Happy New Year!
You guys are great! And you want to keep me busy...I'll do what I can!
"You have anything to say to defend yourself?" Ray asked once he and Summer were in support's barracks, beers on a table between them. "I'll listen and I'll be fair, but I'm going to be honest, your actions this entire mission haven't painted you in a good light."
"You called the medic by name. I assumed you knew him."
"Nuh-nun, not gonna work." Ray sighed, shook his head. "You assumed, you can't do that. Never do that when it's about Clay. This isn't new, you were told about him on the first mission you did with Bravo. You asked me in Mumbai, I answered your questions. You think this is all some joke, a practical prank. But it's not. Not from me, not from Jason. Never from Trent when one of us is hurt."
"How….it's just…you tell me…..I mean…..how do you expect me to believe it? I….you can't…..Ray, come on!"
"It's been over a year, we finally have him figured out. Not saying it was easy. We had some hair-raising, breath-taking, heart-stopping moments with him." Ray chuckled softly, reminisced. "Lost him in a bet to Charlie, he went on a recon mission with them, we had to go get him."
Had to? Or wanted to? Summer wondered.
"And we lost him in Iceland, then someone tried to take him on an op Delta had lead on, that was a rough day. Then he nearly drowned in Virginia, the little ladies who wanted to keep him were worse to negotiate with then the sheikh who wanted to buy him for his harem. He's been blown up, hit a by a truck...no, wait," Ray made air quotes, "He hit it. Been drugged, taken, beaten, tortured...heck, we left him home on base, found him as a captive with Brock, nearly left him behind...'cause we didn't know." He shuddered, looked so sad, Summer nearly laid a hand on his shoulder.
Summer shook the thought off. "How do you hide it from Blackburn?" He recalled Jason saying Clay was with Doc and Blackburn. "You don't."
"Of course we don't." Ray scowled. "How could we? Why would we? We don't hide anything from him and we have his full support. He'll fuss a bit, but he's as attached to that kid as we are."
"But...why?"
Ray shrugged sheepishly, baffled, he had no answer. There wasn't one.
But he gave it a try anyway.
"This life isn't easy. No matter how good you are, it gets you, drags you down, boxes you in. Yeah, we crash and burn. The blood, the gore, all the violence, what we've seen, the evil, what we know people are capable of doing to each other - it's sadistic...comfort and solace is often found in a bottle, through bursts of anger, we lash out, it's how we deal."
Ray toasted the air, took a drink.
"But then...then came Spenser. And somehow, when he's hurt or senseless - in pain or throwing a reaction - him needing us - letting us - take care of him...just makes everything not so evil. The way he reaches out to hold onto you because you're safety and the comfort he needs...and all you can offer him is a touch, a hand or your lap, and it's enough. He sees you and...because he can, he's...content, calm, secure...and though he's not responsive, he knows you...just, I dunno, makes this job...easier."
He was quiet, drank more beer.
"We all drink more than we should, but since the kid came, even Sonny has backed off a bit. More beer than hard liquor. We need to be sober and on our game to keep track of him." He grinned. "We have a habit of losing him." His grin faded. "I dunno Summer, having him to worry about and focus on, makes us miss home, our families, a little less."
"Then what happened tonight?" Summer understood. Not all of it, but enough. Or so he thought.
"I'm guessing whoever tried to take him, dosed him with chloral hydrate, and you let the medic give him a pain med and the two didn't mix well. You'll never be forgiven for that by Trent, by the way. He trusted you and you dissed him." Ray slunk in his chair, tired and spent. "You ask, I'll answer and if we can't work it out, then you'll have to go. We did fine without you, we'll be fine without you."
"No, I mean, what happened?" He fingered his split lip. He'd have a black eye to rival Clay's. Not to mention a puffy cheek and swollen lip. "I didn't believe... I mean...why? If he's this hard to, uh, manage, why do you guys do this?"
Ray was silent, stared vacantly at some spot on the wall, sighed, hand in his hair. Good Lord, he'd just said why!
"That kid has never lied to us, he has never betrayed us. He has a lot to learn, who better to teach him than Jason? He trusts completely and when he's kicked in the teeth - Stella - he takes it hard. But Summer, he has never once ran from a fight or backed down from a challenge. He will disobey orders and buck authority to come after us, be with us. He can hit whatever he shoots at wherever he aims, he doesn't hesitate to shoot to kill, no matter who he's taking out. If Jason says gut shot, if I say take a knee out, he doesn't bat an eye. That kind of loyalty isn't easily found. Who wouldn't want it?"
"You're okay with it?"
Ray firmly nodded. "I had my chance, had a decision to make, I made it. I'm good with it and I'm not going to stand for you constantly questioning it." His eyes narrowed, his gaze hardened. "You get me?"
Summer nodded, pointed delivered, received, taken.
"I thought you guys were pranking me. I didn't see any of the signs I was told about when we were running ops and you weren't with Bravo. Then, you were and Jason wasn't and Spenser was still fine. He was fine Ray, we lost Adam and other than being shell-shocked, he operated fine. Hell, he was shot and he was fine."
"He took one in the vest. No one had to give him any kind of medication." Ray finished his beer. "He wasn't always like this, doc and Trent think he got bit by an insect or some bug, developed an allergy..." he raised the bottle with a grin at the astonished look on Summer's face. "Yeah, I know. I know. Don't laugh, roll with it. It's easier. The time will come and Bravo splits up...transfer, retirement, injury, death...doc has a medical file, kid will be fine."
"But will Bravo?"
"I know it probably feels like this happens all the time, but really, it doesn't. And when it does, it's a day or two." He got up for more beers. "We'll talk this out, then go back to Bravo's quarters. Take the night to think about it, you want to stay on Bravo, just know, Sonny is never going to like you, Trent is never going to trust you with Clay and Brock will let the dog loose, you keep up that bullshit regarding Cerb."
"Jason threw me out."
"You need to see the night Clay's gonna have. If you don't believe we're telling you the truth after tonight, there's nothing I can say or do to convince you."
Summer nodded. "Gonna get some snow in a towel."
Ray grinned. "You pissed off Trent, not easily done."
"Didn't think he'd be a fighter."
() () ()
Lisa popped in, reported the snow was accumulating quickly, the wind was picking up, generators were ready should power be lost, suggested they stock up on wood inside the cabin because it would be their only source of heat if power did go out. The generators would power the fridge, a light or two, a couple outlets - not the heat.
She explained that guide ropes were strung between buildings, cautioned that if anyone had to leave the cabin and go out in the blizzard, to attach an anchor line to the guide rope. She declined the offer to stay with them in their quarters, appreciated the offer of Clay's bed, but felt more comfortable in her own quarters with Mandy.
Translation: Mandy was working on intel; the prisoners were still being interrogated; the reason why Clay was taken was still unknown; there would be no hunting who tried to take Clay until the blizzard was over and the base dug out.
Sonny, Brock and Jason carried in wood until both sides of the fireplace were stacked, floor to ceiling with chopped logs. Even with heat, the fire was a nice, comforting touch on a night gone to shit.
"In here...no...in...turn the knob...through the door, no! Don't sit down...that's not the door...push...push it...not that way...push." The door opened, Eric stepped into the warmth. "What...HEY! Come back here!" He left the door open, disappeared, came back holding Clay by the arm, shoved him into the cabin.
"SUNnnnnEEeee!" Chirped Clay happily. "I'm baaa-aaaccckkk!" He staggered, weaved, tripped over his feet.
"The fuck?" Chorused the three members of Bravo in the cabin.
Clay somersaulted over the back of the sofa, landed on his back upside down. "Miss me?"
Jason and Brock had identical WTF expressions on their frozen faces. Cerberus sat, head cocked, ears pricked in confusion.
Sonny stood dumbfounded when Clay waved at him, swinging a foot over the side of the sofa arm, head hanging off the sofa cushion. He was clad in a blanket, unlaced boots and socks up to his knees. He looked ridiculous.
"GAH!" yelped Sonny. "You'd better have something on under that blanket. ARRGH!" He covered his eyes when Clay saucily flashed him. "SHIT MAN! MY EYES!"
"Where's Trent?" Jason managed, rolled his eyes at Sonny's dramatic antics. For God's sake, the kid wore underwear.
"Drinking." Eric shortly replied. "Here now Clay, get up, turn around, sit properly."
Clay didn't move, began to sing:
...I've got the wind at my back and my foot to the floor...I ain't comin' back to you no more...I'm sick of your shit...and your moaning whine...I'm leaving you for good come rain or shine...
"Clay, hey bud?" Brock said. "Hi."
"Yo?" He raised a hand, waved. Saw the ace bandage, petted it. "S'up?"
"What'cha singing?"
"Song."
"Singing to anyone in particular?"
He wrinkled his nose, nodded vigorously. "Stella," and he broke into the chorus.
...You can cry me a river, cry me a river of tears...Yeah, you can cry all you like but it won't change my mind...I gotta...get away...get you outta my life...You got me runnin' wild and free
"Blackburn! What the hell?" Jason paced, lips twitching into an affectionate smile.
Clay rolled, shimmied off the sofa, stood, shook the blanket down, hugged Sonny from behind, slung an arm around his shoulders, played air-guitar.
...Gonna drive all day gonna drive all night...Whatever it takes to get to the light...I'm running on rage I'm outta control...My anger for you is like hot burning coal...So you can cry me a river, cry me a river of tears...Yeah, you can cry all you like but it won't change my mind...I gotta get away, get you outta my life...
"Something you want to tell us?" Brock asked Eric who retrieved Clay from wandering around the room singing to the lamp, the mirror, the wall. Sonny having shrugged free, stepped aside so Eric could steer Clay back to the sofa.
"He's been like this since...well...since we found him." Eric was struggling not to laugh. "Walking down the road in his blanket and boots."
"Thank God someone he knew, found him." Brock grinned, afraid if he started laughing, he wouldn't stop. "This is, uh, new."
Unable to stay put, Clay was up and dancing.
...The open road is all I need...Runnin' wild, wild and free...It's never gonna be like it used to be...HEY, HEY, HEY!
"What's going on?" Ray opened the door, Summer behind him.
"See Trent out there anywhere?" Sonny asked desperately. "What the hell is wrong with him?"
And Clay sang, HEY, HEY, HEY!
And Sonny wailed, "TRENT!"
...No, I won't turn around, I won't turn back...I've made up my mind and that's a fact...It's over baby, I'm hangin' up this phone...But before you go, there's just one thing you should know...
"He's singing farewell to Stella." Brock supplied with a huge grin.
...You drown in your river, drown in your river of tears...you can cry all you like but it won't change my mind...I gotta get away, get you outta my life...Runnin' wild...wild and free...It's never gonna be like it used to be...
** Runnin' Wild - Joel O'Keefe – Airbourne **
Trent stood out in the cold, stomped his feet, drank from the bottle of bourbon, no glass required. It was going to a be a long night, and he was going to stand outside and drink until the cold drove him inside. He didn't blame any of this on Clay, he didn't. He had willingly taken this on over a year ago. He would face it, accept it, deal with it, but that didn't mean he didn't have moments of, what-the-fuck-did-you-get-yourself-into.
He kicked his heels one at a time against the cabin wall, feet numb. The snow was falling fast and hard, was over his ankles. The wind was whipping, howling. It'd be a great night to bundle up in a warm, cozy bed, and be lulled to sleep by the smell of burning wood and the sound of a crackling fire.
Yeah, like he'd see his bunk or get much sleep this night.
He blamed: Jason, for being an ass; Ray, for being indifferent; Sonny for being difficult; Himself for trusting Summer when he damn well knew better; Summer for not taking them seriously.
Mostly, he blamed Summer. Clay never should have left the cabin. Summer never should have left the kid alone at the trucks or in the infirmary. Course, Trent had been there when Summer asked about the ammo trucks, had heard Jason's response, could see how Summer interpreted it. And he'd been the one to leave Clay alone with Summer.
He snorted, chugged, spit most into the snow. Nope, he wasn't going to let Summer slide on this one. He tucked the bottle under his arm, opened the door, heard Ray saying;
"You sure he should be here? Not in the infirmary?"
"He ran from there." Trent's tone said that mere statement should explain his entire reasoning. It didn't. He shut the door, set the bottle down, shook off his gloves, removed his hat.
"Then….." Ray paused. Then what? Restraints? Guards? Trent sleeping in a chair next to the bed? Clay was here because here is where Trent wanted him and what Trent wanted, Jason gave him. "Just..." Just what? Expect Doc to babysit all night while six Seals slept soundly with no disruptions? Didn't work that way.
Well, five Seals. Not even Ray was ready to leave Clay in Summer's care.
"He likes the fire." Trent explained. "Hoping he'll want to stay with it." He shed his coat, hung it to dry. "Won't run away from it."
"He's never run from the infirmary before." Ray pointed out.
"He's never been high on chloral hydrate before." He retorted on his way to the other room to change.
"Yeah, see, that statement is wrong is so many ways. It's a sedative, it should put him to SLEEP!" Ray called after him.
Clay popped up over the back of the sofa, elbows on the back, waved at Ray. "Didn't run away." He perked up. "Gonna run away, gonna run away. I want to ruuunn-aaah-way."
"He starts singing Linkin Park, I'm stuffing a sock in his mouth." Sonny vowed. "Chester Bennington, he ain't."
"Who's that?" Clay pointed at Summer. "I don't know him. Sonny, make him go away." He pouted with a scowl.
"That's Summer." Ray explained. "You know him."
"It's winter." Clay corrected him. "Duh."
"It's his name." Brock said patiently.
"Oh." Clay was quiet. "Sonny doesn't like him."
"That's right." Trent nodded, coming back into the room. "Clay, did you take some pills?"
"Uh-huh." His happy nod turned into a startled double-take when Trent smacked his knuckles. "Haaay-ayyy. OW!"
"Why did you do that? You know you aren't supposed to take anything from someone you don't know."
Clay frowned, his pretty purple and green kite was starting to fall out of the sky, wasn't as fluid and smooth anymore. Dark clouds were gathering, pushing his floating creation closer to the ground, made it jerk and bob violently...the joy of watching it weave and beckon was waning.
"He didn't say no." Clay said simply, pointed at Summer, then frowned, forehead furrowed. "Ow."
Six angry, accusing glares swung Summer's way. He held his hands out, said nothing, there was no vocal defense of his actions he could give that anyone would believe. He wasn't seeing what the dig deal was, Clay was acting drunk, whoopee...yeah, big whoop indeed.
"You ready for a nap?" Trent turned his attention back to Clay, sent one last glare at Summer. He didn't want the man in the cabin but understood why Ray had returned with him. .
"Nah," Clay gave Trent a broad, sunny grin. "Not tired."
Trent groaned, he sure as hell was. "Your eye hurts, doesn't it?"
Clay nodded, touched his finger-tips on his bandaged hand to his swollen, black eye. "Ow." He became distracted by the bandage, flapped his hand, flapped furiously when it didn't fall off, tried again by flapping in the other direction. Tried to use his teeth to tug on the ace wrap but Eric caught his wrist.
"NO!" Eric said sternly.
Clay looked abashed, lowered his head, grinned diabolically.
Oh boy, Trent thought, best head off whatever mischief he's thinking about.
"If you lie down, close your eyes, erhm, eye, it'll feel all better." Trent coaxed, bottle of booze hanging from a lose two-finger hold. "You can trust me." He gulped a healthy swallow. "You'll see."
"No." Pouted Clay. "Can't see." He hiccupped. "Boo-boo."
Trent rubbed his forehead. Right, bad choice of words and wrong context. "You'll be able to see when you wake up." He wasn't above bribery. "Want some of this?" He waggled the bottle until it sloshed.
"Need to pee." Clay said instead.
Trent stifled his sigh, pasted a grin on his face, nodded. He'd just gotten changed and dry, was beginning to feel warm.
"I've got him." Jason said quietly. They were all tired, but Trent had been dealing with Clay since they'd found him and the kid could wear you out. "Come on, let's go write your name in the snow."
"Snow's cold." Clay announced. "I hafta write? Am I in trouble?"
"Let him pee in a pail." Summer suggested, was skewered with six hostile glares and one confused one. "Just saying."
"Don't want no peas!" Clay was horrified. "Don't like peas."
"Maybe the cold will wear him out." Eric said in his commanders voice.
Summer said no more.
Sonny and Brock wrestled Clay into a coat over his blanket, pulled the hood up, secured a scarf around his neck, opened the door.
"ACK!" Clay protested. "TOO COLD!"
Sonny rolled his eyes.
Clay was chatting away as Jason held tight to his scarf and dragged him out the door, the cold forgotten.
"Why was the Jolly Green Giant kicked out of the valley?" He asked Jason. "He took a pee!" He giggled. "Get it...YOW!"
Brock closed the door. "You want some coffee?" He asked Trent.
Trent looked at the bottle of bourbon. "Sure."
"You sure he's okay?" Ray asked. "He's outside in a blanket."
"Found him walking down the main road in it." Eric got up to search for mugs. The cabin didn't have a kitchen, but had a microwave, small fridge, coffee pot. "He wasn't outside long at all. Won't be now."
"...what kind of bees give milk?" Clay was dancing at the end of his scarf when Jason led him into the cabin, shut the door behind them. "...boo-bees, boobies." He shed the coat, twirled, spread the blanket like a cape. "Two peanuts walk into a bar...one was a-salted."
"Christ." Jason went over to the small sink in the 'kitchenette' to wash his hands. "Clay, enough!"
"The hell?"
"Hey, better than him singing."
"What day of the week do chickens hate?" Clay continued. "Fry-day!"
"God, isn't it time he went to sleep?"
"This gonna go on all night?"
"Why did the baby strawberry look worried?" Clay stepped over the dog, stooped to run his belly, fell over. "His parents were 'in a jam'!" He crawled to the hearth, gained his feet. "Who put a dog there?"
Brock made a grab for Clay, he escape, nimbly hopped over what served as a coffee table. Sonny snagged the blanket, Clay just let it go, laughed, struck a Superman pose.
"I'm able to leap tall buildings in a single..." He looked down. "I had a cape...where's my...Why do the French eat snails? They don't like 'fast food'."
Eric, armed with pants and a hoodie, stalked Clay one way. When he turned and tried to retrace his steps, Trent was there to block his attempt. It didn't take long to herd him to the sofa and make him sit down.
"Leaving him out here?" Eric asked.
Trent nodded. "Easier to watch and he likes the fire."
"Hand's up." Jason took the hoodie. "Over your head."
As Jason worked Clay's hands into the sleeves, Clay toed his boots off, put his foot through one leg of a pair of pajama pants, then the other, stood up to pull them up to his waist when his head popped out and his hands were released.
The simple act of getting dressed appeared to have tired him out. He sank onto the sofa, forehead furrowed, wrinkles around his mouth and his visible eye.
"Feel like that nap, now?"
Clay nodded, sank down, snuggled up to a blanket, nuzzled the pillow into submission, let his eye drift close, finally stopped trying to blink it open. There was no pretty purple and green kite, only a dark black, rolling wave that heaved and bucked and crashed against his temple in a violent attempt to escape the confines of his skull through his eyes, ears, nose.
He sniffed, lip curling into a grimace of pain, shifted uneasily until a warm blanket was tucked around him, and his feet were lifted and settled on someone's lap, a firm hand resting on his ankle. He settled down, but didn't relax, tense and rigid, mouth drawn tight as he bit and nibbled on his lower lip.
"Oh boy." Eric sat in an armchair next to the sofa, poured a shot, downed it, chased it with a swig of Pepto.
"He's crashing." Jason said to Eric, who nodded. "The fuck."
"He's taken Tramadol before."
"Not on top of a fucking sedative no one uses anymore."
"Least he's not doubled up on the floor, puking for hours." Sonny sat on the coffee table.
"Yet." Eric offered Sonny a shot, he took it.
"Sssh." Trent sloshed the bottle, took a swig, brandished it over his head, thumb on the neck to avoid leaks. "Anyone wakes him up, I'll break this with their head."
Summer and Ray started a game of chess. Trent sprawled in a bean-bag, snored softly. Eric sat in the chair, paperwork on his lap. Brock sat on the floor brushing the dog, Sonny next to him, cleaning guns, sharing rum laced coffee.
Summer stared at Clay, eyed Jason who was slumped in the corner of the sofa, feet on the coffee table. Finally accepted this was no joke, not a prank. Clay's reaction to chloral hydrate was not faked.
"T'ent?" Clay said thickly, stirred slightly before he eased onto his back, didn't move his head, kicked Jason's hip.
"Yeah buddy?" Trent shifted, didn't open his eyes. Summer had thought he was asleep.
Clay swallowed hard, wiped his sweaty forehead and cheek with his bandaged hand. "I...don't...feel...so...good."
Summer never saw six men move from six different positions and arrive at the same location at the same time so fast. Trent was out of the bean bag and on his feet before Ray even pushed to his feet from a chair. All six held something to catch vomit in...trash can, bowl, pail, helmet, bag...something.
Summer was impressed, he'd tried getting out of that bean bag, he'd had to roll and flop, push up on his hands and knees, roll some more but there was Trent, pushing Clay onto his side while Brock held a pail from his position on the floor.
"You want him to sit up?"
"Here we go."
"And it begins."
"Knew it was too good to be true."
Summer had never in his life, heard or watched anyone get and be sick, vomit, so quietly and without moving. It was like Clay was scared to make any noise. And he probably was, the knot behind his left ear was swollen bigger than his ear! His head had to be killing him. And after the recent clash of pain meds met ancient sedative, he wouldn't be taking any more pain meds for a while.
He felt bad, Clay wasn't faking his misery. He acted like his head was too heavy to move. Was a sweaty, wet, shaking floppy mess curled up on the sofa and if Summer ever doubted Bravo relied on Trent to make everything all better, those doubts were kicked aside this night.
Lights were dimmed, electronics were muted. Shimmering images and blinking fire light from candles, lanterns and the fireplace were shielded. Volume of any noise was lowered. What could be done to eliminate any discomfort, was done. And still, Clay lay, panting, trembling, unwilling to move on the sofa, blankets tangled around his legs.
The dog sat at Jason's feet, who was contorted half sideways to support Clay's head, nose against Clay's foot, brown eyes soft in sympathy. Jason spared a hand to give him a pat on the head.
"Just water." Clay was told by someone. "Sip, that's it."
When Clay was hot, he twisted and turned until he'd shed the blankets. When he was cold, he shivered with goosebumps and quivering lips until someone tossed the blankets back over him. He tolerated his forehead being felt, a hand to his cheeks, a thermometer in his ear, after some resistance, he finally accepted and swallowed two pills with water. Threw them, then the water, up.
"He running a fever?"
"Slight one."
"What is that?" Eric asked.
"Coke syrup." Trent replied. Sonny had gone outside to hammer ice into tiny chips. Trent balanced some on a spoon, poured the coke syrup over it. Clay did like flavored ice, they just didn't happen to have any cherry 7up.
"Christ, they still make that?"
"Shit Eric, I'll try anything."
Eric? Not Commander? Not Blackburn? Wow. Summer moved a rook.
"His fever goes up, he's gonna be more miserable."
"But you can't give him anything, he's not keeping anything down." Eric slid a palm under Clay's head who was on his belly, lifted his cheek from the cushion. "Ssh, easy, just a bit, don't have to move."
One eye swollen shut, the other closed, Clay was offered a spoon, told to open his mouth. He obeyed, accepted it, swallowed. It was cold and sweet, flat yet not and he wanted more. He licked his lips, tongue out in search of the spoon. Trent offered him another, then a third. Tried plain ice, which Clay took with a scowl.
"Yeah, I know." Trent grinned. "Now, please, go to sleep."
He didn't. No one did.
Trent tried ice on his eye, his lip, his head. Tried different positions, different variations of cold compresses; Clay on his back, head resting on cloth-wrapped snow. Clay on his side, cold, wet cloth on the bump on his head. Clay on his belly, chunks of ice Sonny and Brock went outside to knock off the eaves, wrapped in a thick towel, held to the bump on his head by Trent, then Brock, finally Sonny.
But nothing alleviated or even eased Clay's pain or headache. He didn't keep acetaminophen down and it was all Trent was willing to try giving him.
"Can try liquid Tylenol." Jason mumbled sleepily. Nudged and kicked repeatedly, he'd tried getting up, had remained with the kids feet in his lap when Clay had grown even more restless.
"Don't have any."
No one said anything as the wind chose that moment to rattle the windows, reminding them all that no one wanted to go out in the weather to retrieve liquid Tylenol from the infirmary. Jason considered his options. Trent would go, he knew that, but he would order Summer to do it. The punk was remorseful, but sullen and cocky.
"Hook up." Brock was saying as Sonny zipped his coat, donned a knit hat, raised the hood, pulled the strings tight. He took the scarf from Brock, wrapped it around his neck, raised his arms for Brock to secure the belt that would keep him attached to the guide ropes from building to building.
"See doc." Trent said and Sonny was gone.
Power went out. With the fire being their only source of heat, they tended the flames, added logs, stoked the flames as quietly and as carefully as humanely possible.