Fall is my favorite season, and the weather has been soooo nice here in Maryland, all I want to do, is play outside. With Covid keeping us close to home, I've been outside soooo much!

Happy Thanksgiving! Be safe Everyone!

"DAMMIT!" Vic flailed, fought to keep his feet. If he was going to engage in a brawl with Trent, now was the time to do it; the medic was tired after battling a hurricane to get here.

"Stop this at once!" Betty commanded. "Both of you! Now is not the time for fighting!"

In motion, fisted hands bobbing by his hips as he stepped towards Vic who had yet to completely recover his balance, Trent wavered, cast a side-eyed glance at Clay, who, palms against his cheeks, listed dangerously to the left.

He advanced on Vic, retreated, took a step forward….'cause being so god-damned tired, if he was going to attack, get and keep the upper hand, he needed to…...Clay slumped further left.

His fists uncurled. No, now was not the time. Not here, in front of his Lt. Commander's wife, and not while Clay, who didn't look at all coherent, was about to topple off the bed.

"Do you?" Trent cleared his throat, backed away from Vic, but the look he shot Bravo's newest teammate promised they'd finish 'this' later.

"Mmm..I'm….hot." Clay swayed, dipped forward. Trent thought the kid was going to lie down, but nope, he did indeed do as Trent feared he would – toppled right off the side of the bed and hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Trent sighed, shook his head. "Great."

Hauling him off the floor without help wouldn't be easy. Oh, it could be done, but Trent was exhausted, and he ached, his arms were rubbery from maneuvering a fucking canoe through severe flooding with a strong current caused by a once-in-a-century hurricane…another sigh and he moved around the bed.

Life with Clay.

"You hurt anywhere?" He squatted down, roll of self-adhesive, elastic wrap in his hand. "On your back, raise your leg." He gave Clay's bare thigh a smart, stinging slap. "Roll over."

"OW!" The kid yelped, twisted awkwardly when Trent tried to bend his leg until his foot was flat on the floor, without turning over onto his back. He rubbed his face against the carpet as Trent quickly and efficiently wrapped his thigh. "….hot…."

"Uh-huh." Trent tore off the end of the tape, gave Clay's thigh a more affectionate pat rather than another hard slap. "Should hold." He looked at Betty. "Can you run a bath? Should still be some warm water in the pipes. Don't want it hot anyway." She nodded, entered the bathroom. "Gonna cool you down, gotta gimme a minute though." He told Clay. "Okay? You with me?" He waited, no response. "Course not."

"Is that tape really water proof? It's not, is it?" Vic snarked. "You expect it to work? Seriously?"

Trent ignored him, syringe Vic hadn't seen him pick up, between his teeth. "Gonna feel a pinch." He told Clay, swabbed his arm with an antiseptic wipe. "Don't you pull away from me." He reprimanded, his tone sharp enough, Clay stopped trying to tug his arm free from his grasp. "Stay still."

Vic moved around the bed, watched Trent adjust the light, inject Clay in the bend of his left arm, who, so accustomed to getting shots, didn't even flinch.

"What's that?"

"Paracetamol."

"In English?"

"Acetaminophen."

"So, Tylenol. You couldn't just say that?" He mocked. "He has a whole bottle of it in his first aid kit." He wrapped some melting ice in a washcloth, held it to his eye, couldn't help but add, "You know." God, he hated being ignored.

Trent, still holding onto his anger with Vic, very nearly snapped. Vein throbbing visibly in his neck, he managed to keep his temper.

Barely.

"I know every fucking item in his kit." He got out. "I pack it." He reached for Clay's ankle. "And for every member on the team."

"Not gonna work any faster, right?" Vic asked exasperated.

"Nope."

"Then, why?" Prodding the swollen skin around his eye, he paused. "Wait, you don't pack mine."

Trent's smile was terrifying. And further pissed off Vic, who forgot all about needles, shots, his aching eye, as Trent's insult hit home.

"So…hey…..what are you….are you saying, you don't consider me a member of the team? Is that what you mean?"

"How deep do you want this water?" Betty called out. She didn't need to know but she wanted to head off a potential fistfight. She wasn't naïve. Trent would start it; Vic wouldn't back down and it wouldn't end until either one of them was unconscious or Metal had returned and broken it up.

"Grab his other leg." Trent ordered, then snarked. "Careful, someone shot him, he's a bit touchy."

"Fuck you." Vic retorted, approached Clay with trepidation. He wasn't convinced Clay would let him near him now that Trent was there to baby him, but the sniper didn't seem to care where Vic was or what he was trying to do. Vic didn't want to make him wince or cry out, because it would be held against him for doing so. He'd be accused of being rough and causing pain, when he'd done no so such thing on purpose.

"You drop him, I'll end you."

Vic flipped him off, helped lift Clay, who didn't particularly care for being picked up, off the floor. He said nothing, but he didn't stop resisting until Trent shushed him with a stern: 'shut the fuck up and stay the fuck still', accompanied by a hard pinch to his bicep.

"Anything I can get you?" Betty asked, stepping aside as they carried Clay into the bathroom, swung him over the tub, let him down gently but hard enough, the water sloshed.

"Do I have your 'permission' to 'vacate' the room?" Vic asked sarcastically.

Trent didn't care for the tone, but was preoccupied with Clay who stopped protesting once the cool water lapped over his belly, gratefully went limp under the water, sought its welcoming coolness.

"Christ, not even you can breathe under water." Trent admonished, pulled his head up by his hair. "You go'n drown, Jason will have me running rough terrain." He helped Clay adjust his position in the tub. "And unlike you, I don't enjoy jumping fallen trees and leaping creeks."

Vic snorted. Jason reprimand the oh-so-know-it-all medic? Highly unlikely.

"You got something to say?" Trent demanded, struggling with Clay to keep his head above water. "Spenser, so help me, you make me get in that tub with you, you won't see your apartment for six months." He yanked Clay's head up a third time, gave his head a shake. "Enough!"

Clay blinked, spurted water in a perfect imitation of a fountain in Trent's direction, laid his head against the side of the tub, let his eyes close. God, he was hot and uncomfortable. He was sooooo tired of being sticky, his arms sticking to his chest or side, he just wanted to be cool.

"Uh, dry towels? Ibuprofen, some water." Trent returned his attention to Betty. "Thanks."

"Ibuprofen for what?" Vic asked derisively. "You just shot him up with Tylenol."

"Lopez, so help me, you don't get out of my sight, Metal will have to peel you off the floor." Trent threatened. "Get. Lost."

Betty handed Trent a dry towel, couple washcloths, took Vic's arm, maneuvered him out the door.

"Give me a few minutes." She told Trent, pulled the door closed behind her to give the men privacy. "You shouldn't edge him on." She said to Vic, started to remake the bed, the lights flickered, remained on. She heard the hum of the a/c unit as it kicked on, then felt blessed cool air. "He has a quick temper."

"Sure." Vic muttered, adjusted the flow of the air. "Nothing can't be achieved, it's for Spenser." She thought she knew Trent better than he did? Oh, he begged to differ.

She shot him a dirty look, shook the pillow into a fresh pillowcase. "You really don't stop, do you?"

"What?"

"You've already been punched in the face by two of your present teammates. You trying for the third?" Now that Clay was under the capable care of Trent, she fully intended to seek her own bed. "We're good here, you can go. And if you keep pushing Trent, you'll deserve what you get."

"He's not in charge here. Anyone is, it'd be Metal." He didn't want to go. He wanted to remain in the air-conditioning. "And he's not, 'cause this isn't a job. We're on stand-down med leave."

"And yet, here you are, escorting two ladies to a senior spa." She shook her head, found a bottle of water, the ibuprofen, knocked on the door, entered when Trent granted her entrance. "We're going to get something to eat, take a nap." She told him. "I have Clay's sat phone, I'll try to reach Eric, sleep in Mom's room, feel free to use mine. Room 214."

"Thanks." He teased – bullied – Clay into swallowing three ibuprofens by pinching his nostrils together until his mouth popped so he could breathe, then flooding it with water. "Go ahead, you little prick, not gonna win."

Betty was impressed how long, in Clay's addled state, he was able to hold his breath, marveled over Trent's patience waiting him out.

"Drink some more." Trent encouraged him, but failed. The kid refused and it wasn't worth an all-out battle. Although Clay was still too warm, and he didn't like the red rash, he let it go, set the bottle of water aside. "You win, for now."

Before Betty could get the phone and leave, the door opened, and Metal returned with Mrs. Bonsky. Neither knocked, just entered the room with the use of a key card she hadn't seen either of them take with them.

"Rain's let up." Her mother announced, looked around. "Where is he? Don't say that surly medicine man stuck him in that rat-trap canoe! Why, I'll tan his hide….."

"In here." Betty waved from the bathroom doorway. "He's in good hands Mom, let's go to bed."

"Bed? Now? It's morning. Are you ill? Have you caught what ails him?"

"No." Betty said firmly. "But Metal and Trent are going to want to shower, get something to eat, rest a while. Do you want to leave Clay to Vic's care, or would you rather get a bite to eat, sit with him when they go clean up, catch a nap?" She didn't see herself succeeding in prying her mother away from Clay for longer than a few moments anytime soon. "We've been up all night, Mom."

"Bah!" Her mother deposited what she was carrying in her arms – towels, sheets, washcloths – on the dresser, headed to the door. "They put cherry 7-Up in the freezer for him. Tabitha is very accommodating; she will bring it up when it's frozen. For now, she sent lemonade slush. Apparently, their fresh squeezed, homemade lemonade is 'concentrate' from a frozen can." She waggled her head. "Harrumph, you can bet I'll be having a word with the manager about that!"

Metal nodded with a frown. "Tub? He's awake?" He held a cup in each hand, set the lemonade slush on the dresser, crossed the room, rap-a-tap-rapped on the open door, stepped around Betty, entered with the milkshake. Vic waited for the verbal protest from Trent, sounds of splashing from Clay, but all remained quiet.

He fumed. He'd been thrown out of the bathroom, but Metal could just stroll in. He bet if he tried it, he'd have two black-eyes.

The door was firmly closed.

"Vic?" Betty headed to the door that led to the hallway. "I don't believe your presence here is required any longer."

Mrs. Bonsky caught sight of Vic's puffy, rapidly turning black and blue eye, cackled at his discomfort. "Came out on the losing side of the fisticuffs, eh?"

Vic glared, lip curled in disgust. Fisticuffs? The hell!

"Mom! Honestly, you're as bad as he is! Out!"

()()()

"Talk to me." Metal was sitting on the toilet, Trent on the side of the tub. Clay held the cold cup with both hands, played with the stray, took a sip now and again. "Lopez run into a door?"

"Left fist."

"Not even gonna try'n deny it then" He waited, moved on when Trent remained stubbornly silent. "Why we playin' Flo Nightingale this time?"

"Thinking it's an allergy to something."

It? What the hell was 'it'? "What makes you think that?" He asked calmly. "Haven't been with him all that long."

"The rash. His eyes."

His eyes? What the hell was wrong with the little shit's eyes? Metal leaned closer to the tub for a better look, squinted in the dim light, pulled a flashlight, peered into Clay's face – who didn't like the invasive light, raised a hand to cover his eyes – huh, the skin around the kid's eyes was dry, scaly, pulled tight, red.

"The hell Trent? Allergies cause moist, watery eyes. Not dry."

"And chloral hydrate is a sedative." Trent pointed out, then offered. "He never reacts like modern medicine says he should."

Metal nodded. He hadn't been with Bravo on that mission, but he'd heard rumors – courtesy of Summer, of course. When Jason had offered him a place on his team, and he'd asked Bravo One about the incident….Jason had held nothing back. Not on that event, or any other, and while Metal had always thought the rumor was exaggerated, he'd soon been set straight.

"Anything we need to worry about?" Metal asked. Clay dropped the cup, Trent patiently handed it back to him. "He even drinking any of that?"

"Take it away from him." Trent dared. "Go ahead, I dare you."

Metal's expression was uncertain, finally decided not to take the challenge. "Is he okay?"

"Gave him a shot of Paracetamol, some ibuprofen, should bring his fever down, half hour or so."

Metal, unlike Vic, simply nodded, didn't question why the medic had chosen to give Clay an injection of Tylenol. If the medic saw fit to give the kid a shot, who the hell was he to question it?

"Not what I asked." He reached around Trent, laid his palm – something he never, in his life, thought he'd do – against his teammate's forehead. "He feels hot," He mused, missed Trent's knowing smile who got up to retrieve a washcloth he didn't need so Metal wouldn't see his face. The sight of the big, gruff 'killer' trying to be tender, made him snicker.

"Dunno, with him, could be anything, I'm just guessing." He pushed a hand through mud caked, now dry hair. "Don't like how hot he is – his skin is. Rash is probably resistant to the antibiotics I have with me."

"You give him any yet?"

"Nope."

Metal didn't question why. "Rash? That why he's all pinkish? You think it's a rash?" The medic nodded. "Just, from what?"

"Welcome to my world." He grinned tiredly. "Go get me something to eat, then find Vic's room, shower and change. You can sit with him so I can go. I itch."

"The ladies will watch him, we put him to bed." Metal was already moving, had no objections to obeying the orders. Not at a time like this.

"Once he's asleep, maybe."

"He's, uh, gonna be outta the tub by then, right?"

"I ain't straining my back, getting him out on my own."

Aah, so Trent didn't want Vic's help. "Roger that." He opened the door, paused, hand still on the doorknob, because arguing between Vic and Mrs. Bonsky erupted from the other room. "Little ole spitfire, ain't she?"

"She doesn't back down." Trent agreed tiredly, rubbed the back of his neck, looked longingly at the tub of cool water. Soon.

"….boo-hoo, he fell off a bike….."

"You wrecked him!"

"…..and slid down a hill…."

"Aah, he fell off a cliff!"

"….got a bruise…"

"He came up lame!"

"….blame me, he lost his balance, fell into a railing…."

"Well, duh! Because you pushed him!"

"…..always polite, always courteous, gotta help everyone…."

"Well, you don't, so someone needs to."

"….the hell I don't!"

"Really? You do? When?"

"…..their job is to wait….."

"You gave him a mud bath!"

"…..he hit me…!"

"Did you, or did you not, shove him?"

"…can't keep his feet…"

"You ran the poor girl over!"

"….like it was my fault….."

"Because. It. Was."

"….don't go laying the guilt trip on me! He's….."

"You. Shot. Him."

"…he's fucking fine….OW!"

"He has two holes in his leg!"

"…..you whack me one more time…I'll…."

Trent's ears perked up. There it was again, mud. He got up, waved at Metal, "Don't let him dunk his head." He left the bathroom. "What did you say?"

"Who?"

"You."

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"About what?"

"Mud."

"What about it?"

"What?! Mud?!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me. I can hear just fine." Mrs. Bonsky sniffed. "Victor pushed him into the mud pits yesterday morning."

"Mud?" Trent repeated. "Pit?" He turned to Betty for an explanation.

"The mud baths in the massage room." She explained. "For relaxation, therapy."

"Baths? So sunken?" The ladies nodded. "He went under?"

Everyone looked at Vic.

"What does it matter?" He scoffed. "For Pete's sake, it's fucking water!"

"So, yes?" Vic scowled, nodded, Trent turned his back on him. "You said he knuckles his ear?" He asked Mrs. Bonsky. He hadn't yet seen Clay do so, but that didn't matter.

"You didn't seem to care about that earlier! I…."

"Which….Ear?!" Good grief, if she wasn't the mother-in-law of the man who could banish him to the furthest edges of the North Pole, he'd shake her by her shoulders until her dentures fell out.

"Must you yell?" She crossed her arms, refused to answer until Betty scolded her. "FINE! The left."

"…..catering…rich…ladies" Trent turned away, muttering under his breath about public spas, old lady resorts and cheap-ass mud most likely harvested from the lake.

"Now see here, this is a top-rated, exclusive spa!" Riled up, Mrs. Bonsky was on his heels, waved off his reminder the lemonade was frozen. "That's beside the point! I assure you, that mud is clean! It has a beautiful aroma and…..!"

"Clean mud? Are you daft?"

"Daft? DAFT!?" A pillow went flying, Trent ducked. "You're calling me daft?"

"MOM!"

"Now, now, hey." Metal interrupted from the bathroom doorway. "Calm down, can't go throwing pillows 'less you're scantily clad. Ain't that right, Trent?"

Preoccupied with his med pack and a small notepad he pulled from it, Trent merely grunted.

"…wish I cudda seen it. Had'ta been a sight. Blackburn in a pillow fight with these women who…."

Betty blinked, caught on quickly. Scantily clad? "The harem?" She questioned dubiously.

"You know about that?" Vic asked surprised. "Hell!"

"Apparently not all." Betty crossed her arms. Huh, she didn't much care for this 'feeling', she was feeling. "He never said anything about who was wearing what." Kinda felt like….jealously. Her husband had conveniently left out that little tidbit of information from the story he'd regaled her with. She understood he told her more than he should, more details than were allowed about his job, the team, their missions, but now she realized, there was oh-so-much-more, he didn't share.

Like details.

"Pfft." Trent snorted, some sort of cap between his teeth. "Wisps of see-thru gauze. Might as well not have worn anything."

"Quinn said the kid was so damn slippery from all that oil, Boss couldn't even hold on to him."

"He most definitely did not say anything about wisps of cloth." Betty stated. "He said, and I quote, 'they were dressed like I Dream of Jeannie'."

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. They were. Sure." Trent's grin was in no way convincing. "Shudda seen what Spenser was wearing." He returned to consulting his notepad. "Huh."

"Wait, how do you know about that?" Vic demanded. He only knew what he'd read in the reports he'd been allowed access to, and nothing had been written about clothing, or lack of. "Classified, you know."

"Wasn't a mission." Betty corrected him. "The Sheikh was a civilian and not under surveillance."

"Hell, took Ellis days to find out who he was." Metal offered.

Trent was digging through his med pack, withdrew an otoscope, several packages and packets, a bottle, some tweezers, wads of cotton, turned and bumped into Mrs. Bonsky who was dancing on her toes, ducking and stretching, trying to see what was in his hands.

"What is that? Lemme see. You have an ear scope? But of course, you do." She tut-tutted. "I suppose that cost $800.00 as well?"

"More like fourteen." Trent none-too-gently set her aside, continued to the bathroom where Metal had retreated. "Don't you, like, need a nap or something?"

She ignored him. "You see? Do you see Liz? That is why our military budget is in the billions! Billions! Fourteen hundred dollars for a simple device to look into an ear? $29.99 at the corner drugstore not good enough?!" The bathroom door slammed closed. "Hey! Where'd he….? Don't you walk away from me! Come back here!"

Metal greeted him with a grin when he closed the door with his foot. "S'up? What'd'ya go'n do out there?"

"Just wanna check his ears."

"Gonna ignore me about the pissed off ole lady, then?" Metal chuckled, let it go. "Why his ears?"

"He was submerged in mud."

"So?

"He's Clay."

Apparently, 'he's Clay' was the only answer he was going to get, because despite his prompt of, 'And?', he got nothing more.

On his knees, Trent leaned across the tub, took the milkshake away, handed it to Metal. Clay squawked in protest, inadvertently splashing Trent when he moved in a failed attempt to snatch it back.

"Stay still," he admonished, "and you can have it back." Irritated, Clay splashed harder, earned a smack atop his head. "He ain't gonna drink any."

Clay wasn't happy, didn't want to cooperate. Metal wondered how the little shit wudda behaved, if he'd been the one to take the milkshake away from him, decided he didn't want, or need, to know.

"Gonna deny you pain meds on the trip home, you splash me one more time." Trent seethed. The water made the dried mud, moist. Eewww. He caught the hand towel Metal tossed him, wiped his face. God, he wanted a shower.

Clay finally submitted to Trent. Sprawled awkwardly in the tub, he allowed the medic to turn his head by a punishing grip on his chin, insert the scope into his right ear, repeat the process with this left ear.

"Betcha he can straight through." Metal teased Clay, returned the milkshake to his hands. "You with us yet?"

He wasn't. So he didn't protest when a giant ass Q-tip was plunged into his left ear….but Mrs. Bonsky sure did.

"What do you think you're doing? You're not supposed to do that." She was trying to get around Betty to enter the bathroom. "You can't go around sticking things in people's ears!"

"I closed the door. I know I did." Trent told Metal whose shit-eating grin only made him more irritable. "Not a word outta you."

"Here now, don't do that." Mrs. Bonsky ordered. "That is not safe. You could do more damage than good."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" She countered.

"Look lady…" He caught his attitude, pulled up short. "….ma'am…..you…."

"Alrighty then," Metal crowded Mrs. Bonsky backward through the bathroom door, made his escape. "Why don't you show me where Vic's room is, I'll shower. You and Vic can find Trent something to eat."

Vic bristled, just couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Trent can find his way to the dining….OW!" He cupped his stinging ear. "The hell Metal! What the hell was that for?"

"You don't get movin' your ass out that door, I'm gonna smack ya a'gin." Metal gave him a shove. "You want two black eyes? No? Then move your ass."

Betty retrieved the sat phone, followed the arguing trio from the room.

Trent didn't expect Metal back anytime soon - figured he was uncomfortable taking care of Clay, though, if he had to, he would. And he didn't want to see Vic again at all.

"Okay kid." He thoroughly swabbed both ears, flushed with saline, dried with tufts of cotton. "Ready to get out?" He reached for Clay, who sunk deeper into the water. "No? 'course not."

Clay might be content, comfortable where he was, but Trent sure wasn't. His clothes had dried stiff, his hair was a matted mess and he desperately wanted both a shower, and clean clothes.

Since Clay was quiet, mostly likely asleep, Trent managed to sit still long enough to eat the plate of sliced apples, chunks of cheese, salty crackers, and bowl of fresh, cut various fruits that Mrs. Bonsky brought back, occasionally splashing water on Clay, then called it quits.

He'd had enough, couldn't take it any longer.

Clay's temperature was down to 101.8 and Trent felt confident coaxing him into swallowing a couple of Amoxicillin, decided he could remain in the tub a bit longer simply because he was just too tired to drag the kid out on his own.

The ole battleaxe hadn't left, was puttering around the room, putting the bed to rights. If she insisted on remaining, she could damn well do something useful.

"HEY!"

Bristling over being summoned in such a rude manner, Mrs. Bonsky took her time making her way into the bathroom. "What are you giving him now?" She demanded.

Trent rubbed the back of his neck….man, she did not quit. "Antibiotic."

"So, Amoxicillin? For a fever?" She glared down her nose at him disdainfully. "You really think that's going to have any affect?"

"For the rash." Why did everyone always assume every antibiotic was Amoxicillin? Even if it was!?

"What rash?"

"He tries and dunk his head under the water, pull him up by his hair." Trent advised, was sure she'd do just that, if it required being done. "Just," he paused, "Leave his hair on his head, 'k? He won't look good with a bald spot." He didn't ask, just assigned her the job of watching Clay.

Miffed, she shot him a look, stomped a foot impatiently.

"He likes it, you soak a washcloth, let it drip over his head, wring it out." He handed her the half empty milkshake. "He might take it from you, or try some water. Might not."

"It's gotta be warm by now." She waved him out. "Go. Go on. Get gone."

"My get up n go, got up an' went." He yawned, Lordy, he needed a nap. "Just gonna take a shower, change."

"Now what are you nattering on about?"

Trent shook his head. Another yawn, and he headed to the door. "Need help with him, Metal's in Vic's room."

"Go, go.….we'll be fine."

()()()

Trent, fed, showered, and dressed in dry shorts and t-shirt, returned to Clay's room. Whether or not the kid was ready or willing to get out of the tub, his ass was getting out.

He was tired. He needed a decent meal, not just a snack, and several hours of sleep before his muscles would recover from maneuvering a canoe in gale force winds and a very strong current.

Metal had assumed the position in the rear of the canoe so Trent hadn't had to expend as much energy - he was currently sprawled on the floor under the window, sound asleep with a full belly - but even so, Trent was exhausted and he wanted to go to bed.

Mrs. Bonsky was perched on the side of the tub, patiently feeding Clay lemonade slush from a spoon, wiping his chin and face with a cloth, moaning about his unsanitary beard and sticky lemonade.

Hey! Lookit that! Progress. "Spense?"

Clay stirred, sloshing water as he tried to push up from his current slumped position in response to the authoritative voice. Once he moved, he decided he was cold, uncomfortable, and annoyingly wet, and wanted out of the tub, but he also wanted more lemonade. He held his tongue out. Mrs. Bonsky obligingly gave him another spoonful.

"Time to get out."

"N'um…w'at?"

"Hey, stay still." Trent cautioned him when his hand slipped and he went down on his elbow with a splash. "You slip and fall, crack you chin, I'll have to say Vic did it."

"I'll give you space." She stood up, patted Clay on his wet head when he pulled a pout over the loss of the lemonade. "You can have more once you're back in bed."

Trent shook his head in disbelief. Apparently, Clay had made another conquest.

Clay heard the timber of a deep voice, but not the words, rolled his head to locate and identify its owner. He blinked against the dim light, waited for his eyes to adjust and focus – ah, Trent.

"I ….out…?"

"Yup," Trent waited, Clay flailed, palms gripping the side of the tub as he tried to stand. "Gimme a minute." He stood, circled an arm around Clay's back, held tight, helped him stand. "I said wait. Dammit Spense." He knew if he called for Metal, he'd be awake and in the bathroom in seconds. "You good? Dizzy?"

Clay heard the voice, not the words, lifted his foot before Trent was prepared to support his weight…..both crashed backwards into the tub….a thump, a thud, a cry, a curse, a splash, and Metal was there, bodily picking Clay up and moving him off Trent.

Betty was on his heels, blanket in hands that she used to wrap around Clay's shoulders, followed Metal who half-carried Clay to the bed.

Mrs. Bonsky offered Trent a towel when he stood up, shook off, stepped out of the tub.

"Go." She waved him on. "I'll clean up this mess." She released the drain.

Toweling his hair, Trent joined Metal by the bed, where Clay lay sprawled on his back, twisted in the blanket, as Betty used a towel to pat him dry.

"Fever down?" Metal asked.

He reached for the thermometer. "100.7."

"Still think it's an allergic reaction?"

"To the mud, yeah."

"Mud?" Vic heaved an aggrieved sigh. "Really? Come on man, really?"

"Who let him back in here?"

"Only room with a/c."

"So?"

"You're going to leave him in wet drawers?" Mrs. Bonsky frowned.

"Wet what?" Vic asked confused. "You know what she's talking about?"

"Underwear." Metal huffed. "Are you really that dense?"

"Why you always gotta be a dick?"

"Enough." Betty pleaded wearily. "We're all tired."

"He's not." Trent pointed out. "He left Clay with you and slept all night."

"Then he can stay with him now, while we catch a nap." Metal eyed Vic, dared him to protest. He didn't.

"I don't want him anywhere near the kid." Trent spoke up. "I'm gonna go change, lie down for a while."

"I'll stay." Metal nodded. "I like the a/c."

Trent cast a look at the nest of pillow, blanket, sleeping bag - wondered where it came from - on the floor under the window. "Need me, come get me."

One more short chapter to wrap it up...of course Eric has to come get his guys...