmmfffm!" his eyes went wide when Ray slapped duct tape over his mouth. Brock pulled the monk's hands together behind his back and Trent bound them with more tape.

"You can tell his boss…" Ray pointed at Jason. "Who the fuck you are." He shoved the man towards Brock. "We don't care."

"Mumph…Mmffmmmffmmm!"

"You're above our pay grade." Brock gave him a hard shove.

"You're a need to know job and we don't need to know." Trent shoved him back.

"Head out." Jason ordered. "Sonny, with me."

()

Clay didn't know where he was. The earth beneath his feet had shook and trembled. He'd heard a gunshot. Next thing he knew, he was falling. Then there was water….he didn't recall going over or sliding down a hill or bank, but he must have, for he lay in a wet, crumpled heap with his head aching, his sore hip – an injury from their last job – throbbing.

He put his palms down flat, his hands twinged at the cold contact…..odd, he wore gloves…..oh, they were wet. Huh. Not good. Snow wouldn't soak through that fast…but water would….his forehead was wet, must have snow in his hair….he raised a hand, the gloves were heavy….the snow was pink…..drip, drip, drip…huh, snow in Iceland was pink? It wasn't. So, blood? He was bleeding? Couldn't be good. He groaned, he was cold. Wet. Cold and wet. He needed to move. He couldn't stay where he was. He was where again? Man, his head hurt, his eyes were sticky, didn't want to blink, his face was wet…..he hunched a shoulder to wipe his eyes and pain lanced through his skull.

"Shit." He moaned.

Driven by training, instinct, knowledge, he rolled to his knees, hands slipping and sliding in the water. His jacket was wet, soaked through to his shirt. His cargo pants were wet, held the water, the material heavy, dragging him down, hampering his attempts to crawl. He was cold. Getting colder. Going numb. The water wasn't deep, he wasn't in danger of drowning, but damn, it was cold. Dangerously cold.

Sluggish now, he knew his time to get out of the water was growing short. In these temperatures, with the complications of wind and snow making the air temp even colder, hypothermia would set in, somewhere between 15 to 30 minutes. And he had no idea how long he'd been in the water either. Shaking off a glove, he opened his comm and left it live.

Teeth gritted, he managed to gain his knees. His arms and hands didn't want to cooperate, but he needed only his feet to walk, and the bank was right over there….he could make it. All he had to do was get out of the water. Must have hurt something in the fall down the hill…..everything was blurry, out of focus, not where it should be…he slipped, falling face first into the water. Spitting, he rolled onto his back, crying out when his sore hip rolled over a rock. Waiting for his breath to return, he saw the sky….dark clouds…a storm? Urgency now driving him, he pushed with his feet, digging his heels, and wormed his way to the bank on his back. He was exhausted, felt everything grow heavy, become distant…..and his last conscious thought was the motion of pulling his foot out of the water hurt a hell of a lot more than it should…..being numb with cold and all.

()

Jason and Sonny searched, looked, canvased. Retraced their steps and started again. No amount of calling or threatening bodily harm once they laid hands on him produced an appearance or evoked a response from Clay.

"This is bullshit!" Sonny bellowed, throwing hands of snow in a fit, kicking a tree. "People just don't fucking disappear! I swear to God, I'm tagging his ear with GPS!" more fistfuls of snow thrown in a different direction. "The hell Jason! He has to be somewhere!"

It'd been nearly an hour and they'd yet to find a sign of where Clay had disappeared.

"You see anything?" Jason turned in a circle. "No tracks, nothing."

"See what? I see snow Jason! God Damn Snow! Fucking Winter Wonderland! When I get my hands on that bossy…..what the fuck are you doing?"

"Listen!" Jason hissed, waving Sonny quiet. "Listen…listen…hear that?"

And Sonny obeyed, for all of three seconds. "I don't hear shit!" he tried his comm, static….no wait, water. Water? "What the…..?"

Jason's palm went flat against his chest and Sonny went silent.

"There! That!"

"Are comms up?" he tried contacting Blackburn and Davis, nothing. Tried Trent, tried Brock, nothing. Tried Ray, nothing. Tried Jason, connected. "So, that's Spencer's comm."

"But where the hell is he?"

"That's water." Sonny said. "Right? Tell me I'm not crazy. There's no river here."

"Over…..there?" Jason pointed, stepping left where the hill descended the steepest, Sonny grabbed for his sleeve, held him back. "That snow is untouched…no tracks."

They looked up, down, up, left, right, down. Listened. But neither could detect sight or sounds of a creek.

"It's a shelf." Jason tossed a good-sized rock at the untouched snow. It gave way with a whoosh. More snow than either thought possible just disappeared. "Fuck me."

"A ravine." Sonny edged closer, carefully, testing his weight before taking another step. "Christ, so what? Snow just appears out of nowhere? Falls away at will?"

But he was talking to no one. Jason was over the edge, running, slipping, sliding feet first down the rocky bank. He didn't take care, wasn't checking his speed, wasn't checking his descent, wasn't trying to stop.

At first, Sonny thought his boss had slipped, fallen, but then he saw what had sent Jason on his rapid, reckless plunge. And Sonny jumped after him. Going down the same way Jason had. Recklessly, but with more caution.

Reaching the bottom, ignoring a cranky ankle, Jason scrambled to his feet and slogged into the creek mindless of the cold water, the ice, the snow, the mud.

10. No decent medical pack.

Sonny was right behind him. Together they splashed through the water at a jog until they reached Clay. They each grabbed his jacket, an arm, lifted and dragged.

Clay was limp but dead weight, but neither Sonny nor Jason cared or stumbled. At a jog, their grip didn't slip, their step didn't falter. They cleared the water and dragged Clay up the bank, towards the meager shelter of a cluster of trees.

"Tell me he's breathing."

"Barely. Clay? Spence? Spencer? Hey, hey, hey." Jason dropped to his knees beside Clay who had yet to move. "Kid? Hey, hey, Clay?" he patted his checks, careful not to shake his head. "Clay, come on dammit."

"His lips are blue. He conscious?"

"Shivering, breathing is shallow, pulse is slow."

Jason tugged at Clay's gloves. Sonny cut the laces on the kid's boots and pulled them off, then his socks. Their boots were water resistant, not water proof.

"Swallow any water?" Sonny asked.

"Don't think so…..no."

11. No decent blankets.

Jason and Sonny worked side-by-side, checking for injury. In under a minute, Clay was out of his wet clothes. Sonny held him up. Jason guided his arm through a sleeve of his own coat, brought the coat around his back and Sonny took hold of his wrist to pull his arm through the second sleeve. Sonny's coat was wrapped around his legs, feet in the sleeves.

"Cover his head." Old wives tale or not, Jason was a firm believer you didn't go outside in the cold with wet hair. And body heat was lost through the head. "Nothing broken."

Sonny pulled Jason's hat from his head, put it on Clay, covered his ears and forehead, wiped the blood off with his glove. He used his own to cover Clay's hands. Together they rubbed Clay's arms and legs gently but briskly, trying to raise friction, restore blood flow, bring warmth.

Jason cursed, Clay wasn't responding or coming around like Jason wanted him to. He was showing signs of beginning to stir but he was sluggish, his movements uncoordinated. Skin still cold, lips still blue, breathing still shallow.

They'd all been trained in basic first aid. Knew about hypothermia; the do's and don'ts, what would and wouldn't help, but the need to protect and comfort often beat knowledge and training. The trick was to nurture without harming.

"Gonna hafta hold him." Jason said. "Body heat's all we got."

Sonny nodded. "You want him?"

Jason crawled over to the largest tree, turned around and sat down. It would shelter the worst of the wind. He pulled his knees up, spread his legs. He wasn't any to warm himself, lacked a jacket, but he wasn't freezing and if his body heat gave the kid warmth, comfort, he wasn't about to deny him that small measure. And if he got too cold, he knew without a doubt Sonny would take Clay.

"Ready? Hold, don't hug. Let him shiver." Sonny ordered. "20 minutes, we switch."

Clay flopped when Sonny picked him, his hands hung limply, his head bobbed, chin hitting his chest. Jason reached with both arms and took Clay's weight as Sonny released and let him drop. Once Jason had a firm but not too tight hold, Sonny tucked the coat back around Clay's legs, knelt at his feet and began rubbing again.

Every bit of Jason wanted to hug, hold tight, try and stop the kid from shaking….but he wasn't shaking, he was shivering….and shivering was good, so he curbed his desire, buried the instinct, held the kid close, let him shiver. He briskly rubbed Clay's arms and chest, rubbed again, laid a palm on the kid's chest and shook gently. Put his hands under the coat, felt the kid's skin, rubbed some more. Pulled his hands out, rubbed, put his hands back in. Over and again, repeatedly.

"You good?" Sonny asked. More than 20 minutes had passed, but he knew Jason wasn't ready to let go of Clay. Jason's movements were slower. Yes, neither he nor his boss wore a coat, but unlike Jason, Sonny didn't have a hypothermic adult male held between his legs, against his body. And if Sonny were to guess, he'd say it had gotten colder, windier…..they needed to get Clay off the frozen ground. "Want me to take him?"

Jason hesitated, loathe to let Clay go. But he was cold, getting colder. His feet and pant legs were wet. And Clay still shivered. His lips were still blue. His eyes were slatted, he didn't blink. "Gonna lay down, put him between us, you lay in front of him, put your back to us….cover all of us with one of the coats…..try Ray again."

12. Nothing to start a fire with.