So, I'm a bit sad...one of my favorite shows - Shooter - has been cancelled. *Sigh* I lost Timeless, now Shooter.
Stupid 18-49 demographic the networks go by(?).

So happy to hear you all are enjoying this so far, hang in there, I blow him up, next chapter!

Jason, Ray, Sonny and Trent were eating a late lunch at a café on the opposite end of the city from where Clay and Brock had escorted Mandy. They had a few hours free before needing to hit the sack before flying out. Brock was on base resting, and Clay was with Davis…

Jason looked at his phone before answering. He really had to get one of his kids to assign each number its own ringtone. Course, little good that would do when he received so many calls from unknown numbers.

"Yo?" He swiped answer.

"You need to return to base."

"What?" Jason set his fork down. A signal every man at the table knew well – news they didn't want to hear. Ray sat back, swallowing his last bite of food with water and eating no more. "Why?"

"Mandy got word the wife of one of her interpreters wanted to see her." Eric sighed. "It was a trap. Someone tried to take her."

"Okay, you know that, so obviously they failed in their attempt." Jason replied slowly, signaling for the check. "Why did she go alone? She okay?"

"She's fine." Eric assured him. "And she didn't go alone."

Jason felt the familiar dread start in the pit of his stomach, worm its way around to his back and tingle its way up his spine until the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"If she is, who isn't?" he fished for his wallet but Sonny had out the money needed to pay the bill.

Eric sighed. "My fault Jason. The wife doesn't speak English, so I sent Spenser and Reynolds to escort her. Mandy wanted Spenser to translate for her."

"Eric, so help me God, if the next words out of your mouth are Brock lost that kid in this city…"

His three teammates froze, looked up; bill, to-go boxes, drinks, all forgotten.

"No….no, he's back on base." Eric assured him hastily, then paused, "In the infirmary."

Jason waved his men back into their seats, they'd half rose, ready to storm from the café and tear apart a city. He blew his breath out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What happened?"

"Three captors, two dead, one brought in alive." Eric explained. "They had Brock, kid jumped from a 2nd floor stairwell to get to him, shot one guy right between the eyes, choked another unconscious. They went after the guy who had taken Mandy, Spenser shot him in the head. She's a bit shaken."

"Brock? Clay?"

"Brock's okay, arm's sore, even wearing long-sleeves to hide the evidence of an injury didn't protect him, once he showed a weakness in that arm, they went after it to incapacitate him." Eric paused. "Clay's with the doc, walked in on his own. Guess, he got clipped by a three-wheeled truck, yes, you heard right. That and the free fall from the 2nd floor left him sore and bruised. Believe it or not, doesn't look like anything's broken."

"We're on our way back." The bill paid, the food boxed, Jason was on his feet and moving. "I don't care what you have to do, but keep Spenser in the infirmary. Handcuff him to the bed if you have to, I don't want him leaving until we get there."

"Done."

"Cancel tonight, I'm down two men."

"Will do."

Jason thumbed disconnect, pocketed the phone. His men followed without comment.

"Fill us in." Ray said as soon as they were in the truck and mobile, Sonny driving. "What happened to Clay?"

"Eric sent him and Brock to escort Mandy to visit some old woman….three guys tried to take her. Two dead, one brought in alive. They're all okay, back at base, Clay's in the infirmary with the doc."

"Of course he is." Sonny laughed. "What else do you expect?"

"Who did the shooting?" Trent asked. It didn't matter, they were all used to taking a life, but a pat on the back, a hair ruffle from a teammate made it a bit easier to sleep at night.

"Clay took out both. I told him to pack ammo." Jason groused. "Not go out and use it."

"Eric over-rode you." Ray pointed out. "Kid couldn't very well say no. Eric knew your orders."

"Don't blame Blackburn." Trent argued. "It was a simple escort, who wudda thought anything like this would happen?"

"It's Clay!" Ray and Sonny chorused, then laughed.

"More I think about it, the more you're onto something Sonny." Jason laid his head against the window. "Tag his ear with GPS, maybe I outta put Davis on it. There's gotta be an app for that, right?"

"But, he's okay?" Trent asked. "Why's he with the doc? What happened?"

"Still has that horseshoe up his ass." Jason answered. "No apparent serious injury." He told them what little he knew.

"How'd they get back to base?" Ray asked. "And with a prisoner?"

"Dunno, didn't ask."

***000***

The team doc, the one that often flew with the team to wherever they were going, had no qualms taking over the infirmary and ordering the medical staff around.

The base doctor wanted everyone out of the exam room. Bravo's doc knew from experience, there was no way in hell either Brock or Eric would let Clay out of their sight until Jason arrived with Trent.

Brock willingly submitted to the doc, letting him tend his arm – which was fine – without complaint, but Clay was his usual, cocky, obstinate self, which told both Eric and Brock he was okay. He kept insisting he was fine, didn't need the doc to examine him, didn't need to stay in the infirmary.

The only reason he was there was because Brock had driven back and once on base, he'd parked right outside the infirmary, which alerted Eric that something was amiss. And once Eric had arrived, Clay had no soap box to stand on.

"I'm good." Clay insisted. "See to her."

"Base doc has taken care of Ms. Ellis." The team doc tut-tutted. "Off with the shirt."

"You're limping." Brock pointed out helpfully, grinning at the look Clay shot him. "Stiffened up in the truck."

"So, I'll bruise." Clay shrugged. "Nothing to cause all this fuss over."

"Clay," Eric sighed. "You know you aren't getting out of here until the doc examines you and Jason arrives, so take your clothes off and sit on the table."

Clay would argue with the doc, give Brock a hard time, but Eric? He sighed, pulling his t-shirt off over his head with one hand.

"Don't huff at me." The doc reprimanded. "I didn't get hit by a car, fall several stories. You're going to be here awhile. I want x-rays, rule out fractures. CT scan, rule out internal damage."

"I wasn't hit by a car." Clay scoffed. "I hit it."

"Pants too." The doc ordered. He turned his back and rolled his eyes.

Seals – ugh.

Why, again, did he want this job? Either they were tough, macho, my-severed-arm-doesn't-hurt assholes or they were I-have-a-hangnail-I-need-a-splint crybabies.

And then…..and then, well, there was this Seal.

Obstinate, stubborn, pig-headed…as long as he was conscious, clear-headed, un-medicated, the doc wanted to throw him right through a window…..but let him be ill or hurt or drugged or somehow, otherwise incapacitated and the kid was compliant, manageable…..hell, even submissive when the Bravo medic was around.

"And there's a difference?" Eric spoke up. "Don't say it." He held up a hand when Clay opened his mouth to tell him why, in his opinion, there was a difference. "Just shut up, be quiet and let the doc have his way with you."

"I'm fine. I don't need the works." Clay objected.

"You jumped off a second floor railing, you ass." Brock cuffed his ear affectionately. "The staircases were high. Yeah, okay, you landed on the Pillsbury Dough Boy, but hearing the thud when you hit took a year off my life."

"I know how to land."

Brock nodded. "Yeah, you do, and it's why you were able to walk away, but for my piece of mind, for me, 'cause I'm the one who's gotta tell Jason what happened, shut the fuck up, take your jeans off and lie down."

That got Clay's attention, silenced any further insistence he was fine.

Brock snickered. He didn't like using manipulation, but it worked on any of them. Divert attention and focus to a teammate who had been in the same fight, battle they were.

"You're okay?" Clay asked, jumping at the cold stethoscope on his bare back. "Christ, blow on that thing first or something."

"Deep breath," the doc said. "He needs to go lie down, get some rest, take the pain meds."

"Your arm ok?" Clay twisted around to see Brock. "You said in the truck you were ok."

"I am. Will feel better when I know you are."

"Sit still." The doc chided. "Gonna give you a muscle relaxant. Skelaxin takes about an hour…" the doc was saying, paying no attention to Eric and Brock until both yelped out a startled NO in unison! "What?"

"No drugs." Eric said hastily. "Not until Trent gets here."

"He won't be moving in another hour. He's going to be so sore and stiff…"

"Yeah, I get that, but no." Eric shook his head. "Clay, any known reactions to muscle relaxants?"

"Say what?" Clay asked, confused.

"You ever taken anything like that before?" Brock asked.

"Uh, no. Don't think so. No?" Now Clay looked bewildered. "No." he said more decidedly.

"Then we wait for Trent." Eric said firmly, making the decision. "He can soak in a tub with Epsom salt later."

Why wait, Eric didn't know, just knew they would. Trent wouldn't know how Clay would respond or react to whatever the doctor wanted to give him to ease his discomfort any more than anyone else would. And yeah, Eric was well aware how ironic it was to go on the advice of a mere medic over that of a doctor, but this was Bravo and until they got Clay Spenser figured out, it was Trent they were going to trust.

If Trent agreed to let the kid be medicated and he threw a reaction, the team would shrug it off. Simply go nope, another drug off the list Clay could take safely. If the doc just medicated the kid on his own and he threw a reaction, Jason would have a freaking fit.

That was what Eric loved about his team's 'medic'. He never took any decision he made that backfired, personally. And Eric also loved that no one on Bravo – including Clay, though Clay was not the only team member to ever get injured – ever blamed or accused him either. They'd pat him on his back and say, 'next time'. Would simply gather around and see Clay, or whoever, through a rough couple hours.

Eh.

"I, uh, usually just take the Advil liquid gel-caps." Clay gave his Commander a look that said Eric had gone around the bend with one too many drinks. "Just gimme two of them."

"Clay, your shoes, your jeans…...take them off." Eric snapped his fingers. "And get on the table."

"Mmmmm." Was all the doc said as he watched Clay grudgingly obey Eric. "You didn't say you hurt your ankle."

"Because I didn't." he looked down at his bare foot, sock still in his hand. "Huh."

"And that's why you're supposed to wear 8" high boots." Eric sighed.

"You said we didn't have to gear up!" Clay objected. He turned his foot in, looked down at the bruising on his outer ankle bone. "Must have whacked it when I swung up onto the fire escape. Doesn't even hurt."

"Lie back, let me see your hip and belly, finish the exam. Then we'll go get x-rays." The doc shook his head. "This where the truck hit….." he corrected himself when Clay puffed up, "you hit the truck?"

Now clad only in his boxer briefs, Clay easily hoisted his weight up onto the table by bracing his palms againt it. He hesitated a moment, then gave in and laid down. When Brock and Eric both hovered over opposite shoulders of the doc, their three heads merging into one huge, wavering balloon, he closed his eyes and turned away.

()

Because no further calls came from Eric during their drive back to base, no one was too concerned about serious injury befalling Clay – this time.

Ray took the boxed food off to the fridge, Sonny sought out Mandy and Jason and Trent reported to the infirmary.

"Where's Brock?" Jason demanded, seeing Eric and no one else.

"He took a fairly good pummeling by two goons. He took his pain meds and went to lie down." Eric responded. "Davis is keeping an eye on him."

"Clay?" Jason sat down. "What the hell happened?"

"Took him for x-rays. Had to order him to go, Christ, he can be a pain in the ass. Keeps insisting he's fine, but he's limping." Eric shook his head. "Jumped a truck, misjudged, clipped his lower belly, just bruised….he's okay. Doc's taking x-rays and a CT scan just as a precaution."

"Mandy's okay, right?" Jason pushed. "Any idea yet who would want to take her? Would know who she is and how to get her off base so they could?"

"No, working on it." Eric said. "She's fine, couple bruises from tug-of-war, but not harmed. Little shaken, guy shot in the head right next to her…..uh, Trent hey," he greeted when Trent joined them. "Doc wants to give him Skelaxin."

Trent nodded. "Muscle relaxant." He gave the side effects some thought. "Might make him sleepy. Wouldn't be a bad thing, keeping him down when he should be resting isn't easy."

"Or?" Jason prodded.

"With him? Who knows?" Trent shrugged. "Common enough side effects, the usual with any medication…..thing is, he either throws a completely different reaction than predicted or doesn't respond the way most people do. Try it I guess, see what happens. Will ease how sore he's gonna feel."

"I say throw him in a tub with Epsom salt." Eric said. "We're gonna need him walking without gimping."

"That too." Trent agreed. "We're in tonight, right?" he looked at Jason for confirmation, who nodded.

Clay came back from having x-rays and the CT scan, dressed and walking. Trent shook the bottle of pills the doc had left with Eric to give him, and called him over.

"Look at me." Trent ordered.

Clay held his scowl and obeyed. Hell, he was fine! How many times did he have to say it? And to how many different people?

"I'm good Trent."

Trent used two fingers under Clay's chin to raise his head, tilting it towards the light, searching for shadows under his eyes, lines around his mouth, furrowed brow, puffy bottom lip from biting it…signs that Clay was in pain and keeping silent about it.

"Alright," he was satisfied Clay wasn't lying. "I'll take him to the hot tub, give him one of these, see him to bed."

Jason nodded, waiting for Clay to look at him for permission to go with Trent. When he did, Jason couldn't help but soften, letting one corner of his mouth twitch in a reluctant grin.

"Did good." Jason gave him a gentle shove. "Take the bath, get some sleep, write up your report."

"We still leaving tonight on the raid?" Clay asked, hoping to be told no. They were already down Brock being 100 percent, he'd suck it up and do what he had to, if needed.

"Hell, no." Jason was ready to go search out Mandy, see Brock. "Listen to Trent. You want dinner, have someone bring it to you in quarters. You're staying in tonight."

It was an order.

Clay nodded, willing to accept an easy night. Hot soak, hot meal, bed sounded a great way to spend the evening. He went with Trent without complaint.

The doc walked in. "Chief Hayes, I see too much of you."

"He's okay?"

"Remarkably so." The doctor handed him a file. "Hard to believe, but nothing broken, nothing damaged, just bruised and sore. You'd think with a fall like that, despite knowing how to land and what – or who, he landed on, there'd be some internal damage somewhere, but nope."

"So, after a night of rest, he's good to go?" Jason pressed.

"Aren't you going to ask your medic?" the doc asked sarcastically.

Jason nodded, didn't take offense. "Yeah, I am. Trent can read the kid like a book. Clay knows his way around you, knows how to hide and cover up pain and discomfort…..we all do. He'll lie right to your face and you won't know it."

"But Trent will?" the doc frowned doubtfully.

"He will." Jason said firmly. "We've been in to many tight situations where honesty was the only thing that kept us alive."

The doc shook his head. When he'd accepted this assignment, accompany a Seal team – the same Seal team – on missions, he'd naively thought it was an easy road to retirement. HA! Not as the 'team doc' for the great Jason Hayes! Course, the other side was, Trent did most of his work for him!

"Go." The doc waved him on. "You know where to find me, he or Brock takes a turn."

"Thanks doc." Jason shook his hand, tucked the file under his arm and when no further instructions came about Clay, excused himself to go find Mandy.

"So, Lieutenant, you hanging in there?" doc asked. "Got your hands full, how's the ulcer? Been good lately?"

"I'm, ah, good." Eric rubbed his forehead. "Always something with this team, they keep me on my toes."

"Young Spenser?"

"All of them." Eric admitted. "Jason the vindictive, protective leader; Sonny the hot-head, who doesn't like anyone; look at Ray twice, there's gonna be a fight; piss Trent off, and you manage to walk away, you're doing so with a broken bone; rile Brock up, he'll crack your skull, and he's the most passive on the team; and Clay shoots to kill. He don't like you, you're not likely to keep your head for long. He's fond of headshots."

"And yet, best team the Navy has."

Eric beamed. "Hell, yeah!"

***000***

Clay hadn't had anyone give him a bath since he was like, five. Okay, not really a bath, and Trent hadn't hung around once Clay had eased into the hot tub filled with Epsom and dead sea salts….but still.

Not a Jacuzzi, just a large metal tub with enough force in several jets to make the neck-high water bubble gently and oh yeah, the warm, fizzy water was soothing and relaxing.

Now, several hours after the, uh, incident, medical exam and tests over, Clay was feeling every throb, ache, and pain he'd suffered as a result of his dash across the street, the jumps and leaps, the fall…..hell, even his shoulders ached. And his favored over-the-counter pain relief wasn't touching it.

Trent had been hesitant to give him the muscle relaxant the doc had prescribed and Clay didn't understand why. Why did everyone always look at Trent like they were asking his approval before the doc gave him anything? He was willing to take them and go to bed if that made Trent happy, wasn't that enough?

He yawned, eh, he'd figure it out later. The warm water, the pull of the medication, was making him sleepy and he saw no need to fight it.

"You drown in there, I ain't pulling your ass out." Sonny lounged in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

Clay merely opened one eye.

"Ain't you wrinkled up like a prune yet? How long you plan on staying in there?"

Until someone helps me out, Clay thought drowsily. Trent had told him to stay put. Stay put he had.

"Tell me you're wearing shorts." Sonny pushed off the door frame. "Something."

He was.

"Okay then, up you go." Sonny waited next to the tub, large towel in his hands. "Clay, yo…..come on. Ray brought chicken over from the cafeteria. Fried chicken, haul your scrawny ass out of there." He reached over, turned the jets off, released the drain.

Hands on either side of the tub, Clay moved to push up, shoulders voicing a mild protest. He grimaced, biting his lip….how the hell did those competitors on that Ninja Warrior show do this? His palm slipped, he went down on his elbow, coughing up a mouth full of water.

"Good God." Sonny watched him flail, recalled Trent's admonishment that the kid was medicated with muscle relaxants – yeah, yeah, just one, but mind you, this was Clay and they had no way of knowing how he would react – and shouldered the towel. "Come here." Reaching over the tub, he easily slid his hands under Clay's arms and helped him stand and step out of the tub onto a mat. "Dry off and cha…OUCH!" he whistled at the bruise showing above the waistband of Clay's boxer briefs and below his belly button. "Shit kid, the hell?"

Clay pulled the towel from Sonny's shoulder and looked down. "Oh that." he shrugged, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out of the wet underwear. "Thought I cleared the truck, slight misjudgment."

"Christ." Sonny was quiet. "Brock and Mandy told us what happened. Doc told us how you got in the building." He gave Clay a one-armed hug. "Why'd you do something so stupid?"

"Not letting anything happen to Brock." Clay searched for clothes, gave up when he didn't find anything. A quick dash across the compound in a towel it would be. "Any idea what's going on?"

Sonny noted Clay didn't include Mandy. Yeah, they were going to have to work on that. "Eric and Mandy are on it. Come on, don't lose that towel."

()

Clay wasn't hungry, wanted to go to bed, but everyone – even Lisa, Eric and Mandy – was waiting for him in barracks, so he dressed and sat down at the table for fried chicken.

"You good?" Jason asked. He'd waited until everyone was eating water melon, the meal over before confronting Clay.

"Sore." Clay admitted. "I'm fine."

"Yeah? Been an hour or so since you took the muscle relaxant. You know me?"

Clay frowned, then scowled, so not in the mood to be teased. "I'm going to bed." He started to get up.

"Sit." Jason ordered.

He sat. Lowered his eyes, waited.

Jason watched the emotions cross his rookie's face: confusion, uncertainty, bafflement, perplexity, puzzlement, annoyance. The poor kid didn't know what to think. Didn't know if he was in trouble. And if he was, for what.

"You have a habit of not responding to medication the way you should." Jason said finally. "You're fine from the fall, okay from being hit….:" he cracked a slight grin, "...hitting a car, I'm good with that, with what the doc said. But kid, you throw a reaction to what the doc gave you, we're a little gun-shy, okay?"

Clay nodded.

"We're gonna cluck." Sonny added. "Like mother-hens 'til we're satisfied. Got it?"

Clay nodded, shrugged….smothered, stifled, stalked.

***000***

"He's fine Jason, he said so, doc said so,Trent said so." Eric said for the umpteenth time, they'd retreated to Eric's cabin for a beer after supper. Clay and Brock had gone to bed. "And thanks to him, so are Brock and Mandy."

"Yeah, but how?" Jason opened his third beer. "Brock said he jumped from the 2nd floor stair railing Eric. Flights of stairs over here are like, what, 30 steps or more?"

"I've never counted."

"Not the point." Jason snapped. "Okay, yeah, sure, he landed on a dude, but the impact, the distance, the speed which he fell…and he walks away with what? A bruise on his ankle he banged swinging up onto a fire escape? Come on!"

"He's got a bruise from the truck bumper." Eric reminded him, sighed when Jason didn't respond to humor. "He's young, his body can take harder hits than ours can. Age difference, you know." Eric took a drink. "Scary thing is Jace, if he'd gone through the front door, like training dictates, both he and Brock would be dead and they would have gotten away with Mandy."

"You think I don't know that?! Doesn't have to be said. God, it's a kick in the gut every time I think about 'what if' Clay had just run through the door." Jason rubbed his hand over his jaw. "And when I write this up, I'm supposed to reprimand him for not doing so. Because it's what he should have done." He drummed the bottom of the bottle lightly against the table. "If he ran with Charlie and went off book, Beau…"

"What's this about Jason?"

Jason glared at him. "Every time I think he's seriously hurt, he gets up and walks away. A bruise, a sprain, a sore ankle. What's it gonna be next? What about the time that comes when I think he's gonna get up and just go on his way like he always does and he doesn't, 'cause he's dead?"

"Clay isn't reckless. He doesn't take unnecessary chances. Not going through that door was the right thing to do, the smart decision." Eric pointed out. "Jumping from the 2nd floor...meh," wasn't much of anything else Clay could have done though, and they both knew it. "You asked Clay never to hide or keep anything from you, he hasn't. I mean come on, we're in a bar and the kid comes over to faint at your feet."

"He was gonna hit the floor anyway."

"You dragged him out of a creek in Iceland, Trent wasn't there, and he trusted you to do what was needed to help him."

"He had no idea what was going on."

"Got a flippant answer for everything, don't you?" Eric glared. "Clay butts heads with Sonny now and again, but there's a bond there Sonny never had with Nate. Even you can't deny that." he waited but Jason had nothing to say. "Trent has no problems looking after Clay because the kid doesn't have issues with his rough and abrasive ways. Nate did."

"Trent technically isn't a medic." Jason ha'ha'd triumphantly. "Not officially."

"For Bravo he is. He ever goes to another team or has a different team leader, he wouldn't be. No other Chief is going to give him free rein, but you do, so yeah, he's Bravo's medic and with Spenser around, you all need one."

Jason bobbed his head, thinking, thinking, thinking…. "Okay, okay, fine. Want me to admit it? Trent is our medic, but we don't let it be known. It's our thing."

"Like I didn't know that?" Eric harrumphed. "You get away with a lot of shit Jason. I either let you, help you or turn my back and pretend I don't know about it."

And Jason loved him for it. "Nate was part of this team." Jason said after a moment of silence, taking pride and comfort in his Commander's support.

"He was." Eric agreed. "But he wasn't everyone's friend." He finished his third and last beer. "But with Clay….."

"And there's always a 'but'." Jason sighed.

"The dog likes him." Eric pointed out. "Took right to him, dogs do judge people you know."

Jason conceded the point, tipping his beer bottle in salute. "So do you."

Eric hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I do. So, about the men who tried to take Ellis."

"Find out something? Who wants her? And for what?"

"Not a lot. The wife she went to see can't be found. We figure she's never going to be found. Her husband was Mandy's field interpreter helping her gather intel on Taha Fasih."

"And he's on top of her personal most wanted list."

"And her boss's." Eric nodded. "He got three agents from the CIA ambushed and killed."

"What about the interpreter himself?"

"Disappeared before the wife did."

"And we didn't raid tonight." Jason ran his hands through his hair. "Christ, can't think straight."

"Doc cleared Clay for the day after tomorrow, Brock's good to go, we'll try again."

Jason lounged across the table, chin cupped in one hand. "How the hell did he lead missions through two tours of Afghanistan?" he wondered out loud. "We take our eyes off him for two seconds and some Prince or Sultan of some sort is asking me if his harem can keep him 'cause he's pretty to look at."

Eric snorted, choking on his beer, then just burst out laughing. Pounded his fist on the table in a fit of merriment.

"Of all the ways…" he was giggling now. "…you ever thought…" chortle, "…someone could go missing…" he wiped his eyes, "…did that scenario…." he doubled over, hiccupped, "…..ever cross…..your mind?" he howled in delight.

Jason finally grinned, 'cause, no…no it never had.

***the very next day***

"Jason." Mandy joined him at the breakfast table. Ray was in line, having just walked in to join him, but Brock and Clay had yet to get out of bed and had been given the morning off. Sonny and Trent were in the weight room. "Good Morning."

"Feeling better?" Jason asked. "Sleep okay?"

"I'm good. What are you doing today?"

"I bet you're going to tell me."

"There's an informant I'd like to talk to before you raid tomorrow night."

"Want him brought in?" Jason picked up his to-go cup of coffee. "We go get him, gonna blow any chance of him being a snitch in the future."

"I don't like that term." She scolded. "He's a dealer, anyone seeing you will merely think he's being arrested."

"By American military?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Is this a mission?"

"A favor."

Jason was quiet. A favor meant, no back-up, no support. His men would be given the option whether or not they'd want to go. He knew there'd be four ayes...Clay wouldn't be eager to go do anything for Mandy, he wasn't supposed to leave base anyway until tomorrow night and Trent would be undecided, because if Clay didn't go, he wouldn't want to leave the kid behind without someone to keep an eye on him.

"How's Clay?" she asked after a moment. "Eric said he was told by the doc Clay could go on the raid tomorrow but is supposed to stay in quarters today."

"If I needed him, he's ready." Jason sighed. "You gotta get over this Mandy. Kid ain't going anywhere, accept it."

She arranged the salt and pepper shaker, returned the ketchup bottle to the condiment tray, sorted the packets of sugar and artificial sweeteners by color. Stacked the packets of jelly.

"Aren't you scared of losing him?" she asked finally, glancing up then looking away.

"Every god-damn, fucking day." Jason admitted. He prayed every night that each day would be easier for him to keep Clay in his sight. "And not just to death."

Mandy nodded. "Okay, ok, I'll try."

That was all Jason could ask for. "Tell me about your informant. If I'm gonna ask the guys to do a favor for you, they should know the risks."