Know what's great about fan-fiction?
It's fiction.
Written by a fan.
Who is an amateur.
With an active imagination.
Ya'll should know my style by now.
Sprawled in a comfortable chaise-lounge, Clay cradled an untouched bottle of cold-turned-warm beer, stared at the flickering campfire that toasted his toes and provided decent warmth on another wise chilly night.
The team was scattered and he wasn't missing their company. They'd been up and out and at it for two weeks now, chasing leads, kicking down doors, knocking heads together with no clear results, and not only were they frustrated and beat, they were sick of each other.
He wanted to go home.
The youngest and newest member, he'd yet to worm his way into a friendship with all the guys on the team. They were a tight, close unit and didn't easily break their ranks to accept anyone new.
He took a drink, grimaced over the taste, spit it out. He hadn't realized how warm it'd gotten. Christ, how much time had passed anyway? Since he wasn't going to finish it, he set the bottle down, no sense holding onto it.
He interlaced his fingers, raised his arms, rested his head on his cupped hands, crossed his ankles, reflected. Fitting in was harder than he'd thought it'd be. This extremely tight team didn't take to outsiders, was wary of 'strangers' and didn't like change.
Hell, they'd selected him to join their team, why treat him like he was an utter and complete, useless nuisance?
Sure, he hadn't expected to instantly become BFF's, but he hadn't expected outright animosity either. He sighed, ducked his chin to itch against his shoulder.
He hadn't immediately hit it off with Sonny because he'd ignored the Texan's advice. He'd earned Ray's, uh, hostility by questioning his leadership decisions and he'd royally pissed off Jason by disobeying direct orders. He'd disappointed Brock by refusing to acknowledge he might be a 'tad too stubborn' for his own good, and breaching the gap between Trent's indifference and his own apprehension over a brusque medic hadn't been taught in any Navy training.
So, pretty much, no one was talking to him.
Bravo's well-known reputation and motto was; loyalty and trust. The team was built on it and though Clay might not be well liked – yet – he knew Bravo had his back because they considered him theirs, that was how they ran. Now, he just had to convince them, he had theirs – just, that was taking longer than he'd expected. Either he was going about it all wrong, or they were fucking assholes.
He'd learned a lot so far…..such as; hands off anything – or anyone – Jason Hayes considered his. Bravo, without question or hesitation, circled and rallied for a fight, anyone came after something that was theirs.
They may not like him, may not make any effort to get to know him, may berate him and ignore him, but at least their Support team, led by Dutch, was friendly.
Randy, a computer tech and electronic whiz, had – because, said Lt. Commander Eric Blackburn, keeping track of Bravo's pain-in-the-ass-rookie, required his skills – become a constant presence in Command, so he spent a lot of time with Clay helped him navigate attitudes, moods, personalities.
"Why do you let them treat you like that?" Dutch had once teased, but with a warning edge to his tone. "You don't stop them, they'll keep doing it and it'll never change."
"Gotta watch 'em Clay." Randy chimed in. "Bunch of mother-fuckin' hens."
Clay frowned doubtfully, shrugged it off. "…I dunno…how? They see me as their rookie, youngest guy on the team…" Macho Bravo referred to as mother hens? Pfft!
"Never had anyone as young as you." Chuck, senior pilot, added. "Maybe on the Tier Three team…." He thought about it, shook his head. "Nawh, nope." He gave Clay's knee a slap. "You're always gonna be their rookie."
"Hear me now, that ain't never gonna change, no matter how old you get." Randy laughed. "You let them look out for you, it ain't gonna stop."
Clay spluttered. "Let them?"
"….just….you might get more shit than you expect." Dutch warned. "They will circle around you, smother you, you let them."
Jason Hayes? Bravo? Smother? Pfft.
"Don't see that happening."
"Clay," Dutch laid a hand on his collar bone, gave him a shake. "I've run with that team since Jason was Bravo 3. I know things. They will latch on to anything that gives them focus so they miss home a little less. You let that be you, they ain't never gonna let you outta their sight."
"They might kick your ass, shut you out, give you a hard time, but…let someone else try it….." Chuck shrugged. "….just, I wouldn't want to be them."
After the way he'd been treated since joining the team, Clay simply didn't see that happening, but he nodded anyway.
Dutch laughed, patted Clay's cheek. "Yeah, blow us off, buy me a beer, in say, oh, six months."
"Just, doesn't seem like they like me that much."
"They're scared. Losing Nate and all. Man was an ass, but he was dependable, so his character didn't matter much. Once you gain their trust….they gain yours, they accept you, watch out. Anyone comes after you…someone's gonna lose their teeth."
Clay still didn't see it, but he didn't argue, just nodded again.
A log shifted, fell. Sparks flared. He lifted his head to ensure all burning wood remained within the firepit, returned it to its original position.
The dog liked him. Davis was a good-doobie and Blackburn was…well, long as you did what he wanted, didn't cause him trouble, he left you alone.
But Mandy Ellis? The team's CIA liaison? Well now, she was loyal, had their backs, would do whatever it took – even actions detrimental to her career – to keep them safe, but she didn't know when to quit and she didn't like to be told no.
And that's where Bravo sat.
Jason Hayes had told Mandy Ellis no, because of Clay. She'd appealed to Blackburn, who had sided with his Master Chief and now Clay was sitting alone, enjoying a fire with a warm beer he wasn't going to drink, while his team fought his 'battles' for him…..whether he wanted them to or not.
He didn't even know why it was a battle or why he had been told to go away, shut up, stay out of it, and let them handle it, but again, hands-off anything Bravo considered theirs; even their 'pain-in-the-ass rookie'.
And man, he was getting tired of hearing that.
Yup, voices…..Mandy was back….and…uh, Sonny? Yeah, Sonny. Must be his turn to be on guard duty and Clay had scoffed when Jason had given the order….guess his boss knew Ms. Ellis better than Clay thought he did.
Though Sonny would like to drown him or toss him from a tall building, when it came to having Clay's back, the hurly-burly Texan was the first to step up and, whether Clay was right or wrong, defend him. And if Clay was wrong and Sonny knew it, the Texan still defended him, just did his best to thoroughly thrash his ass later.
"…..he doesn't know you, Miz Ellis." Sonny was patiently saying, his tone anything but. "He's like a pansy-ass little baby. Once you get him to sleep, you don't wanna wake him up. You don't make no noise, 'n you tip-toe around him 'til he wakes up on his own, 'cause iffin' you don't, he's so fuc…uh….so cranky, you just wanna knock him right back out."
Clay scowled, right, right, sure, defend him with insults.
"…..just want to talk to him….."
"I just told you, he's asleep."
"You did not say that."
"I'm telling you now, kid's beat and you're gonna leave him alone."
"You can wake him up." She wheedled and Clay just bet she was batting those big blue eyes at an unmovable Sonny, which was useless, 'cause nothing and no one got Sonny to budge. Just call him a Zax from Dr. Seuss – he'd've been the one going North…heeheehee. "I just want to show him something, see if he can read it."
"No."
"Be reasonable."
Sonny? Reasonable? A reasonable Sonny? BahWahHah! There was no such thing! Nope. No. Just no.
"See Miz Ellis, thing is, I know you. You'll show him a scrap of paper, ask him to read it, he'll get something outta it, and you're gonna want him to go with you, talk to whoever you got it from. Next thing, it's morning and he's been up all night."
Clay squirmed, felt an unfamiliar flush start at his toes, spread up his shins. At first, he thought another log had shifted, caused a flame to flare up, but the warmth continued to spread over this knees, up to his thighs…..he blushed, ducked his chin though there was no one around to see. Was….was that…comfort? Comfort that someone was fighting his battle for him?
Wow.
Oh. God.
Awwww!
"Where's Jason?"
The warmth subsided. Great, now Mandy sounded petulant and peevish. Jason had already shot her down, what made her think he'd change his mind, a mere half hour or so later? Course, Mandy did have a way of wrapping Bravo One around her finger…..
"Right here."
Oh, Yay! Could this situation get any more worse? Yeah, fuck grammar, he was just too tired to care, 'cause that was indeed the boss. SHIT!
"I want to talk to Clay, just for few moments."
"What did I tell you?"
"I have new information, we found this paper hidden in his belt. Jason, this could be the lead we need ….."
"No."
"This could break the case wide open."
"No."
"But if this pans out, we need to act now."
"Then find an interpreter, translator, whoever. Kid's off limits, move on."
"The translator isn't on base and no other one here, speaks the dialect. Or reads it."
"You don't even know if Spenser does."
"There's every chance he can figure it out."
"The answer is no."
"But why? If this is the lead we've….."
"Because Sonny's right, you'll ask a question, demand an answer, next thing, it's dawn. You dig in, don't let go."
"But this is important. We can move now."
"We can't, we're all beat."
"I don't mean this moment, but….."
"Two weeks, I've been hearing that…."
"Just….five minutes. Ten tops. Let me…."
"Do you ever hear me? No."
Clay sighed, stirred from his slouch, but before he could sit up, remove his head and hands from where his back should rest against the chaise-lounge, a firm resistance kept his thigh pinned to the cushion.
He blinked, looked up….Brock. Wow, how tired was he, he hadn't heard his teammate approach? Or sense his presence?
"No, you don't."
"Nah, I'm…."
"Staying put." Brock finished his sentence.
That wasn't what Clay had been going to say, but he let it go. "Won't take long to see what she wants. Lemme up."
"Jason can handle her."
"Yeah, but…."
"No buts." Brock took a seat on a moveable stump that substituted as a seat near Clay's feet. "You fainted."
"I didn't faint, and I'm no more tired than any of you."
"Then you fell asleep standing up." Brock grinned. "We've had more sleep, little that it is, must've been enough."
"I can pull my weight." Clay snapped crossly. "Don't need to be coddled."
"She's kept you up two nights in a row, you can't keep this up." He paused, gave Clay's knee an affectionate pat. "No one can."
"But….."
"You may not realize you don't have to please everyone, but Jason does, let him handle it."
"She just wants to talk…."
"Do you feel any better?"
Silence.
"So, no." He waited, was met with continued silence. "Then you aren't going anywhere except to bed."
"I don't need to be hidden away; my battles fought for me." His warm, fuzzy thoughts from mere minutes ago about being defended, fled when his 'free agency' was taken from him. "I'm fine, I get enough sleep."
"Have you looked in a mirror? Those circle under your eyes ain't from Sonny putting camo paint on your night vision goggles this time."
"We all have 'em." Clay said defensively, blew his breath out, sighed. Wasn't fair to Brock to take his head off, he was just….well, being….nice. "Don't need defending."
Brock was quiet, Cerberus jumped onto the cushion between Clay's feet, got comfortable. That right there, was why Brock had decided to accept Clay as part of the team, extend a hand of friendship, while the others remained undecided.
Most soldiers, sailors, did not treat military dogs well. They weren't cruel or abusive, not even neglectful, they just never offered affection, a kind word. Clay though, always offered ear scratches, played fetch, offered bits of meat, made room on his bed, let the four-legged, forty-plus pound dog rest his snout on his knee.
"On this team, you do." Brock finally commented. "And it's not a sign of weakness, you admit you aren't getting enough sleep, you macho ass."
Clay huffed, looked away.
Brock added a log to the fire. There was no way Clay could possibly be comfortable, sprawled in such an awkward slouch on a flimsy chaise lounge with a saggy cushion that offered little support and a dog on his legs.
His ankles hung off the edge, his head rested at an odd angle, elbows bent awkwardly in the middle of the back of the seat where his back should be and his hips had absolutely no support half way down the bottom cushion, yet the kid didn't move, just lowered a hand to pet whatever part of the dog he could reach.
"What are you doing out here?" Brock asked, warming his hands as the flames flicked anew. "Thought Jason put you down for a nap."
"Said to get some sleep, didn't say where."
"Don't work that way." He damn well bet neither Jason nor Ray knew Clay wasn't in his bed. He and Trent had expected to find him there, had split to find him, when they hadn't.
Bravo was having a devil of a time keeping track of the kid. Eh, no worries, they had Randy working on a solution.
Clay sighed. He'd had no idea Mandy would attempt to seek him out when he'd sought solitude. Their support team was with them and they were all sharing quarters. He'd just wanted silence. Yeah, everyone tried to be quiet, but someone was on the phone, or watching TV, or playing cards…it was always something, so he'd wandered outside, saw the fire, found the rickety chair, made himself comfortable.
Brock went silent, feared he may have overstepped. He wouldn't speak to Sonny like this…he'd be ridiculed, mocked, scorned, rebuffed. Though still getting to know Clay, it wasn't likely the kid would snap, take his head off. When the blonde sniper was wrong and called on it, he'd apologize, make amends.
"Everyone's trying, but it's a lot of activity." Clay admitted. "Dutch can only sssh and shush so many times, before he's as loud as who he's shushing."
Brock nodded, made a note to discuss sleeping arrangements with Jason later. The full support team boasted 15 guys, and yeah, it was a lot, so maybe they could arrange separate sleeping quarters in the future, share the common areas.
"How you feeling?" He asked.
Clay squirmed, got a dirty look from the disturbed dog, muttered an apology. Being asked if he felt any better, or how he was feeling weren't questions he was used to hearing from….well, a highly skilled, trained….uh, killer.
"Bit…um, tired?" He finally admitted. Wouldn't do not to answer. "…just a little sluggish."
"You went to the infirmary?"
Clay snorted. "Like Trent was gonna let me get away with not going? Yeah, I went. Blood pressure good, reflexes good, motor skills good." He glanced up at Brock. "I'm good."
"Then you need sleep."
He did, but didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon…not if Mandy had her way….and knowing her, and Jason's proclivity to bend to her will, he didn't bet on his boss doing all that much to win the argument. He was gonna hafta learn to hide better, keep to himself he liked relaxing by a fire, found comfort with its warmth, was soothed by the sounds of snaps and crackles...and...
"…..don't make me ban you from our quarters…" Jason was saying. "Revoke your all access clearance…"
Huh, then again…
"You wouldn't."
Brock made a decision, stood up. "Come on, let's get you something to eat. Maybe Davis can find you a cot, tuck you away somewhere, where it's quiet."
"But Mandy…"
"Can't talk to you, she can't find you."
"Yeah…but….no, better not. Don't want the boss mad….."
"Hey," Brock bent down, slapped his foot. "If Jason hasn't let her past by now, he's not going to. He has your back, now come on."
Clay was quiet, didn't move, thought about it. Cerberus jumped to the ground, shook out his fur.
"Woof."
Great, now even the dog was telling him what to do.
"You're going to have to learn to hide better. She found you pretty fast." Brock teased. "It's her job you know, find people, it's what she does for a living." He offered a hand, held it out, waited. It was finally taken and Clay detached from the chaise-lounge. "Pizza?"
"Uh, soup." He gained his feet, stretched with his arms over his head. He hadn't thought he was hungry, but his stomach growled when Brock suggested grabbing a bite and he was chilled, so….sure….soup sounded good.
***000***
Ray plopped a beer in front of Jason, straddled the bench across from him, sat down and twisted the top off his own bottle, took a drink.
"So?" He prompted after several moments of silence, Jason was scratching with a red pencil. "Fess up, come on."
"Go away."
"Something's eating at you." Ray was patient, was always best to let Jason come around on his own. Most people weren't content to wait as long as it would take, but not Ray. Ray would wait.
Five minutes passed. Ten. And still, Ray waited. Finished his beer, and sat, thumbing through his phone. Waiting.
"Mandy's after Clay." He flipped a page.
Finally! Ray put his phone in his pocket, glanced down, if he didn't know better, he'd say his boss was…uh…coloring.
"Again?"
"Still."
"So, no?"
"So, no."
"She didn't take it well."
"She didn't."
"And you caved."
Oh, he very nearly had. Might have, had Sonny not been standing there, arms crossed, hands tucked into opposite armpits, glaring daggers while chewing on a toothpick.
"I didn't."
"So, why you got a problem with that?"
"With what?"
"Clay doing his job."
"I don't."
"Seems like you do."
"My problem is – he's a kid and being used just 'cause he can speak and read, several languages." Jason snapped tersely. "I shouldn't have to worry about him out in the field 'cause he's been up while the rest of get some sleep, but I do. Now I gotta keep an eye on him, 'cause he won't open his big mouth and utter the word no."
Ray nodded, Clay sure did like to run his mouth when it was to argue or disagree, but any other time, the kid became mute. He noted Jason ignored the beer, finished it for him. Huh. After even more moments of silence, curiosity got the best of him.
"Are…you….uh….coloring?"
"It's therapeutic."
"Weeelll, yeah." Ray nodded. "When you use colors other than red."
"What do you want Ray?" The pencil tip snapped. Jason reached for the tiny sharpener. "You just here to annoy me, or you got something on your mind?"
"Wondering what's got you all tied in knots." Ray shuddered over the savagery with which the pencil was sharpened. "Hey man, it's lead, leave some, you know?"
"I want this prick."
Ray nodded, "We all do."
"And yet, here we sit."
"He's a kid Jay," Ray began patiently.
"He's a grown man with the same training as us."
"Okay," Ray allowed with a nod. Just seconds ago, Jason was defending the kid, and now he was pissed at him. Moody bosses, what to do? "Then he's young and stupid and only been running with us a couple of months. He doesn't know his limits."
"I get that."
He did, and Ray well knew that. It's why Spenser was off somewhere getting some sleep rather than helping Mandy.
"So then, what are you gonna do?"
"Find a blue pencil."
***000***
"Not sure how Blackburn got approval, but here you go." Lisa unlocked a door, pushed it open, felt for a light switch, flipped it on. "Whatever you want, is yours." She waved an arm across the vast room of shelves, cupboards, cabinets. "Have at it."
Oh, he intended to.
Trent stepped in behind her, stood in awe, turned in slow circles, arms thrown wide, unbridled delight on his face as he marveled at the unlimited access he now had.
If there was anything good about having Clay on the team – it was this! All this!
All. Of. This.
And unlimited access to it.
Lisa grinned at the awestruck look on Bravo 4's face…..a kid let loose in a candy store to take as much as 'loot' as he wanted, couldn't be more exuberant than Bravo's medic was right this very moment – allowed whatever he wanted from a very well-stocked pharmacy/medical supply room.
"Anything I can help you with?" She offered, not really expecting her offer to be accepted. She had other things to do, dip in the pool sounded great, get in a work-out while she enjoyed the cool water.
But, surprise!, it was. Trent handed her a list, gave her a pat atop her head, moved off.
She bit back a growl, sighed. Yeah, she was gonna be here awhile. Damn good thing she was quite fond of him…pat her on the head? Just wait medicine-man, paybacks come when you least expect them.
"Since when do you need a…Geiger TCU Thermal Cautery Unit?"
Had he been thinking clearly – and he wasn't, because hello, look at all this! – he might have told her Clay bled easily and bled fast, but not for long since he clotted fine and the bleeding was quickly stopped when pressure was applied. But unlike Brock, who you couldn't squeeze blood out of, the kid gushed like a fountain.
The first time Clay had been injured, Trent had come running in response to Sonny's frantic shouting, taken one look while still in flight, and decided the kid was bleeding out on him. Hiding his racing heart and difficulty breathing – would never do to let Bravo see him panicking, oh hell no – he'd observed the amount of gushing blood and applied both a tourniquet and more compressed absorbent pads than needed, all the while praying.
Then he'd taken the kids blood pressure, mentally assessing which teammate would be the best supplier of needed blood, only to find the kid's blood pressure was normal and by the time he'd finished taking that, the bleeding had stopped.
Dangerous? No. Upsetting? Yes.
And that was when, and why, he'd taken to carrying units of blood with him when they were out in the field. He didn't care if it was usually a waste of blood – he had no intention of ever feeling that kind of panic again.
And though he was well aware that in most cases where they needed the kid to stop bleeding before he lost a pint and became too dizzy to shoot straight, electricity wouldn't be around, there'd be that time, he could plug in the soldering iron and stop the bleeding immediately.
"Since we went to the pound and brought home a stray," Trent absently replied, attention and focus elsewhere. "….you see a GIA Auto Suture Stapler, DTS, grab it."
Oh boy, forget 'awhile', she was gonna be here all night!
"Is that on your list?" Wow, that was specific. He had a suture stapler, she knew he did. She'd seen it, watched him use it, so what made the one he now wanted, better?
"Kid itches, I use Dermabond."
"What's wrong with the stapler you have?"
"You said I could have whatever I wanted."
"Well, yeah, but that's when I thought you were after Band-Aids and splints." She looked at her list – medication, more specifically, pain meds: lidocaine, Percocet, Demerol, Tramadol, Vicodin, morphine, fentanyl, Dilaudid/hydromorphone, Oxy, numerous bottles ending in, 'phine, phone, done, cet', intravenous opioids.
Well, damn. Brand names, generic, whatever.
Opening a cabinet that should have been locked and wasn't, she cast a glance across the room where Trent was busy with needles, tubes and tubing - vials. "How are you going to carry all this in the field?"
She read the label on a bottle, a box, a package; sedatives, muscle relaxants, tranquilizers, some kind of..of…of…anesthesia, nerve blockers, antiemetics, ketamine? She bet some of this would put an elephant on its ass.
Where was the ibuprofen and Benadryl she was used to?
"Huh?" He had numerous vials and small boxes in his hands, crooks of his arms, under his chin. "Oh." He mumbled around a packet of syringes in his teeth. "Uh, in one of those." He nodded with his head in the direction of a pile of medical backpacks.
She snorted, rolled her eyes. "Gonna need a bigger bag!"