Okay, for those of you who know...this is an added chapter to 'Hold on, I'm coming'.
For those of you who don't, you might want to read that one first.
I didn't know whether to open that back up and add or just post new...I posted new.
"Oh, for Pete's Sake," they all heard Eric's exasperated voice. "Not a snake!"
"Those big ones live in water." The doc argued back.
"Yeah, in the swamps of South America."
"He does know he's in Thailand, right?" Brock joked, whistling for the dog.
"Of all the places I've been to….." The doc was grumbling as he crashed through the thicket. "On a mountain, in a ditch, with this fog….and mist…the wind….."
"You could have waited at the chopper…." Ray was laughing. "We're bringing him to you, you know."
"….supposed to be an easy job to take me to retirement," the doc complained. "Blackburn, this is your fault."
Cerberus sniffed and licked under the sleeping bag, nudging with his head and pawing until he was satisfied that who lay beneath breathed, then sat next to Clay and Jason, stared Bobby down, bared his teeth and growled.
"Is this mud? This is mud. I don't do mud." The doc stood at the top of the bank with Eric. "I'm not going down there, I'll never get back up!"
But Jason knew he would if he was told he was needed. It's what he liked about the doc, bluster and fussing aside, he was there for them, whenever and wherever he was needed. 'Cause really, what other doc would have come on the chopper and then walked to where his patient would be found?
The doc shook his head, staring at the men in the ditch. It still amazed him that these men could assess and treat the wounded and injured in such conditions – no matter where, and manage to do it so well; the cold, the mist, the wind, the dark, the mud and leafs and twigs and dirt and gravel and grass and sand and sun and God knew what else. Him? He needed a hospital room.
"What are you doing out here doc?" Jason asked. He didn't stand up to greet the doc. His lap was rather full.
"Wanna go for a ride?" The doc mimicked Eric. "Pick the boys up?" He remained where he was as Eric slipped and slid down the bank with a litter. "Never gonna hear me complain about the plane again."
"Chopper ride a little rough?" Ray joked, meeting Eric.
"A ditch?" Eric complained. "Really? I mean, come on!"
Bobby couldn't help it. He wanted to stand his ground, he did, but he took several steps back, eventually ending up behind Mick. He didn't like the look the dog was giving him. And yeah, despite the crappy weather and limited visibility, that dog looked like he was ready to have a Bobby-flavored hand as a snack.
"Rough? ROUGH?" The doc shook his head. "Can't see a damn thing up there." He pointed to the sky. "We heaved and bucked and tilted and banked and the crazy pilot just laughed and waved it off."
Good to know, Bravo all thought. Meant they'd all have to sit with their legs in the chopper and the doors closed. Not the most comfortable way to ride, but safer nonetheless.
"Commander Blackburn." Mick greeted. "You, ah, and the doc, too, huh?"
"Charlie." Eric nodded, said no more.
Trent and Sonny took Clay from Jason and put him on the litter. Clay didn't like moving, protested with a groan and an abbreviated attempt to pull away and gain his hands and knees. He liked lying on his side and was not happy to be put on his back.
"No, you don't." Trent pushed him down, tugged the straps on the litter over the sleeping bag, cinched the buckle, pulled it tight. Sonny did the same with the straps across Clay's legs. "You don't like being tied down, I know. Don't blame you. No one does."
Ray held Clay's hands down by his hips, Trent wanted his arms retrained as well, even though they all knew Clay hated it. Without Jason holding him, Clay would undoubtedly try and hold his head if his hands were free and Trent didn't want him to do that.
"Meet up at the camp?" Bobby asked as Ray, Sonny, Trent and Brock lifted Clay and started up the bank to join the doc.
"Who?" Eric asked, giving Jason a hand to gain his feet. "For what?"
"Bravo." Bobby sneered. "To hike down."
Eric looked at Jason then Mick and shook his head.
"They've no idea." Jason collected what belongings had been left behind, Eric moved to help him. "Clueless."
"What?" Chase asked. "Who's clueless? Us?"
"Bravo's not hiking down." Eric told Mick. "I don't know what your orders are, but a retrieval unit was sent for Bravo."
"What unit?" Mick questioned. "You, the doc and two pilots?" That was no unit. How the hell had Blackburn obtained approval for a chopper to come get Bravo?
"They're flying out?" Bobby sputtered. "That's bullshit."
"It's your mission, not theirs." Eric pointed out.
"We were told to sit tight and wait for the weather to clear." Bobby argued.
Eric started up the bank after Jason, Cerberus on his heels. "I gave no such orders to Bravo."
Bobby continued to argue but Mick shut him down. "No use Bob." Mick sighed.
With Bravo out of sight, Chase kicked at a clod of mud. "Not fair Mick. How come they get to fly out of here, and we have to hike down with two prisoners?"
"Maybe Beau can get air once the fog lifts." Mick clapped Chase on the back. "Come on, let's join the others."
()
Jason followed behind his men with Eric. It did cross his mind that perhaps whoever was left at the camp might pose a threat but he was too tired and miserable to care. Their numbers had been drastically reduced, he doubted anyone would be stupid enough to come after them.
"So?" Eric asked. "Did a thrashing happen?" Like Jason, he kept an eye on the area, a hand ready to pull his gun, but nothing and no one appeared.
Jason was quiet. A fist-fight between teams was frowned upon.
"You really gonna leave them up here?" Jason asked instead of answering.
'You want me to?"
"Yes."
"Chopper can't carry you all." Eric said. "Once we land, if Chuck feels confident, he can return for them."
"Why Chuck?" Jason was surly and cross. "He's ours."
"Cause he's the only pilot cleared to fly in this weather." Eric was patient. He knew the team was tired, they hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, had to be hungry and would soon crash. "We want those two prisoners Jason."
"I want out of this country." Jason sighed. "I'm willing to negotiate."
Eric gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. Jason stumbled, tripping over his own feet, confirming Eric's suspicions about how tired the team was.
()
Chase, Mick and Bobby returned to camp. Despite the mist and fog, the fire was burning strong and with the return of the coffee urn, Greg soon had coffee perking over a make-shift grate.
"We staying?" Mick asked. "Cause if so, Spenser's not around, you can stop being a dick and we can set up camp properly."
"If a chopper will come for Spenser, they should come for you too." Bobby growled. "How are your feet?
Beau shook his head. "Once they land, the chopper will come back for us."
"He's Bravo's pilot." Chase stated. "The pilot on shift isn't cleared to fly in this weather."
Beau nodded. "I know. Command called in. We either accept their offer of their pilot or we sit here and wait for the fog to lift or we hike down."
"No way Hayes 'offered' their pilot." Mick disagreed. "If it were left up to him, we'd be hiking down."
Beau nodded, he was well aware of that. And this wasn't over. Bravo's kid had been injured and taken on his watch, under his command. No way, was Bravo not coming for payback.
"Why's Hayes such a dick anyway?" Karl asked. "Not many can stand the guy, but those that can follow him blindly. I don't get it."
Beau was quiet. "Hayes is loyal. You break his trust, you give him reason to doubt you, he'll never get past what he considers a betrayal." And Clay Spenser understood that and obeyed the 'rules of Jason Hayes', because oh yeah, Jason had come after the kid, all cylinders firing. "The kid okay?"
"Trent's capable of taking care of him." Bobby said. "They, uh, have their own doc, he came on the chopper with Blackburn."
"Wait, they have their own doc? And pilot?" Greg looked at Beau. "What the hell's that shit?"
"Blackburn?" Karl repeated. "Came to pick Bravo up?"
"He's the great Jason Hayes." Beau threw his hands up. "What say you? We wait for the chopper to come back?"
"Yes." Mick answered. "I don't feel like hiking out of here in this weather with two prisoners now that I know I don't have to."
***000***
The chopper ride was indeed rough. Ray was not a nervous flyer, but when he looked out the window and didn't see sky or light or stars or moon or sun or clouds, yeah, he became a nervous ninny. They were all sitting on the floor, doors closed, watching while Trent and doc attempted to look Clay over.
Despite the bucking and heaving, the gusts of wind that buffeted the chopper, Chuck and his co-pilot did not appear the least bit concerned. Chatting away with one another through the headsets, they laughed and pointed and waved and wee-ee-heee-eeed-ed with the rocky motion of the chopper. Apparently, Chuck was teaching the other pilot how to fly by instruments only.
Yeah, no, how about, not now, Ray thought irritably, and both hands on the controls guys.
He soon became distracted when it became apparent that: Clay didn't like being flat on his back. Didn't like being restrained, struggled against the straps the doc told Trent not to release. The motion of the chopper was making him fight not to puke. So far, he was winning, but yeah, if the flight lasted much longer, it'd be a battle he'd lose.
Jason motioned to Cerberus who sat calmly but with teeth bared.
Brock pulled him back with a grin because Cerb kept growling at the doc who kept raising his voice when he kept telling Trent no who kept trying to free Clay's hands. They couldn't hear the doc's words but whatever tone he was using, Cerberus certainly heard and didn't like.
"For Christ Sake." Jason huffed, though no one heard him. "He's lying on the floor, where the hell do you think he's going to go?" he shifted his weight, swung his feet around, scooched closer and unbuckled the straps pinning Clay's arms. Sonny followed his boss's lead and released the kid's legs.
"Hayes," the doc sighed. He wasn't having much luck examining Clay. The rough ride, the limited light, the cramped space, the hovering teammates, a cranky dog and a restless, fidgeting, Clay made it pretty damn impossible to even get a look at his head and now he was free? Pffft!
"How the hell you do this," the doc muttered. He couldn't keep the flashlight between his teeth…..his jaw cramped, he tasted it, he drooled, yet right there next to him, kneeling on his knees, keeping his balance, was Trent having no such issues holding his flashlight between his teeth.
Damn him.
The doc gave up. The boy might be flat on his back, but he wasn't gushing blood, and Trent wasn't freaking out, so the doc would have to be content until they landed and he got Clay to the infirmary. He would then decide if the kid needed a hospital.
Trent had filled him in on the walk to the chopper. The swelling, the Cambria, the cold water compress, Clay's lack of awareness, the knife wounds, the staples, the Lidocaine, the morphine, the slide down the hill on his ass, the heavy weight on his shoulders, hanging upside down – more or less – over a cliff. And they didn't know that Clay had hung by his arms or strangled a man unconscious with stomach and leg muscles, so he wasn't able to tell the doctor that.
No, no vomiting. No, not too disoriented. Yes, some confusion. Yes, he'd made it clear his head hurt. No, no signs of a concussion. No, no other serious injuries that Trent could find. And on and on and so forth until they'd boarded the chopper and it had taken off.
Out of the rain and warm, Clay was still damp and uncomfortable. He didn't like lying on his back and he couldn't roll onto his side, too many hands stopped him every time he tried. An ice gel pack wrapped in a towel was held against his head and after a moment, he opened his eyes. Though they didn't quite focus, he easily identified Trent and went limp, fisting the sleeping bag and tugging at it.
"You cold?" Trent tucked it tighter around his shoulders. "Hang in there. Soon, okay?"
Clay licked his lips with a frown. Had he gone deaf? He saw Trent's mouth moving – least, he thought he did, his vision was blurry and the light sucked – but he didn't hear any words. But soon, the familiar whump of rotors told him they were on a chopper. Right, so okay, then…Bravo had come to get him. Why, he didn't know. All he remembered were his boss's words:
'Just make sure you come back, if I hafta come after you, someone's gonna pay in blood.'
He swallowed hard, slid left when the chopper banked hard. Hadn't he, um, already paid in blood? Maybe boss meant Charlie. Now he slid right. Multiple hands reached out to hold him steady, then he was in someone's lap, being held so he didn't slide into anything that might cause another bruise.
The doc found holes in the sleeping bag, stared at Trent horrified. Trent grinned, nodded. Yup, those were bullet holes. He didn't know whose bag it was, belonged to someone from Charlie, and their camp had been shot up.
Clay let his eyes close, the sleeping bag around his shoulders and the body warmth of whoever against his cheek offered the comfort and security he hadn't felt with Charlie. He couldn't focus, couldn't collect his thoughts or place events in the order they'd happened, but he was out of the mist and fog, he was no longer cold, his team was with him and they were on a chopper. He was safe and didn't need to protect Charlie or depend on them to help him.
()
They were met at the air field by several members of support. Gear was taken, helping hands were extended and Clay and the doc were swept one way and Bravo was herded towards the barracks.
Hot showers, hot coffee, hot meal, warm dry clothes, quick debriefing, an update that Clay was undergoing MRI's or x-rays or cat scans or sonograms or whatever and they headed to bed for a nap.
Finally, after being pushed, pulled, poked, pinched, prodded, probed, positioned, patted, petted, penetrated and punctured, Clay was settled in a room, tucked in, and now all warm and cozy, allowed to go to sleep. He was exhausted. He didn't know much, remembered less, but the dog was on his feet and that made him feel safe, so he slept.
Time passed, events happened, conversations carried on and Clay slept. Oh, he opened his eyes a time or two. Felt a hand on his shoulder or forehead. Knew when someone squeezed his hand. Heard voices talk to him, say his name. Vaguely knew people were with him, standing next to him, were in and out of the room, slept in the chair next to his bed.
"He's good?" he heard Jason ask. "When can he fly out?"
"Home?" the doc questioned. "Well, so far, he's not running a fever, so I expect him to be awake and coherent by morning. I doubt he'll feel like eating breakfast, but if he eats lunch and is able to keep it down….."
"New Guinea." Ray interrupted.
The doc snorted. "What? Fly where? No, wait, you mean, your next mission? Oh no. Oh hell no."
"We sure as hell aren't leaving him here." That was Sonny. Christ, was everyone in his room?
"With that head injury? Those stitches? He's going home." The doc insisted. "No discussion."
"You said he was fine." Jason argued.
"He is, but he sure as hell isn't 'fine enough' to go on another mission!"
"He's not." Jason agreed. "I mean, he is, but he isn't. We are, so he is, but only with us."
"Eric?" The doc asked tiredly. "Care to translate Hayes speak into English?"
"They want to take Clay with them to New Guinea so they can fly home with him when their mission is over."
They do? Aww…makes me all warm and fuzzy, Clay thought lazily.
"I need a drink." The doc muttered. "What kind of fucked up backwards shit thinking is that?!"
Me too. Vodka sounds good.
"You can keep him in the infirmary with you." Ray offered.
"The boy is in pain. His head is spit in two. Neither knife wound was life threatening, but they hurt. The stitches pull. We had to remove the staples and sew him up, that's painful."
Yeah, you're right. Ow.
"He can sleep on the plane." Brock argued. "We'll only be there a week. More than enough time to sleep and recover for the flight home."
True, I can do that.
"Trent," the doc sighed, Trent was his last hope for reason. Only a week? Bah!
"Knowing him, he'll throw a fever. Let's wait and see." Trent avoided answering directly. "Dinner?"
Oh Trent come on! I don't throw fevers!
()
Eric was on the phone with his wife when there was a knock on the door to his quarters. He wasn't expecting anyone, it was after 11, but thought it would be Jason when he opened it.
"Hey, uh, Bet, I gotto go. Yeah, I'll call you back." He hung up. "Trent."
"Got a minute?"
"Sure, come in." he stood back and let Trent enter, waited a second, but there was no one else so he closed the door. "You alone?"
"Won't take long."
"What can I do for you?"
"Clay's not having a good night." Trent said bluntly. "The guys don't want to hear it. They don't want to leave him here or send him home alone….hell, I don't want to be separated from him either. It's our fault he's hurt."
"Shit happens. Jason let him go. I agreed." Eric shrugged. "It's on all of us Trent."
"I know." Trent pushed his hair back. "Commander, he needs to go home. As much as I want to take him with us, it's not fair to him. I don't want him out of my sight either, but the doc will fly back with him, so, send him home."
Eric nodded. "I was going to wait until morning to tell you, but Bravo's not going to New Guinea. Charlie didn't run that op like they should have. Playing games sticking it to Clay to get a dig in at Jason has no business at this level. Jason manned up, honored the bet, sent Clay with Charlie in good faith even knowing the potential was there for Charlie to learn more about Bravo than Jason was comfortable with."
"We're not going?"
"Soon as doc says the kid can fly, we're on a plane for Virginia." Eric clapped Trent on the back. "We're going home. Have the next week off. Give the kid time to get back on his feet. Charlie will run Bravo's next two ops."
Trent was surprised, then pleased. He slowly broke into a grin. "I like it."
"Comes at a price though." Eric warned.
Trent nodded, grin fading. Of course it did.
"Jason neither confirmed nor denied it." Eric began, "and I'm not asking you to. I know there was a fist-fight at Charlie's camp site when you got there. It can't happen again."
That was the price? That was it?
"We'll, huh, try, sir." The grin was back. Lordy, he tried, but nope. "Jason know?"
"Chuck flew back up for Charlie."
"Roger that."
()
Clay sighed. Apparently he did throw fevers. Damn Trent. He was warm, hot, flushed, sweaty, chilled, shaking, goose-bumped, clammy….viscous circle.
He wanted to stay asleep, tried, but no. No, his mind or body or both had decided it was time to wake up and rejoin the world. Crap. He yawned, stirring as he stretched, every little ache and pain and itch hitting at one time.
"Mmmm…..ow." He hissed when his belly pulled tight. "Ow." He hissed when his thigh cramped. "Ow." He hissed when his skull politely knocked against his forehead and asked, to please be allowed out. "Ow." He hissed when his mouth and throat refused to re-moisten with spit and remained so dry, his tongue was glued to his teeth.
"All apple pie with sugar and spice." Sonny chortled. "Everything nice."
Yeah, sure, whatever the hell that all meant.
"Clay." Lisa said more quietly. A grunt from Sonny meant she'd punched him. "You awake? How are you feeling?"
Should he open his eyes? He should open his eyes. He could speak, could probably even carry a short conversation, but he didn't want to. Sonny was shaking his foot, then his knee, pawing at the blanket that covered his legs. Clay clenched his jaw, the jostling irritating, which was so Sonny.
"Sonny! Stop that!" Clay heard a smack. "Not awake huh?" Lisa said. "Doc said we should let you be until morning, but not Sonny."
His eyes flickered, and he knew they waited to see what he was going to do. Should he let them know he was awake?
"Do you remember Blackburn and the doc coming with the chopper to get you? They ran tests, no need for the hospital, but you've been sleeping all day." Lisa went on. "All night too. It's nearly two a.m. Trent says you're fine. Well, doc said the same thing, but Trent knows you better, you know?"
Yeah, he got that. He did. The fever the nurse had been keeping an eye on every half hour confirmed it.
"Banged your head a bit." Sonny offered, tone lower, more serious. "We hiked up that fucking mountain in the dark, in the damn mist, Charlie all hit up, you gone and damn if you didn't just fall at Trent's feet. What say, we make that a deal, huh? You go missing again, just fall at our feet, we're cool with that."
Clay frowned. What?
He licked at his lips….well, tried to. His tongue was dry and thick and swollen and didn't move as he commanded. What he managed to do was stick his tongue out between his lips.
"We headed out after you called Blackburn." Sonny continued. "Were like 10 minutes out from Charlie's camp when that ass Fuller admitted to Jason he'd lost you. Hey, here's a thought, keep your fucking sat phone on you."
"Why isn't he awake yet?" Lisa said frustrated. "It's been hours."
"What are you yakking on about?" Sonny sighed. "Broke. Rocks. With. His. Head." He chanted. "What part of that ain't you getting?"
"I want him to wake up."
"I just told you! Trent said head injury." Sonny repeated impatiently. "Panic if he doesn't wake up in the morning."
"Kinda want him to wake up now, you know? Hate putting him on the plane to go home, he doesn't know it."
Now that right there had Clay forgetting his desire to remain asleep. Home? Okay, well, hell yeah! Oh. He should go where his team went. He wasn't critically injured, not even a broken bone or concussion. He might not be able to go on the mission, but he should go on the trip.
"Oh, he'll wake up, we hit cruising altitude." Sonny laughed. "He ain't gonna like flying. Yeah, he'll want to go home, but getting there will be rough."
"Isn't there water or something around?" Lisa asked. "Can he have it?"
"Why couldn't he?" Sonny teased. "He hasn't been sick, ain't trying to come out of anesthesia." He picked up a white Styrofoam cup, "here, ice chips."
"They're green."
"It's the light."
"These are green."
"You're blind."
"Sonny, I can see just fine. It's not the light, it's not the cup, this ice is green."
"Maybe it molded."
"Ice doesn't mold, you ass. It melts."
"That ain't green dummy, it's orange."
Clay sighed, he was awake now, no help for it. "It's pink." He stated with a slight slur, "Because it's cherry 7Up."
"Did we wake you?" Lisa whispered. "Oh! Oh, oh, sorry, so sorry." She put a finger to her lips. "Sssh…shush."
"Hell no, we ain't sorry." Sonny leaned on the bed rails. How many times, in how many different hospitals had he assumed this position? Be it Clay or Ray or Jason or Brock or Trent? "Howdy-ho there junior, 'bout time."
"Hold up," Lisa held the cup. "You know what this is?"
He aborted a yawn when his forehead furrowed. "Ow."
"Pain bad?" Lisa asked sympathetically. "Sorry, they giving you anything?"
"I've had worse." He couldn't help it, he raised a hand to press his palm over the bandage on his forehead. Lisa offered the spoon, he hesitated. Accepting being spoon fed ice chips from a nurse was one thing, but from Lisa…
"What is it with you and red liquids?" Sonny asked. "Didn't even know they still made cherry 7Up. Most people are given ginger-ale. How do you rate a name brand in a flavor not easily found in fucking Thailand?"
Clay tried another yawn, man he was tired. Nope, his forehead protested yet again. His eyes felt dry and scratchy, which was odd, because apparently, he'd been sleeping all day. Oh, and all night.
"Most people don't have my blue eyes." He let his hand fall to the mattress. He really wanted that spoon of ice but was still reluctant to let Lisa 'feed' him. Where the hell was the nurse anyway? Wasn't it about time to come in and stick that stupid thermometer in his ear? He liked the other nurse who rolled it across his forehead.
"Wait, you mean, you asked for this?" Lisa dropped the spoon into the cup and plopped it on the wheeled table, hands going to her hips. "We've been waiting all damn day, and you've been making requests?"
Good, Clay could reach out, grab the table, pull it closer and pick the cup up himself, 'cause he really wanted those ice chips…..well, cherry 7Up frozen into ice cubes and smashed into slivers of ice. All he had to do was blink and pout, produce a wince and yeah, he got whatever he wanted.
Sonny watched him maneuver the table, reach out and be denied when Lisa swiped the cup out of his reach.
"Oh no you don't." She shook her head. "You've been awake enough to ask for cherry 7Up and we've been sitting around waiting to know if you're okay?"
Clay blinked, confused. What? What was her problem now? Women!
"Well now, some late night visitors I see." The nurse smiled as she entered. At least, Sonny and Lisa assumed she was a nurse. She wore army camo, and they were on a military base, this an infirmary, not a hospital, so maybe a medic. "Hey there handsome, stick your tongue out for me."
"He been awake before?" Sonny questioned.
"He comes and goes, is in and out, depends on his temperature."
"Temper…..you mean, fever? He's running a fever?" Sonny sputtered. Man, no one ever told him anything.
"Mmmhmmm. Ibuprofen holds it." She tapped his nose. "Let me see your tongue."
"Does Trent know about this?" Sonny demanded, all teasing and easy demeanor gone. "Clay?"
"Doc?" She smiled. "Of course he does." She stuck the thermometer in Clay's ear. "Checking it every 30 minutes, hasn't gone over 101 yet."
"Yet?" Lisa repeated. "Are you expecting it to?"
"We don't want it to. Can't fly with a fever."
"How long has he had this fever?" Sonny stood up, hands on the rail. Clay was looking at him, thinking Sonny was crazy. He stuck his tongue out at Sonny, a childish gesture, sure, but the nurse would demand to see his tongue a third time anyway.
"Several hours now," at the appearance of Clay's still white tongue, she took the cup from Lisa and spooned him ice chips. He accepted them from her without hesitation. "Not unexpected, considering his time out in the mist, the mud, the cold, tearing the staples out. Nothing to worry over. Slight dehydration, but no need for IV fluids. Long as his tongue is white, he just needs to drink."
Lisa wrinkled her nose at Clay as he accepted another spoonful of ice.
"So, he'll sleep on the flight home?" Sonny rubbed his hand over his face. He sure as hell would.
"Most likely." She put the spoon down when Clay shook his head at her last offering. "You should go get some sleep." She told Sonny and Lisa. "Doc will decide in the morning whether or not he can fly home later today."
She certainly didn't think it was a good idea for her patient to fly home, but Seals, eh, can't reason with them, let them suffer.
Sonny rubbed his hands together. "Okay there, suntan man, we'll see you in the morning." He smacked Clay's knee hard enough his knees knocked together. "Charlie has to take our next two missions for being dicks to you, so we're flying home with you. Get some sleep kid."
"Yeah, Clay." Lisa blew him a kiss. "See you in the morning."
***a day or so after arriving home***
Clay rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He carefully stretched his leg out, for some odd reason, his right thigh kept cramping on him. It was the stitches, but the doc had assured him there was no muscle or tendon or ligament damage, but hot damn, it gave him fits.
He sat up, but didn't straighten up. 'Cause he couldn't. His belly wouldn't allow it. Nope. Oh sure, he tried, but his ab muscles won that brief battle, he had to stay hunched over. He gave in when tears stung his eyes.
"Sonofabitch." He cursed, panting in a lame attempt to catch his breath.
Never would he admit Trent had been right. He shouldn't have flown so soon. The hammock, the turbulence, the length of time in the air, the time difference, all mattered. Sure, sure, he'd managed the flight without pain meds or oxygen or passing out or puking, but ugh…now that he was home, had slept a bit, he'd stiffened and tightened up and moving made his eyes sting.
"Shit."
Both Jason and Eric had refused to allow him to come home alone. He'd told them Stella was picking him up at base, but neither was satisfied until he'd called Stella and put her on the phone with Jason. He knew Stella would give him grief over that. She wasn't sure she liked Jason.
He had no idea what time it was or what day. He'd lost track on the plane, and he'd come home and gone straight to bed, so, could be morning, noon or night. He didn't know, didn't care. Stella was around somewhere, she'd come if he called but all he had to do was piss and he didn't need help to do that.
"You up?" Stella called, hearing a thump then a thud. "Clay?"
"I'm good." He'd lost his balance, banged his hip against the dresser, made it knock against the wall. Its weight shifting away from him, however slight made him stumble and he'd hit the door with his shoulder before catching his weight with both hands grabbing the door frame.
Maybe.
She didn't come see for herself, so he continued to the bathroom, thankful it was not far away. He had to hand-walk his way from door to wall to door to wall. He made it without falling, but man, he was exhausted. He splashed cold water on his face, dried his hands and stumbled his way back to bed, hunched over like Yoda.
"Can I get you anything?" Stella helped him lie down, pulled the blankets up, tucked him in.
"Just gonna sleep."
"Okay."
She woke him several hours later. She had to go to work. Some professor or another had been called away and she needed to cover his classes both today and tomorrow, so she'd be staying the night at her apartment and would be back before supper tomorrow. Would he be okay?
Sure, sure, whatever. Half asleep and groggy, he'd heard her, just not the words. She kissed him good-bye and was gone.
Somehow, someway, this was going to come back and bite him in the ass. Eh, whatever. He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head.
He thought all was good, but yeah, no, it wasn't. With Stella gone, he had to get up and get his own water and juice and the kitchen was clear on 'the other side of town' so he made do with what water he could cup in his hand when he went to the bathroom – which wasn't much. There should be a cup on the sink, but damned if he could see it.
Hunger finally drove him to seek something to eat. He left the bedroom, sat on a chair for a bit, then a stool at the counter and finally stood in front of the fridge, wondered how long it had taken him to get there, because he wasn't hungry any more. He blinked, tried to open the fridge, wondered why someone would put a lock on it, tried to guess where the key would be. His knees wobbled, his legs shook, his right thigh cramped and he pulled his weight off his foot, holding it off the floor.
Yeah, that didn't help.
Biting his lip, he thought ice might help and tried to open the freezer…..bad move. Balancing on one foot and moving his hand caused him to lose the support of the fridge he balanced against and, next thing he knew, he was falling in slow motion, hands sliding down the fridge with a squeak slowing his descent to the floor. He landed on his ass with a thud that clacked his teeth. His stomach, annoyed and jarred, stabbed him with pins and he went flat on his back, panting for his breath.
Fuck.
He waited for Stella, but she didn't come and finally, some part of his brain juggled his memory awake and he remembered she'd left and wouldn't be back until…..well, she'd be back.
Okay, well then, he'd get something to eat later. He should go back to bed, but the floor was cool, even felt good, so no need to move. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't stay here on the floor. He'd be so fucking sore if he did, he'd never get up. His head swam, his ears rang and still, he lay on the floor, too disoriented to get up.
Finally he was able to collect his wandering wits and herd them into some semblance of order. He was home alone and he was under orders not to be. Oh yes, he remembered Jason 'allowing' him to go home because Stella would be staying with him. He was supposed to call, if for any reason, that changed.
Course, if he didn't call, how would anyone ever know Stella had gone and left him alone? Oh right, the spy across the hall. No wait, Alpha was on a mission. Still though, the Mrs. might be home. Didn't matter, don't lie to your boss.
Clay rolled to his side, planted his palms on the floor and pushed up. His cell phone was god knows where, but he had a land-line, job requirement.
Cupboard knob to drawer handle, he used the support to gain his feet and pick up the cordless phone from its cradle on the counter. Whoops, going down, okay, yeah, just sit here for a bit, back against the dishwasher. Belly was okay with him sitting for a minute…..so, speed dial 4…..sit and wait…..eh, maybe lie down and wait. Yeah that was better.
"Hey Spenser, what's up?" Trent answered.
"Tr'nt? Hey."
"How you feeling?"
"Uh, not so good."
"Told you so." he waited but Clay didn't say anything more. Oh boy. "Clay, lemme talk to Stella."
"Can't," he was supposed to tell Trent something. "She…..had to go…..to work."
Trent was silent. Actually, he seethed. Jason hadn't called to tell him that. And had Stella called Jason to tell him she had to leave, Jason would have called him to see if he thought Clay was ready to be left home alone. But Jason hadn't called, so he didn't know.
"Are you home alone?" If Stella kept pulling shit like this, Jason would never warm up to her.
"I think….yeah."
"I'll be there in 20." 'Cause no, Clay wasn't ready to be left home alone.
Trent hung up, paused. Ray lived closest to Clay but he'd only get there a couple minutes sooner than Trent. So, should he call Jason?
"Going out?" Janine asked.
"Huh, yeah."
"Coming back?"
"Think I should?"
"Clay called, he's home alone, you're going over." She patted his cheek. "He has a one bed-room apartment. Bring him here until you find out why Stella had to leave."
Trent frowned but Janine shook her head. "Don't be mad the girl has a life Trent."
"I'm not." Trent picked up his car keys. "I don't have an issue with her leaving him, I have an issue with her not calling Jason and telling him she had to go."
"Because those are the rules." Janine tut-tutted. "Give her time Trent."
"If she's scared to talk to Jason, send him a text or call Ray."
Well, Janine couldn't argue with that. "She's been with him since you got home. Perhaps she thought Clay would be ok alone. She's an adult and capable of making those decisions."
"It's not her decision to make."
"Trent!" She scolded.
"She was given orders." He gave her cheek a kiss. "Be back in an hour."
()
Janine opened the door when Jason knocked. Trent had come home with a sleepy Clay an hour or so ago, called Jason and Janine knew he'd soon be at the door.
"Jason." She accepted his hug, returned it, took the 12-pack from him and stepped back to let him in the house. "Sandwich?" she offered. "Anyone else coming?"
"Nope." He closed the door behind him, followed her into the living room. "Sandwich sounds great, thanks."
She'd just been dismissed. She didn't mind, let them talk while she made them something to eat. Hungry or not – and really, when weren't they? – they'd eat whatever she brought out to them. She pulled tomatoes from the fridge with a head of lettuce. Trent liked mustard, Jason mayo, both provolone. Huh, she had no idea what Clay preferred, she'd have to rectify that.
"How is he?" Jason fell into the lazy-boy opposite the sofa where Clay slept on his side amid blankets and pillows, sprawled in such an ungainly heap, Jason couldn't help but think that in no way could the kid be comfortable.
"He's okay." Trent assured their boss. "Tired, sore, out-of-sorts. Flight knocked him on his ass."
"You said it would."
"Did you doubt me?"
"No."
"Time difference, jet-lag, he's not on anything, but gets dizzy he gets up." He held a hand up. "It's expected Jason, he's fine. Needs sleep, needs to eat. Those stitches come out, he'll be back to work."
"Chips?" Janine called.
"We working out tomorrow?" Jason asked Trent with a grin.
"Can you watch him tomorrow?" Trent called back.
"Um, okay."
"Chips, please." Jason chuckled. "Cookies?"
"Does Brock ever come over?" Janine answered dryly.
"Ever hear from Stella?" Trent asked quietly.
"Nope."
"Gonna think about that before you act out, right boss?"
"What are we gonna do about him?" Jason laid his head back, ignoring Trent.
"Nothing." Trent shoved Jason's knee. "Gonna just let him be. He'll settle down. He's learning. He hasn't lied to you, called Blackburn, called me. Hang in there old man."
"Christ, it's hard." Jason accepted the beer Janine handed him and he waved the bottle in Clay's direction. "We're home, I thought all was good, yet here I am."
"You didn't have to come over." Trent pointed out.
"I didn't want her taking him home in the first place." He sat forward when Janine put the plates of sandwiches on the coffee table. "You didn't have to go get him."
Trent snorted. "Right."
"Stella will be back before he's ready to go back to work." Janine pointed out, setting down a bowl of chips.
"She can visit him here. She left him, she didn't call anyone, he's not going home until he's on his feet." Trent said. "The guys can't do this Jan. Letting him out of our sights after he's hurt is hard enough, won't do it at home."
She picked a blanket Clay had kicked off up from the floor, shook it out and laid it over him. She wondered how he'd looked before they came home. His forehead was still bruised and swollen but she knew it looked better now then it had after the injury had happened.
She gave him a soft smile. He looked all of 12 years old. She looked at Jason, at Trent. They were tired. They shouldn't have to worry whether or not Clay was home alone or with someone to take care of him. She was going to have to have a talk with Stella.
"I'll heat him some soup. He'll wake up soon, he hears Jason."
Trent and Jason touched beer bottles. Between Janine, the team, Eric and Lisa, Clay wouldn't be left alone again.
***THE END. FOR REAL!***