Eric climbed the steps on the porch of a well-maintained older Victorian home. Unlike the other homes whose doors he'd been knocking on, this one had lights on. Even if he didn't find Clay, maybe they'd be willing to part with a cup of coffee and a cookie or two.

He knocked and waited. Everyone had picked a street and started going door to door. His ears were tuned to noises most people either couldn't hear or didn't pay attention to and he heard the quick, pitter-patter of feet crossing a wood floor and expected a child to open the door.

The door flung wide opened, a little ole lady screeched….."LAWKS!"…and the door flung shut in his face.

Good Grief, he might be wet and bedraggled, but he didn't think he looked that bad.

"Maggie?" he heard someone yell from the depths of the house. "Who is at the door?"

"Wrong number!" he heard the lady on the other side of the door yell back.

The hell? Eric just waited.

More footsteps, shushed whispers, more voices, the door opened a crack, shut, opened again, shut, opened wider, and Eric could see the little ole lady attempting to push it closed with both hands, feet planted firmly on the floor. Good God, she even grunted. She was picked up and set aside and the door swung wide.

"Go away." She told Eric. "You're wet. You can't come in."

"Come in." Louis invited. "Maggie, let the man in."

"No." She tried to close the door. "Leave." She told Eric.

"Maggie, we have a guest. Perhaps he's hungry."

"I have cinnamon rolls ready to come out of the oven." Maggie brightened. "I'm making icing."

And oh, Eric could smell them. Wait until Brock got a whiff, freaking bean-pole with a sweet tooth, never gained a pound.

"And mulled cider warming, be right back. Millie won't like him in the house, he's all wet." She skipped off and Louis opened the door wider and stood aside so Eric could enter.

"I'm Louis." He extended his hand. "Come in, come in, nice and warm in here."

"Eric." Eric left his rain poncho on the porch, entered the house and stood dripping on a mat, the door closed behind him. "Thank you." Oh God, yes, it was warm and damn, it felt good.

"Nasty night to be out." Louis said. "Are you part of the rescue teams?" He didn't think so, no reflective vest.

"I'm looking for someone." Eric said tiredly. Even if Clay wasn't here, this was the first house they'd come across in four hours that was occupied, warm and offered the possibility of hot coffee and food. He wiped a wet hand over his wet face and pushed his wet hair back. God, he was tired. The weather and maneuvering the raft against the current left him exhausted.

Louis nodded. He'd known someone would come. " Blonde? 25ish?"

Eric staggered, felt relief course through him. He had to put a hand against the wall when he swayed and nearly fell over.

"He's here?" He finally got out. "You have Clay?"

"Is that his name? Yes, yes he is."

"You're dripping muddy water all over my clean floor. You take those clothes off right now."

Eric blinked. Huh, a different little ole lady, though they looked similar, sisters probably.

"Millie, Eric is our guest."

"Well...alright, he can stay." She decided grudgingly. "I'll follow him with the mop. I didn't mop the hallway today. Been too busy." She pointed at Eric. "Stay right there until I get back."

Louis chuckled as Millie flounced from the room. "They're harmless. The older they get, the more befuddled they become."

"Where's Clay?" Eric began then paused. They didn't know his name? "Is he okay?" That didn't make any sense. Even if Clay was unconscious, he had both his military ID and his driver's license in his wallet. And if he'd lost that in the waters, he had his dog tags around his neck. "Can I see him?"

"Of course you can." Louis hesitated. "I will ask you to remove your shoes first though. Millie will have a fit, you track mud through the house. He's in the room off the kitchen, we couldn't carry him up the stairs. Oh, and I should warn you, the sisters want to keep him. They believe anything they pull out of the river is theirs."

"Even a grown man?" Eric bent over to unlace his boots. What kind of odd-ball place was this? He and Jason would have a good ole time reeling in Sonny.

"Fraid so." Louis chuckled. "How many of you came looking for your young man?"

"Six."

"Louis, is that the rescue team?" Margie came in. "Oh, I see not." Not dressed like he was. "You must be looking for our guest."

"Clay." Louis nodded. "Margie, this is Eric."

"Are you not in fear of flooding?" Eric asked.

"No, no, we're fine." Margie waved him off. "Have had worse storms than this, dam has broken before, we've never flooded."

Eric could believe that. The rafts had been left over a mile away and the road they'd hiked until they'd come to the streets with houses had been dry.

"Everyone leaves because they can't stand not being able to." Louis said. "Maggie!" He called. "Coffee for six men."

"They're having cider!" She yelled back.

At this point, Eric didn't care if she offered him warm milk, he and Bravo would willingly drink anything hot.

"This way." Louis led the way and Eric don't know how it happened, where she came from or how she managed to get behind him without him knowing it, but Millie and her mop were right up his ass.

()

Clay stirred when the light went on, turning his face under the pillow. Good God, he hated that. Couldn't they turn on a dim lamp across the room? Why did it always have to be the bright, unsheltered bulb over his head? It made him see black dots even with his eyes closed.

"Damn me." Eric breathed, watching Clay wince, duck his chin and nuzzle under the pillow, an attempt to shield his eyes from the harsh light, but Eric hadn't caught on to that yet. He pulled out his phone and hesitated. Mmmmm, Jason or Trent? "Got him." He said when the call connected. "Blue Victorian, can't miss it, light on in every window."

"Tell me he's alive?"

"Bring Trent with you, don't know how bad he's hurt."

"Call it in, then call Ray, have him call Brock and Sonny, be there in 3." Jason hung up.

"Clay? Hey Spenser, can you hear me?" Eric approached the bed, phone to his ear as he called Ray. "Was he conscious when you found him?" He set the phone aside. "Clay?"

"No." Margie said. "Hasn't really been with it. Groggy if he does come around."

"Has he said anything?"

"Asked once for a phone." Louis offered. "Muttered some nonsense about TV shows. He'll eat and drink, let us clean him up, couldn't leave him dirty with all that river water. He knew when he had to get up and let me help him to the bathroom, but mostly, he's been like this. Keeps sitting up, tries to get up, holds his head or his arm or his leg or his foot. He's often restless."

"Any obvious injury?"

"He has a nasty bruise on his back, right hip."

"He bruises easily and quickly." And if no broken bones or blood-gushing wounds had been found, Eric wasn't going to make the kid move. Trent could do that. He reached out for Clay's hand, taking hold of his chin to give his head a shake. "He's running a fever?" He questioned. "Have you taken his temperature?" Clay didn't return his squeeze.

"No, we don't have a thermometer, but he's been warm all night." Margie said. "We've given him aspirin."

Clay shook his head, aspirin was not blue. Blue pills were bad. "No…..ow….." He felt the firm hold on his chin, hesitated then turned into the grip, nuzzling his cheek against a cold thumb. Somehow, something about the hand was familiar.

"Clay?" Eric tried again to get his attention. "Hey, wake up. Come on Clay." He frowned as Clay squirmed, biting his lower lip, the light too bright. "What is it? Huh? It's me, Eric. Open your eyes, you'll see me. Hey I'm right here Clay, we're all here. You really think we wouldn't come get you?"

But Clay's eyes didn't open. Fighting through the fog and ever present encroaching darkness to respond to the familiar voice was hard enough. He didn't need another headache, this one between his eyes, by fighting the light. He already had one over his right eye and it was strong enough on its own to make him nauseous. When he winced, squeezing his eyes as tight together as he could, lip curling, Eric finally got the message.

"Right, okay, got it." Eric walked over to the door and flipped the switch to turn the ceiling light off. "That better? You don't like bright light. I know, see?" He turned on a softer lamp that sat on a dresser. "I remember."

He picked up the phone, called someone, spoke about the weather, rain, wind, flights, daylight, hung up.

"Clay? Hey there." Eric spoke quietly, calmly while his heart raced and his breath stuttered. "Hang in there, Trent's on his way, okay?"

Clay moaned, his fists curling around the blanket and pulling.

"He does that a lot too." Margie said.

And Trent was there. "Because he's cold."

()

Margie met Jason at the front door. He and Trent had obviously let themselves in. Maggie was in the kitchen and Millie was mopping behind Trent.

"Any more of you coming?" Margie asked.

"Three more." Jason replied. "I smell bread."

"Indeed you do." Footsteps thudded on the front porch and Margie opened the door to let the last 3 members of Bravo in. Wow, these men were big.

"Millie, take them to see our guest." Margie said calmly, struggling not to freak out. These men, and now there were a total of 7, were large and rough and did not look happy. Indeed, they looked very mean and they scared her. She, her sisters and Louis were out here all alone. Perhaps giving them what they wanted would make them happy.

"I don't want to." Millie pouted, plopping her mop into a pail of cleaner and water. "They will track mud all over my floors."

"Millie, take them to see Clay." Margie said sternly to hide her nervousness.

"Who's Clay?" Millie looked around.

"Our guest." Margie sighed. "Take these men to see our guest."

"Must I?" She sighed. "He's asleep Margie. I don't want them to wake him up." Either she didn't know Trent had already made his way through the house and it was he she mopping up after or she'd forgotten already,

"Lady, I'm in no mood," Jason began, shutting up and pulling back when a mop handle thwacked his chin. "The ffff.."

"Don't you use that tone in this house, young man!" Millie reprimanded him. "Now, you may look in on him, but you can't wake him up. He hasn't been sleeping well today."

Jason started forward but Brock and Ray both reached to grab an arm and hold him back.

"We mean you no harm, ma'am." Ray addressed Margie. "We are looking for our teammate, he was on rescue operations this morning when the dam broke and his boat capsized."

"All of you looking for one man?" Margie said doubtfully. "I've lived here my whole life, that's not how rescue operations work." She looked at them. "And you are not local, so unless you're National Guard, you aren't part of any rescue team."

"You're correct. He volunteered." Ray explained. "We've been looking since last night ma'am. We were told the river currents wouldn't carry debris up river this far, so it took us awhile to make it here in rubber rafts."

"Then you must want something to eat and something hot to drink." Maggie waddled in with a tray of hot cinnamon rolls in her hands. She took one look at the wet, motley crew of men in the foyer, pivoted without missing a step and fled right back to the kitchen.

Margie waved Ray off when he started to apologize. "She's fine, she was expecting to find only your friend Eric." She motioned for them to remove their shoes, toss their ponchos onto the front porch. "Maggie! We have company! Set out some plates. Mugs for coffee"

"They'll get mulled cider!" she yelled back.

Sonny would drink hot water at this point, maybe even add a tea bag, he was that miserable.

()

"Jesus Christ." Trent muttered again. "I need a sweat shirt, something with long sleeves." He told Louis. "Clay? Hey kid." His trained eye instantly spotted the bottle of Aleve on the night stand. "Did you give him these?" He snatched the bottle and shook it. "When? How many? Why?"

"Yes." Louis said. So, this here was the unit's medic. Hmmmmm, he seemed rather rough.

"Why would you do that?" Trent demanded.

"He's running a fever."

"He can't take this." Trent pushed at his hair.

"How would we know that?"

"They're blue, he would have told you he can't take anything blue."

Louis opened his mouth to deny Clay had said any such thing, but remembered Clay saying blue was bad.

Eric held the sweatshirt Louis had handed Trent that Trent had tossed at him, and…did nothing. What was he supposed to do with it? Clay looked up at him, blue eyes murky, yet still somehow bright. Um, dulled with pain, bright with fever, maybe? Eric realized the kid was shaking, no, shivering….right, Trent had said he was cold, Louis had said he kept pulling at the blankets. Clay wanted that sweatshirt.

"Gimme your hand." Eric told Clay. He was well aware and accustomed to Clay's ability to find injury and illness and though many a night, Eric had sat with him in the hospital or infirmary, taking his turn so the kid wouldn't be alone, he'd never really been the one on hand to take care of him. Eric was always on the phone getting Jason and the rest of Bravo out of trouble for disobeying orders and going after the kid.

"We didn't understand what he meant." Louis said lamely. "To us, it's all aspirin."

"You should have known." Trent muttered. "You can't read?"

"Read what?"

Trent looked at Clay, the bottle clutched in a fist. "The fuck Clay! God Dammit, where are your tags? How many times I have told you, never go out with them?!"

"Trent." Eric warned, tone commanding. "These people didn't mean Clay any harm." He had both of Clay's arms through the sleeves of the sweatshirt, pushed it over his head, helped Clay sit up so he could pull it down over his back. "Shit, that the bruise?"

Trent reigned in his temper, responding to Eric's authority. Besides, it was just Aleve, an over-the-counter medication and while it would probably help the fever, it would also just give Clay annoying, painful leg and toe cramps that a heating pad would ease. Not like it was life-threatening to the kid.

"What leg does he keep trying to hold?" Trent asked Louis. "Has he been coughing? Any trouble breathing? Has he rubbed his chest or said it hurts?

Louis stared, stunned. How did the medic know anything about that? When he'd told Eric, Trent hadn't been in the room.

"His right." Louis said. "Uh…let's see…he wheezed for a bit, but then threw up half the river. After that, he breathed okay. He keeps trying to hold his head or his leg, sometimes his foot, but not his chest."

"I need heat. Heating pad is best, but a hot water bottle will do. Hot towels if nothing else."

"This is a household of three women." Louis got up. "We have heating pads."

"Tr'nt?" Clay rolled his head on the pillow. "I….don't….feel….." he recognized Eric and his eyes widened. "Comm….and….er."

"Surprise." Eric greeted. "Relax, I drove Jason."

Clay let his eyes droop, raising a hand to his head. "Head hurts…aches. Won't go away."

"Working on it." Trent said. "Gimme a sec."

Louis stopped at the door, Commander? This team had a commander? Just who the hell were these guys?

"…said he has a bruise on back. No other obvious injuries. Pulled him out of the river." Eric was telling Trent as Louis went in search of Margie to get a heating pad. "Just got a glimpse of the bruise...man, he bruises quick."

"He bleeds fast."

He found her in the kitchen, helping Maggie who was happily serving hot cinnamon rolls and mulled cider to four, large, wet men. Millie was humming while she mopped the foyer. Oh boy, Louis thought, they hadn't yet put it together these men were here for their guest and would soon take him away.

"Hello there." Louis greeted. "Welcome."

All four stared at him, judging him, deciding if he were a threat. Louis stared back, waiting to see who would speak first, because whoever did, would be the leader of these men.

"And you are?" Jason finally spoke, taking another bite of hot bun.

"I'm Louis, Margie where might I find a heating pad?"

"Your back from sitting in that chair acting up?"

"No, their medic wants it."

"Their medic?"

"Our medic?" Ray repeated. No way had either Eric or Trent volunteered that information.

Louis chuckled. "You're a military unit from somewhere. The way he came in and took charge clearly says he's the medic."

"Does he need us?" Jason asked around a mouthful of bun. He'd come with his men to the kitchen because crowding Trent would just make him tense. They'd found Clay, he was safe and Trent was with him. It was enough for now. "God damn this is good."

"Just wants a heating pad."

"Who wants more cider?" Maggie asked cheerfully. Four mugs were held out.

"Oh my. Maggie, they're getting everything all wet." Millie wailed. "My kitchen!"

"You know Millie," Margie paused, "Wet clothes need to be laundered."

Millie clapped her hands. "They need blankets! Maggie?"

"On it." Maggie set her sauce pan of cider on the stove, went into the laundry room and emerged with blankets. "More?"

"I have a new bar of Fels-Natha just waiting to scrub some mud." She snapped her fingers. Swiped the hot bun right out of Sonny's hand. "No more for you until you give me your clothes."

Jason laughed, stood up and took a blanket from Maggie. He wanted to see Clay and if leaving his wet clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor helped him accomplish that sooner, he'd happily run around the house, wrapped up in a blanket.

Reluctant to leave the hot buns and cider, his men were slower to obey Millie. Remaining wet and uncomfortable while they ate, kept their mind off Clay and what they were going to find out when Trent was done.

"Tell me everything." Trent said when Louis returned with Margie. Erick went flat on his stomach and scooched under the bed to plug the heating pad in. Not a dust bunny in sight.

Sonny, Ray and Brock peeked through the door, saw Clay and were content to remain in the kitchen. Jason lounged in the doorway.

"Easy kid," Trent shushed Clay when he voiced a protest over the removal of the blankets. Clay wore black boxer briefs that were dry and, Trent assumed, his own. "Soft pillow." He demanded, Margie handed him one, he put the heating pad on top of it and positioned both under Clay's right calf. "Give it 10 minutes or so, the cramps will ease."

"Start from when you found him." Eric commanded as Trent held a flashlight and began his exam. The more they told them, the madder Trent got, and he rarely got mad and he never lost his temper.

"…..then he had a seizure….."

"He didn't have a seizure!" Trent snapped, almost yelled. "He was wet and cold and laying on the floor and you drowned him in hot water, of course he started to shiver!"

Satisfied Clay didn't have a head injury, he moved on, feeling for sore spots, broken bones, cuts, scrapes, gashes...anything.

"…...says his head hurts…"

"Of course his head hurts!" Trent exploded. "Christ! Every god damn light bulb in this house is 100 watts with no shades!"

"Trent!" Eric said more forcefully.

Trent glared at him, went silent because he was taking Clay's pulse, which was racing, making Trent irate.

"What did you give him to drink?" Trent demanded irritably.

"…...he was always cold, kept shivering, so…."

"Coffee. Did you give him coffee? You did." Trent spat, shaking his head. "Don't suppose it was decaf?" Both Louis and Margie shook their heads. "No, course not. What the hell is wrong with you? Caffeine causes an increased heart rate, kid will never settle down and sleep."

Silence. Louis reached to hold Margie's hand.

"Trent, forget it. Is he okay?" Jason asked. "They were trying to help him, let it go."

"Jesus Christ Jason, their 'helping hand'," Trent made air quotes, "Didn't do him any good."

"They were only trying to take care of him." Louis objected. "We did the best we could, with what we had, knowing what we did."

"He's safe in this house." Margie shook her finger at Trent. "Not out bobbing in the river, full of filth, in this cold. You're welcome."

"TRENT!" both Jason and Eric barked before he could say anything. "You can't expect them to know he throws a reaction to every fucking thing." Jason continued. "Move on."

Clay hadn't yet come around or responded in any way other than to say names. Trent didn't like that, there had to be something he was missing and it wasn't a bruised back. That he'd yet to even see, and didn't that just piss him off.

Shit like this wasn't supposed to happen here, at home, on vacation. On the job, in combat, during action, sure, fine, he had no problem with it. But here? In Virginia?

"…keeps trying to rub his head…." Louis went back to telling Trent what had happened.

"Where?" Trent asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." Trent said tersely. "Or I wouldn't have asked."

"Here." Margie pointed to her right temple. "Kept wanting to press it against his palm."

"What did you give him to eat?" Trent was just about at the end of his patience. Oh yeah, the weather, the trip, the search, missing dog tags, his interrupted vacation with his wife. "And don't you dare tell me canned soup."

"Um, that would be bad, why?" Louis ventured timidly.

"All the fucking coffee you gave him and you give him canned soup?!"

Did these people not realize, if they were in a foreign country, in a war zone, arguing like this with him, they would be considered an enemy and he could easily snap their necks?

"OH! Oh, now see here, you great big bully!" Maggie whacked him in the chest with a wooden spoon. "Never in my life have I ever served anyone canned soup!" She was horrified that anyone dare suggest such a thing. "How dare you!"

"Do you salt your homemade soup?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well! There you go."

"Yes," Louis said hastily. "We gave him soup and stew. Ham and eggs omelets."

"Things loaded with salt." Trent stared at the ceiling, counted to ten, reached twenty, started over.

"Clay has reactions to some medications." Eric told Louis, Margie and Maggie. "Naproxen makes his legs cramp. Too much caffeine while he's mediated increases his heart rate and he can't settle down and sleep. Too much salt will give him a headache over his right eye. If he tries to hide his face or squeezes his eyes shut, the light in the room is too bright and bright light will make his head hurt between his eyes."

"Welcome to life with Clay." Jason said dryly. He was huddled in a blanket, mug of cider his hands. Millie was happily doing laundry and she'd assured them that she knew whose clothes were whose.

"So, he can have two headaches at one time?" Maggie questioned.

Eric looked at Trent who was counting to 10 for the 4th time. "He has one head." Trent said between five and six.

"But if it can hurt in different spots, it's two headaches." Maggie insisted. "You have one body, but your foot can hurt and your elbow can hurt, so you have two hurts. You can have more than one finger hurt, so you can have two headaches at the same time."

"We didn't know." Louis said. "He didn't tell us."

Trent threw the towel, dug into his backpack, withdrew an ear thermometer. "Nothing you've told me says why he'd be running a fever."

"We guessed maybe bacteria from the river." Margie said. "We cleaned him up best we could."

"He is clean." Eric agreed.

Trent had to agree. He hadn't even found mud or slime behind Clay's ears and his hair had been washed and was tangle free. There wasn't even any dirt under his fingernails.

"Millie loves to have something to clean." Louis nodded. He felt three pairs of eyes nail him to the floor. "Rest easy now mates," his hands were up, "I took care of the rest of him."

"How high?" Jason asked Trent.

"That can't be accurate." Millie had come for Trent and Eric's wet clothes. "A thermometer takes three minutes to register. And it goes in his mouth, under his tongue."

"Uh yeah, a glass one with mercury from the 50's." Trent muttered. "104.2. Doesn't make any sense."

"Tr'nt?" Clay stirred. "I…..no….my…..arm."

"What about it?" Trent dismissed it. Both arms were attached, that's all he cared about. "I need you to roll over. Let me see your bruise."

"My arm." Clay insisted, trying to raise his left one. "Ow."

Trent took notice. Clay didn't whine. Well, not when he was coherent and lucid anyway. He was trying to tell Trent something and Trent knew when he should pay attention. "Okay, what? Let me see." He took Clay's hand, gave his fingers a squeeze, then started feeling for swelling or sore spots. His fingers felt the hard lump just as Clay winced, hissing through his teeth.

"What?" Eric, out of his wet clothes and wrapped in a blanket, moved closer at Trent's curse. "Something broken? Embedded?" He sat down on the bed, Clay blinked up at him, confused. "Clay? Hey."

Arm full of wet, muddy clothes, Millie toddled off, promising to be right back for Trent's.

Jason grinned as she waved, moving past him through the door. Not even the best ladies at the best 'whorehouse in Texas' had gotten men of out their clothes as quickly as this little lady had.

"Clay, did someone give you a shot?" Trent asked. "Clay, hey, I'm talking to you."

"Mmmmm. Ow."

"Yes, ow, I get it. It hurts." Trent held Clay's chin, gave his head a shake. "Who? Why? Of what? Why would you let them?"

"I…did…..n't." He wasn't feeling any better. "Ow."

"Not good." Jason said from the doorway. "Just another thing he can throw a reaction to."

Trent held his head, frustrated. Aw, fuck, it didn't matter. He went through his backpack, he'd learned his lesson about Clay and inoculations and boosters the last time the kid had had one.

"You know what the doc gave him and have it with you?" Eric asked, looking down at Clay who was now against his hip, seeking warmth, he guessed.

Trent flashed a grin. "Pays to have your own doc, huh?"

"So, that is prescription and you shouldn't have it." Eric shook his head. "I know nothing."

"Just a load of B12 combined with an antibiotic." He gave Clay the shot in the same arm. "No sense making both arms sore."