I Don't Feel So Well

Trent's Home

"So, Dorthy, do you want to wear jeans or sweats?" Sonny stood at the closet but faced Clay who sat on the bed in his boxers and socks after showering.

Not in the mood to be going out, especially to the base, Clay didn't answer Sonny as he groused, "Why do I have to go anyway?"

"Well, see, here's the thing, you're in the Navy and when a commanding officer requests your presence, you hafta make an appearance." Sonny selected the sweats because they would be easier for Clay to handle if he had to use the bathroom while they were out.

"But I still don't remember anything about the mission. Of what value am I at an after-action meeting if I can't contribute a damned thing."

Sonny crouched in front of Clay and slipped the pants over his sock-covered feet before pulling them to Clay's knees. He peered up at Clay's eyes, in two minds. One he sorta wished-hoped, Clay never recalled how much of an ass he had been to him, yet at the same time wanted-hoped, to learn exactly how Clay had been injured.

Today's meeting according to Blackburn was to walk through the mission in a familiar environment and give Clay an opportunity to ask questions. "We're hoping that reviewing some of the details will spark a memory. Doc said wait a week and we did, time for your brain cells to come back from Oz too. Stand."

Clay stood and allowed Sonny to yank the elastic waist over his hips. He hated being dependent on his brothers for everything from going to the bathroom to eating and dressing but appreciated the no-nonsense help.

"Not too tight on your wound back there, is it?"

"No. It's fine." Clay sat again.

"Blue or black shirt?"

"Don't care," Clay grumbled, letting Sonny choose and submitting himself to his brother's ministrations as he dressed him—a process he couldn't do for himself. His sour mood mostly caused by a week of struggling to recall a single shred of his last mission only to come up blank. Other bits and pieces of his life had come back. He recalled the death of Ambassador Marsden—a true loss for the world. The real shocker, he had a new girlfriend and Stella had left him for a second time.

He talked to Rebecca once via the phone, but he couldn't remember her very well—only that she gave him some expensive shoes. He wondered why he ever hooked up with her, because who gives a guy you meet at a funeral, shoes? Might've been a Stella rebound thing—rebounds never lasted.

Rebecca also seemed peeved that he didn't call her last week, and after he explained why he couldn't, she went off on a monolog of how he could use his TBI to exit the military and parlay it into running for office. When he told her that he had no aspirations of going into politics at this point in his life, she made excuses why she couldn't come to visit him. Not that he minded since he was not invested in a relationship he didn't truly remember.

His choices in women were not so grand. Stella was wishy-washy and couldn't handle being a SEALs girlfriend, much less a wife. And Rebecca, well she apparently didn't want a SEAL, she wanted him to be something different—perhaps her sending him shoes should've been his first clue.

On the other side of the coin, Trent's girlfriend was awesome. Clay wished one day he would find someone like Dawn or Naima. But so far, his choice of women had been off the mark. Perhaps it was time to put that part of his life on hold and focus more on his career. And perhaps go carousing with Sonny at the Champagne room again.

Though he didn't recollect much about Vic, other than a few snippets from the ambassador's mission, he got the sense he didn't like him. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way. He was glad Vic didn't bother to come over the past couple of evenings when the other guys stopped by to check on him.

Clay's thoughts ceased as he groaned.

"Sorry." Sonny eased Clay's arm down after pulling on the sleeve of the button-down shirt. Though it didn't go well with sweats, the dress shirts were easier to put on Clay with both arms hurt because they opened in the front and he could slip them on with minimal movement of Clay's left arm. A t-shirt would be impossible to put on.

"You could tell Blackburn I don't feel so well. Maybe he would reschedule."

"Nice try, Ken Doll. I know you're in chronic pain but that won't fly. Gotta suck it up and go. Trent will give you your pain meds early if you want."

"No. Wish I could ditch the slings so I don't look like such a wuss."

"Two breaks in one arm with one held together with pins, and rotator cuff surgery on the other doesn't make you a wuss. It's only been two weeks. You'll be wearing those for at least two if not four more weeks."

Sonny buttoned Clay's shirt and grinned as he picked up one of the slings. "My little brother is almost ready for his first day back at school. If any of the schoolyard meanies tease you about your slings, Big Brother Sonny will beat them up for you," Sonny joked.

"Watch it or I'll smash you with my cast." Clay's words held no heat as he cracked a smile. Sunny had that effect on him.

"Well, on second thought, you won't need me to fight your battles. Just don't bust any skulls or blacken too many eyes with that lethal weapon."

Dawn ambled into the room. "Oh darn, you already put his shirt on. I brought you something that I think will be more comfortable." Dawn giggled as she viewed Clay's outfit. "And go much better with sweats."

"What?" Sonny turned to Dawn.

"Well, Trent told me about the post shoulder surgery t-shirts and I looked them up. They were really expensive, like thirty bucks apiece. So, I went to the store and bought a couple of inexpensive t-shirts one size larger than you wear and made the modifications to both sides."

Dawn held up a blue cotton t-shirt with zippers across both shoulders and down the outer sleeve, and from the inner sleeve down both sides. "Just slip this over your head, and then zip up. No painful lifting or movement of either arm."

Sonny surprised both Dawn and Clay as he spontaneously hugged Dawn. He stepped back and said, "You're a keeper. If Trent don't marry you, I will."

Dawn blushed and handed the five shirts in varying colors to Sonny. "They're washed and ready to wear."

"Thanks, Dawn. I really appreciate it." Clay glanced down at his outfit and though not a vain man, he did look a bit ridiculous in the way he was dressed. He didn't really want to go out in public in the first place, and going like this would be worse. "Sonny, I want to wear one of those. The black one."

"Thought you might pick the red one to go with your ruby boots, Dorthy." Sonny selected the black one.

"If Dawn would make some of these with Velcro, you could start a new career as Chippendale dancer 'cause you won't make it as a comedian," Clay retorted.

Sonny puffed up and preened, "This body would be awesome—women would flock to my shows."

Dawn pivoted, giggling as the two over-grown boys bantered like blood brothers.

Bravo Cages

Vic finished cleaning the mud off of everyone's boots. He was sick of the new guy stick—he earned the right to be here just like the rest of them and he was not their houseboy nor their beer supplier. His pocketbook took a huge hit with all the beer he had to buy in the last week of hell.

He wasn't the one to move Brock out of his quadrant when they were doing the live-fire demo—the stupid dog-handler did that all on his own. "It isn't like I grazed Brock on purpose. It. Wasn't. My. Fault," Vic growled as he threw Brock's boots at the cage.

Wincing as he bumped his sore hand, Vic continued his monolog to the empty room. "The damned dog should be put down. I can't believe everyone turned a blind eye to the mutt biting me when I went to find out if Brock was okay. Not even Lindell or Blackburn put a stop to Hayes chewing my ass out in front of the senator and his aide."

Vic went to pick up the boots, sure if he didn't complete the tasks as assigned, he would be doing crap jobs for another week. As it was, everything, including scrubbing the heads, was put on him. And Hayes had him running hills yesterday until he puked. He was tempted to call in sick today, tell them he caught a bug and did not feel well, but that would probably result in more hours rerunning the scenario with a wooden rifle.

That was an insult of the highest order when Hayes said that until he proved he was not a danger to teammates he wouldn't be allowed to touch a real gun or go on missions with them.

He kept his mouth shut and played the remorseful teammate, though he was not to blame for Brock's stupid error. Vic expected this to blow over and once he endured this unjust punishment, he would be back to running with the team and his plans would resume. There was one big thing in his favor—Spenser still didn't remember a damned thing about the Serbia mission.

Ray pushed open the door and found Vic. "Team room in ten minutes."

"We catch a spin?" Vic asked with a bit of eagerness.

"No." Ray went to his cage to grab his notebook without telling Vic the reason. Vic didn't question him further because they had all been curt and cold to him in the last week. Fortunately, their eyes had fully opened to what Clay had been telling them about Vic during the live-fire drill. Unfortunately, it took Brock getting shot.

Thankfully, it was a minor through and through in the fleshy part of his arm. Big Chief and Blackburn were up on the catwalk, and later confirmed Vic most definitely fired outside his quadrant although the new guy insisted Brock moved out of his.

After being hit, Brock almost came unglued when Vic tried to kick Cerb as the hair missile stood guard over his wounded partner. None of them admonished Cerb for taking a nip at Vic—the good boy did as trained, he protected his packmate from a threat. And the bit was minor, barely breaking the skin on Vic's hand, which showed Cerb's restraint.

Though he hated keeping secrets, no one told Clay about the incident. He agreed with Jason that they didn't want to color Clay's opinion of Vic before today's meeting. Neither believed it would change Clay's narrative if he recalled mission details, but they wanted nothing Vic could point to as an excuse if Clay did and it didn't match Vic's version.

Sadly, it took them all too long to see through Vic's 'poor me, I just want to be a team player' façade. The man was ambitious and now Ray highly-suspected he would do anything to rise in the ranks. His old self, the Ray he no longer wanted to be, probably would've recognized the viper much earlier. But his kinder, gentler version tended to give people the benefit of the doubt, turn the other cheek, and give them a long lead as he recognized most people had many struggles to overcome.

All well and good, but only if it didn't put his teammates, his brothers at risk. And quite frankly, the incident with Brock, Cerb, and shoving Clay into the doorjamb were two examples where Lopez fell short of looking out for brothers and owning up to his mistakes.

Notebook in hand, Ray shut his cage, strode to the door, and threw a curt, "Don't be late," over his shoulder as he exited the room.

Vic seethed as he put the now clean boots of the others in front of their cages before he put the supplies away because if he didn't, Hayes or Full Metal would ride his ass. He halted at Clay's and spied the stuffed seal sitting on a shelf. He doesn't have any kids. Why does a full-grown man keep a child's toy?

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Okay, these sections were supposed to be part of the last chapter, but I'm still working on the final scene and epilogue, so I decided to split the chapter.