They are men of action so finding out there is nothing left for them to do does not sit well with any of them. All Jason wants is to see the kid one more time, to assure himself that Clay is still alive, but he's no longer there. Airlifted out to the states because his injuries were too complex. The thought is crushing. Not only could the kid not make it, but he could die alone. The last image he has of Clay plays in his mind, struggling for breath, covered in blood, eyes drifting listlessly.

"Who's gonna be there for him?" Sonny finally asks, breaking the tense silence. He sounds as wrecked as they all feel.

And doesn't that just feel like another sucker punch to the gut. Jason runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Who would be there for the kid? Bravo team was Clay's life, hadn't they just talked about that? Besides the team, the kid had no one else to depend on. Who would step up and help him now? His father? Doubtful. Ash Spencer was not the nurturing, sit-by-your-bed-all-night type of father. Stella? Unlikely. This is the exact reason she left Clay, unable to handle the danger they put themselves in for others. Who else did the kid have in his life? Jason knew he was close with Derek and a few other teams guys, but eventually they would all be spun up or leave for deployment leaving Clay alone again. A cold, sinking feeling settles in Jason's chest as he realizes there is no one.

"Who's listed as his emergency contact?" Ray asks, mind running along the same line as Jason's.

"He listed Naima," Blackburn tells them with a sigh.

Everyone looks confused, but Ray can only nod his head. If he's honest with himself, he's not all that surprised. He recalls walking into his kitchen a few months ago to see Clay sitting there. It was just after Mexico, when his break-up with Stella was still fresh. He'd seemed upset, sitting hunched at the counter, head in his hands. Naima just laid her hand on his back, rubbing small circles as she spoke to him softly. Not wanting to intrude, Ray had kept his distance, only catching the end of their conversation. I don't mind at all, Clay. It'd be my honor, she had told him with a smile. Clay didn't seem like he believed her, but didn't seem as miserable either.

"I need to go make the call," Blackburn continues, looking pointedly at Ray.

"I'll do it."

"No, Ray. I can call her," Jason tells him. "I'm his leader. It should come from me."

"If either of you call her, she's gonna think I'm the one that's hurt," Ray reasons. "Let me do it."

Jason finally nods his head, giving Ray's shoulder a squeeze.


The phone call waits until they are secure on base, however. Given the possibility of an attack directed at them, the team is moved from the hotel and given permission to operate out of the Filipino Naval Base temporarily. Their quarters aren't much, but they've slept in much worse. They arrive to find all their bags already waiting, even Clay's. It's another punch to the gut to see them sitting there waiting for their owner. Sonny picks them up and settles them at the end of his bunk next to his own without a word.

Sitting on his bed, Ray pulls out his phone and stares at it for a moment before dials the familiar number. Pressing the phone to his ear, he listens to it ring and ring. It should be morning back home, Naima getting the kids ready so he's not surprised when it takes her a little longer than normal to answer.

Hello?

"Hey, baby," Ray greets, trying to keep his voice even-keeled.

Hi, Ray. It's good to hear from you, Naima breathes, relief clear in her voice. Didn't think I'd hear from you right away. I saw the news reports about Manila. Everyone okay?

Ray doesn't answer right away. He can't. He hunches over, cradling his head in his hand as a wave of grief sweeps through him. He tries to take a deep breath to answer her, but it sounds more like a gasp.

Ray? What's going on? Talk to me.

There's panic creeping into Naima's voice and he hates that he put it there.

"I'm good, baby," Ray reassures her, taking another breath. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Jason sitting next to him. Across from him, Sonny, Trent and Brock are sitting, close enough to lend support but just far enough away to not crowd him. "It's- It's Clay," he finally manages to croak out, tears burning his eyes.

Clay? What happened?

"He was- got caught in one of the blasts," Ray tells her, wiping a hand across his face to erase the tears. "It's bad."

How bad, Ray?

"Traumatic injuries to his legs, severe blood loss, said he was too complex to treat here. They sent him stateside," Ray tells her, blowing out a breath. He feels like a small weight has been lifted off his chest having told her, but the weight of worry is still there, will constantly be there until they can see Clay for themselves and know he's going to be okay.

When's he gonna arrive? Where?

Naima is all business now, but Ray can hear the worry in her voice. She's always been a pillar of strength, able to hold him up no matter the circumstances. He knows they've been faltering lately, he's been faltering lately, but there are no words for how grateful he is that she is as steadfast as ever when he needs her, when Clay needs her, hell when all of Bravo needs her.

"Blackburn will get you that info," Ray tells her, voice strained, trying to keep it all in.

Ray ...

The way she says his name, understanding and reassurance and love all rolled into one, is finally his undoing. The first tear falls. He drops his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as his breath hitches, trying to keep the rest at bay. Jason's hand on his back trembles and he knows if he looks up right now, he'll see tears burning in Jason's eyes too. Instead, he fixes his eyes on his dirt covered, blood-spattered shoes and listens to his wife's voice.

I've got him, Ray. You guys stay focused on your mission. I'll keep you updated, okay? I've got him.

"Okay," Ray breathes out. He knows better than to doubt her word. If Naima says she's got Clay, he knows it's true. She will do whatever she has to for him because the kid is family and they go all in for family. "Okay."

Take care of yourself, Ray. I love you.

"I love you too," Ray tells her, feeling it in every fiber of his being.

Hanging up the phone, Ray finally drags his eyes up from the floor to look around at the rest of the team. Every one is dirty and banged up, covered in blood, either their own or someone else's. Seven dead, thirty injured including their own brother and they can do nothing but sit and wait.


Mandy's been staring at the screen so long her eyes are bloodshot. Everyone has tried to get her to take a break in the last 18 hours, even Blackburn, and everyone, including Blackburn, have failed. She continues to flip through the same twelve images from the victim's cellphone, the last images she ever took before the bomb claimed her life. It's their best lead and Mandy will not back down from it. There has to be something in there because she refuses to give up. She can't look the guys in face and tell them she failed, not after Clay.

A bag lands on the table next to her startling her out of her thoughts. She glances up surprised to see Jason standing there. The last she knew, she had been alone, the last analyst dropping out for a few hours of sleep a little while ago. Jason nudges the bag towards her as he pulls a chair out and eases down into it. He looks terrible, Mandy realizes, and not just because he was caught in the explosion too. Sure there are small nicks and cuts peppering his arms and face, a few bruises darkening his skin that speak of what he went through. It's his eyes though, his posture. He looks ... defeated. There's a sadness, a look of loss she's never seen there, not when he was out in the field anyway. She'd caught a glimpse of it after Alana died, but even then he'd tried hard to bury it. The shock of it all is still too fresh, the uncertainty wearing on him, he can't tuck this away in the back of his head, not unless he has a mission to focus on.

Mandy sighs and turns back to her computer, fingers once again clicking through the images. She's surprised when Jason lays his hand on her arm, not pulling her back or stopping her from working, just enough to get her attention.

"This isn't your fault," Jason tells her softly.

She pulls her arm from him, turning to face him with a look of disbelief. "Of course it's my fault," she hisses at him, pushing to her feet. She paces a few short circuits at the end of the table as the anger burns through her.

"This is my fault, Jason. It is my job to sift through chatter and pick up planned attacks. This should have been on my radar. Everyone could have been killed."

Jason just watches her try to wear a hole in the carpet, shaking his head. "You can't catch everything. We both know if there had been any hint of an attack, you'd have been all over it."

Mandy turns to face him again, face red, eyes burning. "We weren't being careful," she shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "We should have been expecting something like this."

"It's a Gucci deployment, Mandy," Jason reasons. "We weren't being careless."

"Getting drunk at a bar known for Westerners isn't being careless?" Mandy throws right back at him.

"No one was drunk," Jason tries to reason, but Mandy is having none of it.

"We should have never been there, Jason!" Mandy explodes. "Had we not been out drinking, Clay wouldn't be-"

"No!" Jason barks, hackles rising. It was one thing to be upset, but she was crossing a line. "Don't do that. Don't you dare downplay what Clay did. He wasn't drunk and partying when he was injured. He got hurt because he was doing his job, because he was running back out on to that street to help people. The kid was being a damn hero. You don't get to take that from him."

Jason pushes up from his chair anger pulsing through his veins. He takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that Mandy isn't the one he's angry at. The explosion of anger seems to have worked though, because she's standing shellshocked, staring at him. Jason reaches out, laying a hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"What happened is a tragedy. What happened to Clay is ..." Jason shakes his head, unable to put it into words. Mandy's eyes sparkle with tears as she looks at Jason. "We can't change any of that and we can't be there for Clay right now. What we can do is track down the son of a bitch responsible and make sure he answers for all the damage he's caused."

"I'm trying," Mandy whispers, head falling to Jason's shoulder in a moment of weakness and exhaustion.

Jason wraps his arms around her and hugs. "I know," he tells her. "We know."

Mandy pulls back wiping away a tear. She takes a deep breath and gives him a shaky smile.

"Get something to eat and get some sleep," Jason tells her, picking up the bag once again and handing it to her. "We need you at the top of your game."

Mandy opens the bag, looking up at him in surprise. "A burger?"

"Yeah. You can thank Blackburn," Jason gives her a small smile. "Get some rest. We should have an update on Clay in a few hours."


The moment Ray's phone rings, all eyes turn to him. He glances down to see Naima's number and feels the tension creeping up his spine. Clay should've landed in Virginia several hours ago and they've been waiting anxiously for any news.

He's still critical, Naima tells them right away, before anyone can get a word in edgewise. But he's holding his own for now. He was taken for scans as soon as he got here, just got him settled in a room a few minutes ago.

"Any word on his injuries," Jason asks quietly, afraid of the answers.

Nothing new yet. He's not breathing on his own and he spiked a fever, not unusual according to the nurse. They were expecting it.

"Can we see him?" Sonny asks, voice unusually soft.

Yeah. I can do that. Hold on.

A moment later a photo appears on Ray's phone. Knowing he needs to see it first, Ray hands it off to Sonny to open. Jason leans over the Texan's shoulder to take a look as well. Judging by their reactions, it's not what they were hoping to see. The phone makes it rounds through the guys before it lands back in Ray's hands. He steels himself before glancing down. He can immediately see why no one is exactly encouraged by the images. Sure the kid may be breathing, but he sure looked half-way dead. He was so pale, paler than Ray had ever seen him. His beard has been shaved off and his hair is cut shorter to treat the shrapnel wounds on his face and head. He looks like a damn little kid. Besides the ventilator and wires dipping below the neck of the hospital gown, there's not much else to see. It's not giving them a lot of confidence that he's going to be okay though.

I'll let you know when I talk to the doctor.

"Thank you, Naima," Ray tells her, the sentiment echoed by the rest of the group.

"Tell Blondie to hang in there," Sonny drawls before he pushes to his feet and escapes the room quickly. Jason follows at a more sedate pace, willing to give the hot headed Texan a minute to get himself in check. He's not sure what he expects Sonny to do, start screaming maybe or take his frustrations out on a wall with his fists. What he's not prepared for is to find Sonny hunched over at the end of the hall, hands on his knees, tears dripping from his face as he gasps for breath.

"Sonny?"

At the sound of his name, Sonny snaps upright, dragging a hand across his face. "Damn it, Jace," he growls, turning away from Jason for a little privacy. He tries to quell the emotions running through him, but he's opened the box and can't shove it back in just yet. Seeing Clay's face should've helped, they knew he was still alive, but if anything, it hurt worse. He clearly remembers the smile on Clay's face as they joked around at the table only moments before the blast, remembers the unwavering resolve as he ran back out onto the street to help as many people as he could. To see the kid unconscious, unable to breath on his own, tens of thousands of miles away from all of them ... it was a tougher pill that Sonny was prepared to swallow.

A hand settles on the back of Sonny's neck and squeezes. Its attempt is to make him feel better, but it only makes him feel worse. Jason shouldn't be out here comforting him. Hell, they are all feeling it. Sonny's just the first one to crack.

"I'm good, Jace," Sonny tells him, voice sounding far from it. He attempts to shake the hand off, but Jason refuses to be moved.

"He's gonna pull through this," Jason tells him quietly, leaning in closer.

"You can't know that for sure. You ain't God," Sonny finally drags his eyes up to look at his team leader. He's not surprised to find Jason holding back tears, face looking as wrecked as Sonny feels.

"He has to be," Jason urges. "I refuse to believe anything else. Naima's got him and soon enough, we'll be back there too."

"Yeah, maybe," Sonny sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "I should've been out there with him."

"No, Sonny. Don't go there."

"I was joking with him about that Dead Man's hand, Jace," Sonny shakes his head.

"It's not your fault. It's not Mandy's fault. It's not Clay's fault," Jason tells him, a sharp edge to his voice. "The ones who planted those bombs, that's who is responsible and we are going to make them pay."

"Copy that, boss."


A week passes with no good news on any front. Mandy and her team have been going at it day and night, sifting through every piece of evidence from the bombing, scanning social media and the dark web for anyone taking credit, slogging through the mountain of chatter focused on the bombings. Nothing concrete has popped thus far. Every time they see her, she looks even more frustrated than the last, but she never gives up.

Every day Naima sends Ray an update. They have a running tally of the kid's injuries and number of surgeries so far. The number is quite daunting. She sends them pictures too, not that there is much change day by day. It's reassurance that he is still alive and still fighting despite the devastating damage done. Clay's suffered a pulmonary contusion from the initial blast and several broken ribs. There are multiple fractures in both legs, many of which require surgery to set. He had some internal bleeding going on which had seemed to resolve on its own, but they are still keeping an eye on it. As if all that wasn't enough, his body is covered in shrapnel wounds and burns, many of which require constant debridement. Infection has been festering since the beginning and has finally taken hold.

Clay's taken a turn for the worse, Naima tells them quietly. She is on the laptop this time for a video call, has it balanced on her knees as she sits next to Clay's bed. She's calm as ever, but they can see the stress and fatigue on her face. She turns the computer a little so they can see Clay.

Like the last time they'd seen him, he's too pale. There's a flush of fever on his cheeks and sweat beading on his forehead. He's no longer intubated, but there's an oxygen mask there fogging with each breath.

They've had him on broad spectrum antibiotics since he arrived, but now they are testing for the specific infection.

"Where's the infection coming from?" Trent asks.

His leg, Naima confirms. She moves the laptop back and suddenly they can see all of Clay. Both of his legs are in soft splints to keep them immobile, bandages dot like patchwork up his skin from ankle to hip. His legs are swollen and a multi-color of bruises, but it's easy to see where the infection is coming from. His right thigh is an angry red, skin stretched too tight over the swollen flesh. There's a bandage there covering a wound, it's covered in bloody discharge while the others seem relatively fresh.

He has a bad shrapnel wound there, Naima tells them, but they all vividly remember the large shard of material sticking out of Clay's thigh when they found him lying in the street. We should have the cultures back soon.

"Any signs of him waking up?" Jason wants to know. He's finding it difficult to look at the kid's busted up body and is thankful when Naima turns the screen around again so they only see her. He feels bad, he wants to have eyes on the kid, but it's hard seeming him like that.

Nothing yet. He's been through a lot, still has more surgeries to go. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't come around for a few more days.

It takes another week.

Clay battles infection, his surgeries put on hold until he's strong enough to endure them. Each day Naima sends along an update and each day they find no solace in the news she gives them. She's trying to be positive for them, telling them all the small victories that Clay is making, but they won't be happy until he's awake and talking to them.

While Clay fights infection, they finally get to wage a battle of their own. After nearly two weeks of false leads and endless chatter, Mandy finally digs up a nugget of intel worth investigation. An anti-American bomb maker who likes to use pressure cookers to make his point. She tears into his life and drops a file on the table so thick they think she's been at it for months. It's with a spark in her eyes that she tells them to go and haul his ass in ... alive. It's with gusto they accept the mission, finally eager to get their hands dirty.

The take down isn't as clean and precise as they'd like, but they have their Filipino SEAL brothers backing them up so no one gets away. Jason takes extra pride in cinching the flexi-cuffs tight on the asshole's wrists, ignoring the curses spewed from his mouth. That's for Clay, he thinks as he hauls the guy's ass out of the house. He may be just a piece of the puzzle and not the mastermind, but it feels damn good.

They've just settled down into their bunks, all shoved together in one cramped room, when Ray's phone rings. He sits bolt upright, scrambling for the phone. It's too early for Naima's normal check-in which can only mean one thing ... something has gone wrong. He meets Jason's eyes as his fingers curl around the phone. The tension is thick in the air as the whole team jumps to their feet in anticipation.

He's awake, Naima tells them by way of greeting.

Ray's hand is shaking so bad he has to set the phone down on the table lest he drop it. No one moves, waiting for there to be bad news. None ever comes.

Ray? Jason? Did you hear me? Naima asks when she's only greeted with silence. Clay is awake ... and talking. I'm pulling up a video call right now.

Trent is closest, grabbing Ray's computer off the ground. He barely has it open before Naima's video call pops up. They crowd around the screen as Jason hits accept. Clay's still pale, but definitely conscious, face appears before them. The kid still looks rough and still looks years too young with a clean shaven face and fading cuts and bruises, but he's awake and alert, staring right back at them.

"Hey kid," Jason chokes out first, watching as Clay's mouth quirks up into a small smile.

"Looking good there, Poster Boy," Sonny pipes up, voice as close to normal as its sounded in two weeks.

Wish I could say the same 'bout you guys, Clay breathes out, voice raspy from disuse. It's still the best sound they've heard in a long while.

The tension bleeds out of the room in an instant, a chuckle rippling through all of them. They weren't dumb enough to think that all was well now, that just because Clay was awake that the hardest part was over. If anything, the hardest part was just beginning. The kid was going to have a long, hard road to recovery in front of him, but they would be there to help him through. They're going to take it one step at a time until he is back on the team with them once again.