Is it really cheaper to have numerous guest stars every week, then actors as regulars?
I've come to the realization, half of my issues with season four...is the loss of Blackburn! I want him back.
Hello, CBS? Yes, I'd like an order of Season Five, complete with Lt. Commander Eric Blackburn. Thank you.

"Blackburn," Mandy greeted stiffly, then scowled when Bravo's Lt. Commander entered the briefing room, ever-present cup of coffee in hand and no one else followed him in.

Randy, sitting nearby, land-line phone balanced with his chin on his shoulder, glanced up, waved.

Eric nodded in return, accepted the chair on wheels someone shoved his way, sat down, pulled up to the table. After several hours of uninterrupted sleep, hot shower and a hot breakfast, he finally felt able to once again understand the English language as it was commonly spoken.

"What we got?" He asked no one in particular, was greeted by silence. Huh, okay, was gonna be like that then – everyone on Mandy's side and pissed over the delay. "Anyone?"

Randy held a finger up, wrapped up the phone call, hung up. "Yes Sir, sorry Sir. Trying to get permission to control the drone, sir."

Mandy simply glared; Eric shrugged. Sure, sure, had he been in Ops, Randy wouldn't have had to 'try', but times came when he had to put his men first, and Mandy would just have to deal with it. He'd only tolerate her snit for so long, then he'd have to put his foot down.

"Where's Davis?" Mandy asked coldly, still pissed at being denied what she felt was a simple request and being set back hours. A delay she didn't find forgivable.

"Busy." Eric snapped right back, took a gulp of hot coffee before setting the cup down. "You get what you need?" He asked Randy who shook his head so Eric held his hand out for the secure line. "Then, let's get on it."

Mandy fumed over being denied further information on where Lisa was, but if she was going to make any headway, she was going to have to let it go, move on. The interpreter was back on base and due in Ops any moment and finally, she could move forward.

The door opened and eagerly anticipating the arrival of the translator, she looked up, her smile becoming a scowl when Clay strolled in, munching on a blueberry muffin. She turned away until she could control her emotions. Now? He came now? When she'd needed him because there had been no one else, he'd been sent to bed because, she'd been told, he was 'cranky'. But now, he just strolled in oh-so-nonchalantly, making that muffin look so damn good, she wanted to go get one.

Damn the man.

Bravo's attitudes had shifted since drafting the blonde now standing behind Randy, munching on his pastry, laughing over whatever was on the computer, and she didn't like it, was unsure what to do about it.

"Can you read this?" She slapped the piece of paper on the table next to Randy, didn't even hand it to Clay, who stuffed the remainder of the muffin in his mouth, dusted his hands on his ass, picked it up.

He swallowed, said pointedly. "Morning, Ms. Ellis."

She fought not to flush, jaw clenched. It didn't help her mood, that while he'd been hidden away so he could sleep, she'd been up all night. Her decision, yes, but still, seeing him all bright-eyed and hair combed, ticked her off.

Clay held the paper, accepted the cup of coffee someone handed him, waited a moment or so before really focusing on it. It was a language he wasn't that familiar with, he could speak it a bit, but read it?

He frowned, used his foot to snag a chair, hooked an ankle around a spindle, rolled it closer, sat down. "This is some kind of code."

The translator entered and while Mandy thought Clay would shrug him off, refuse his help, the two sat together, caught up on sports, the weather, then put their heads together and proceeded to ignore everyone else in the room while they concentrated.

"If they find anything, is Bravo good to go?" Mandy asked Blackburn who had succeeded in getting Randy access to the drone, was watching what it filmed.

"Depends. If it's simply surveillance, Support will go."

She nodded, decided to accept that if it was more than 'simple surveillance', Bravo themselves would be sent.

Time passed. Sonny wandered in, sat and teased Clay for no reason other than the Texan was bored.

"Water?" Randy offered Clay an unopened bottle.

"Huh? No, I'm good."

"For that cough." Randy explained. "Might ease it some."

Clay rubbed his chest with a closed fist, shrugged. "Yeah, sorry."

"You getting sick?"

"Don't think so." He took the bottle, drank some water. The tight feeling in his chest eased and he could breathe a little better. Time to get some air.

"You okay?" Randy leaned closer, peered into Clay's face. His eyes were blue, but the IT tech didn't think his lips should be as well. "You look….kinda….washed out, you know?"

"Uh…..no." Clay rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It's…the…um, sun." He swallowed more water. "Bleaches my hair."

"Take a break." Eric ordered absently. "Randy, take him for a sandwich."

Clay sighed, lowered his head, rolled his eyes. He didn't need anyone to take him anywhere, but yeah, he could use a break. He pushed back from the table, stood up, stretched his back, followed Randy from the room.

"You said he got some sleep." Mandy sniped at Eric. "He looks awful."

Eric merely raised one eyebrow. "Been a rough couple of weeks, Ms. Ellis." He paused. "Even well trained, elite, assault teams need sleep to function properly." He turned back to the man who had replaced Randy. "So, where we at?"

Mandy fumed, walked to get a cup of coffee.

()()()

Clay hadn't thought he was hungry, and he hadn't expected Randy to tell him to take a seat, he'd bring a tray, but when he objected, his friend merely grinned, said he wasn't the one out of breath from a short jaunt across the compound, did Clay want turkey or ham on wheat? Maybe rye? Any cheese? What kind?

"You got checked out." Randy put the tray on the table, sat down across from Clay. "Not sure what fruit you like, cup of berries, or a banana. Can have both, you want. Milk?" He sliced open an avocado. "What'd they find?"

"I did?" Clay was confused. Was Randy asking or telling him?

"Dude, hello, Trent?" Randy grinned, stabbed a cherry tomato, grimaced over the limp lettuce. "Lookit this." He pushed it aside with his fork. "So? What'd the doc say?"

"Yeah, uh." Clay reached for the glass of milk. "All's good. Just tired, can't seem to catch up on sleep."

"Hear me. Let up a bit on the weights 'til you feel more like yourself." Randy advised. "Been there."

"Membe."

"Look, you got every right to keep shit to yourself, but dude, I'm telling you, don't hide it from Trent. Won't go over well, you do and he finds out and it's not from you." Randy picked out all the limp lettuce. "I'm telling you, he's fast with that left fist." He poked at some kind of odd-looking ball with little spikes. "He's got this look….I'm tellin' ya, hear me…" He paused for dramatic effect, pointed with his fork, waited for Clay to nod in appropriate wide-eyed, awestruck awe, continued, "…..makes you wanna piss your pants, confess everything you've ever done….you see it, you get that look, run, cause you're gonna get hit." Satisfied he'd gotten his message across, he nodded, stabbed another tomato, chewed around it, then added at Clay's sudden look of doubt, "You'll know it when you see it." He swallowed. "Trust me."

Clay still didn't look convinced, peeled the banana.

"At least tell Jeff." Randy advised, referring to the Support team's medic. "He'll decide if it's something Trent should know. Lives depend on everyone being on their game, you know? Here, would you eat whatever the fuck this is?" He rolled pushed it Clay's way. It wobbled unevenly. "How the hell you eat it anyway?"

"Wedge your knife here, then use your hands to pry the hull….."

"Oh." Randy paused. "You would."

"Hey, there cotton-top." Sonny plunked his tray down next to Clay, sat down, knocked shoulders. "The hell's that shit? You eating that? What's that smell?"

()()()

"What we got?" Jason strolled into Ops, Ray on his heels. Tired of being side-lined, he was antsy, itching for action. "Kid get anything?"

"Got an address, working on a date, maybe a time." Mandy answered stiffly.

Ray was looking around but failed to locate either Clay or Randy, both of whom he'd expected to find in Command.

"Where's Spenser?" He fought the insane urge to bend over and peer beneath the tables. What was it about that kid that always had him looking in the most ridiculous places – places no human could possibly be – when he couldn't see him?

And why did he always feel better when he did lay eyes on him? He shook his head. He was being ridiculous.

"Randy took him to lunch."

"Alright then," Jason rubbed his palms to together in eager anticipation. "Catch us up."

Mandy felt confident she was making headway….finally. Pieces were fitting together, plans were being made, information was being confirmed, there was significant progress, Jason was on board, and she was ready to suggest her next play….when…Blackburn happened.

Damn the man.

"Take him out on surveillance." Eric was telling Jason. "Eight hour shifts….."

"Wait," Mandy attempted to interrupt. "What? No. Listen..."

But no one did.

"He can man a camera." Ray agreed. "Take Sonny, they need to bond before one of them is the reason the other loses some teeth."

"…..campfire, tree frogs, other than poison oak and mosquitos, what trouble can he find?" Eric finished. He slapped Jason on the shoulder. "You'll be with them, they'll toe the line. When Clay's not on shift, put him on manual labor, chop wood or something, 'cause by then, he'll be bored and driving you crazy."

"Pfft, Sonny let someone else swing an axe?" Ray snorted, visions of a fleeing, blonde-haired rookie from an, over-the-head-two-handed-grip-on-the-axe-handle possessive Texan, flashed through his head. He grinned.

"…..'cause Quinn will just tease him, you let him sit by the fire, read a book." Eric finished, darting Ray a reprimanding look for daring to interrupt.

Jason thought about it, ignored Mandy's mounting ire, nodded. "Yeah, sure." Some time alone with his rookie might help him understand the kid better. He'd be the buffer between Clay and Sonny, who, always ready with humor to ease a tense situation, didn't always know when to quit and back off. "Okay, down deal. Set it up."

"I'll get Davis on getting you camping equipment." Eric headed towards the door, thoughts of GPS, beacons, strobes, sat phones dancing through his head. "Get what you need from Mandy, you can head out in the morning." He glanced back. "Oh, and send me Randy."

()()()

Trent was enjoying swinging in a hammock, face-timing with the wife back home, when his phone beeped, notifying him of an incoming call. He thumbed up, down, to the side until the caller was identified – Randy.

Well, that was odd.

"Yeah, gotta go Jan." He professed his love, disconnected, answered the other call. "This better be good."

"Yeah, hey Trent. Look, Sonny's too scared to call you, but we're in the infirmary."

The what?

"On my way." He pocketed the phone, but didn't immediately get up. Had to be Clay, so what now? The kid had passed out the other day. Oh, he denied doing so, claimed he was 'tired'. And while that was true, since when did snipers fall asleep standing up and hit the floor? He'd seen a doctor, Trent had made sure of that, but nothing had been found other than the kid needed some decent sleep. "I'm gonna figure you out one any or another." He muttered, sat up, swung his feet to the ground. "And no one is gonna be happy 'til I do."

()()()

Clay was half asleep and a bit dopey, Sonny and Randy discussing some TV show, when Trent barged into the alcove made private by a flimsy curtain. Sonny looked up at the track in the ceiling, convinced the rings had been ripped out and were about to ping down on his head.

"Hey." Randy greeted affably. "Wanna you know, maybe, leave the curtain on its track?"

"You called him?" Sonny asked incredulously. "The hell dude? You got a death wish or something?"

"He's on oxygen." Trent stated the obvious.

"Do I? Do you?" Randy joked. "Like he wasn't going to find out?"

"The hell's he doing on oxygen?" Trent demanded, pushed a hand through his hair. "The fuck Sonny?"

"Get your panties outta a bunch." Sonny countered jovially. "Randy said the kid's been coughing all day, then he ate something called a Duran-Duran."

"He's here because he had lunch?" Trent raised one eyebrow, stared Sonny down. "Say what?"

"Clay said it was fruit, scared me just looking at it." Randy shuddered. "He couldn't stop coughing, swore his lips were blue again. Some dude was in the mess tent with more stripes and bars that I could count, and here we are."

"And you weren't going to tell me?" Trent slapped Sonny upside the back of his head so hard even Clay blinked at the sound. Randy actually winced in mock sympathy at Sonny's indignant yelp! "Wait, again? What do you mean, again? When were his lips blue before?"

"Durian." Clay mumbled. Good grief, what did it take to get a little peace and quiet around here so a man could get some sleep? Christ, were they actually bitching about fucking fruit?

"In Ops, before we broke for lunch, he kept coughing." Randy explained. "Subsided after he drank some water."

"And at lunch, you were where, Sonny?" Trent demanded as the Texan pulled a pout, patted his smarting head. "You let this happen?"

"Getting him some water." Sonny shot back. "Since he went and spit milk all over." He gave his head a shake, scowled. Ow. "Do that again, you'll wake up next week."

"You can try." Trent replied easily, grinned when Sonny snarled over the blow-off. "Randy?"

"To be fair Trent, I was right there with him and they ignored me. Wouldn't have been anything Sonny could have done either." Randy clapped Sonny on the back of his shoulder in a show of solidarity support. "Got ya back, dude."

"They?"

"Top Brass." Randy explained. "Once he got to coughing, sounding like he was choking, Bars and Stripes snapped his fingers and MP's were carrying him away."

"Blue lips from fruit?" Trent said doubtfully, approached the gurney, and without a word of warning to Clay, thumbed opened his right eye by pulling up his eyebrow. "How long ago?"

"ArRgH!" Clay's yelp was muffled by the oxygen mask. He raised a hand to swat at the annoying pull, rolled his head away. "N'n'muff."

"Uh, what you say Randy, 'bout half an hour, memmbe?"

"Hour and half or so, yeah."

Clay was not having Trent man-handle him – well, his eyelids anyway. He rolled his head restlessly, tugged against a punishing hold on his chin, scowled when his attempts to avoid Trent's rather ruthless ministrations were thwarted.

"Yeah, well kid, you're gonna find out when I'm boss on this team." Trent muttered, held Clay's head still by a firm grip on his jaw. "And you fight me on it, ain't Sonny you're gonna have a problem with." He removed the oxygen mask, put it over his own mouth to test the flow, tossed it aside. "Deep breath," Clay glared, resisted, blinked, obeyed. "Again. Another one. Hold it."

"I'm…okay…" Clay said somewhat breathlessly. "Lemme go."

"You're in the infirmary." In case Clay's perfect 20/20 vision lacked the ability to identify where he was, Sonny felt the need to point out the obvious. The kid had been quiet and listless, laying quietly breathing oxygen since he and Randy had been allowed to see him. He'd decided, since Clay slept, to let him wake up on his own but obviously, Randy - the dumbass - had thought differently, called Trent.

And the medic? Well...he obviously felt Sonny had done wrong.

"Uh…yeah." Clay lifted his head, looked around. "Duh."

Randy's phone buzzed, he pulled it from his pocket, read the screen. "Blackburn's looking for me, so gotta split…what should I tell him?" He asked Trent, waited.

"Just say he's with me."

Randy nodded, got to his feet. "I'll catch up with him later, see how he's feeling."

"You feel dizzy?" Trent asked Clay after Randy had left. Clay shook his head. "Light-headed? Chest hurt? No? Get him dressed." He told Sonny. Clay wasn't wheezing, gasping or coughing, his lips weren't blue and Trent really didn't understand why the kid was on oxygen, so he was going to go find out why. "Be ready when I get back."

"He took that better than I thought he would." Sonny commented, allowed Clay to sit up but stopped him when he started to swing his legs off the gurney. "Where you think you're going?"

Perplexed, Clay stammered. "Gonna…ge…get…dress…..dressed."

"Hey there you, you young one you, you stay put 'til Trent comes and gets you."

"But..." He frowned. "My clothes are…."

"Right here." He held Clay's t-shirt in his hands. "Yeah, right, see Trent said to get you dressed…so, arms up." He put Clay's boots on the mattress between his feet. "Head goes through the big hole….no, not that one, the other one…..because it's bigger…..oh, for Pete's sake, gimme your hand, you daft moron."

Out of the room, Trent willed his heart to return to its normal rhythm. He hadn't expected to find the kid on oxygen, and he found that he didn't like the sight - at all.

Clay was young, maybe 25, probably more like 27, but whatever, he was under 30, and laying against white sheets, propped up on a hospital gurney in a gown, covered with a white blanket, chin to chest, he looked all of 16, it him in the gut and he didn't like it.

So, Trent found the doctor who had 'treated' Clay.
Trent disagreed with the doctor who had 'treated' Clay.
Trent got into an argument with the doctor who had 'treated' Clay.
A heated argument.
An argument so heated, Sonny was forced to leave Clay struggling to put an arm through a sleeve and venture out to the hallway to retrieve his teammate.

"Hey-ho." Jeff popped in. "Randy said…oh hey, yeah….left foot." He grinned. "No…you're putting your right boot on your left…..'cause you have two feet," he replied easily when Clay asked why, "...give here."

Clay sat in the middle of the gurney, boots in his lap, one arm through the neck of his shirt, looking adorably befuddled. He looked at Jeff like he had no idea what a boot was, what right and left meant, what there were two of…or who Jeff was.

"Want your pants first?" Randy had sent him a text, suggested it might be best, Sonny and Trent not be left alone together. Jeff didn't mind, he liked working with Bravo's medic. "Yeah? Might be easier, you put them on before your boots. 'Less you wanna parade about in your tightie-whities."

Clay looked down, patted his bare thighs, looked up in confusion. His boxer-briefs were tight, but not white.

"You know…..they said you were a lot of work, but no one ever said we had to dress you." Jeff teased. "Let's get your shirt on right first…..gimme…" He tugged on the boot, but Clay held tight to the laces. "Okay, you keep it," not a fight worth having right now. "…..duck…your head…not that way….the other way….wait…no…'cause your head ain't gonna fit through that hole…..that's it. Okay, now pick your foot up….not that foot….right foot….your other right…through here, that's it…what the…no….fly goes in the front…the fly…." And Clay started to babble, Jeff responding with humor. "What? What insect? Where? No, there's no insect, not that kind of fly…...hey now, that just isn't possible…..man, what do they have you on?"

"Jason's calling me." Sonny relaxed his hold on Trent, but didn't let him go. "You good? Not gonna detach no heads from bodies, right?"

But Trent's attention was elsewhere…why was Clay having such a hard time comprehending how to get dressed? He tugged free of Sonny, strode over to the curtain. One benefit of an infirmary was, curtains instead of walls and he could hear Jeff, who, while laughing, was still trying to coax Clay into inserting his correct foot through the proper leg of his pants.

"Trent!?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Trent baldly lied right to Sonny's face. "Go see what's up. I'll handle Clay." 'Cause now he had to go find out what meds, if any, the quack-ass doctor had given the kid. And why.

Sonny nodded, should have thought better, but didn't. "Catch you later buttercup!" He called to Clay and left to join his boss in Ops.

"Hey," Jeff greeted when Trent came around the curtain. "We've got our shirt on correctly…." He tousled Clay's hair, "…and our feet are through the proper legs of our pants with the fly in the front! Woot-Woot!" He raised a fist. "Woot!"

Clay slid off the gurney, pulled his pants up to his hips, looked at the boots still on the bed, sighed. His brow furrowed, unsure what to do next.

"I'll carry them." Jeff assured him, picked up the boots, waggled them in Clay's face. "Barracks are across the lawn, you don't need them."

"Need…..what?"

Dressed, out of bed and on his feet, Clay was focused on his bare toes, and whether or not whatever Jeff was waggling was supposed to go on them; how he was going to put his boots – wherever the hell they were – on, not how fast Trent could move, and how fast he was with that fucking left fist...so, yeah, he missed 'the look'.

Just. One. Look.
That's. All. It. Took.
Just one look, And, he fell so hard….

One second, the medic was out of the room, restrained by Sonny, and the next, Clay's head snapped back and he was on his ass from a half-hearted thrown left upper-cut jab.

"Ow." Clay said stupidly. He'd been warned repeatedly about that 'look'.

Hands on hips, Trent stared at his teammate who just sat on his ass, blinking in stunned disbelief. Hell, he fumed, he hadn't put any force behind his punch, it merely should have turned Clay's head to the side, not knock him on his ass.

Hard on his ass.

"Ow." Clay repeated.

"Oh boy." Jeff looked heavenward. "You okay there, kid?"

"The hell Spenser?!"

"Ow." He worked his jaw, ran his tongue over his teeth…all seemed to be intact, but he bet he'd be sporting a wicked bruise come morning. Satisfied he wouldn't need the immediate services of a dentist, he blinked at sudden tears – oooh, his ass was really starting to tingle. "Ow."

And we're back to that, Trent thought, squeezed his eyes shut, pinched his nose between them in frustration.

"Let's get you on your feet, back to your room, you can go to bed." Jeff smiled encouragingly. "Oh now, you don't gotta cry! Why are you crying? Don't cry!"

Trent lowered his hand, opened his eyes. Yup, sure enough, those crystal-clear blues were swimming in tears that had yet to spill over.

"Ow." Now his back was numb.

"Your jaw hurt?" Trent asked. He'd merely glanced a blow across Clay's chin, but hell, maybe he'd hit the kid harder than he'd thought he had.

Clay's bottom lip was bitten plump, trembled. He blinked. "Ow."

"Well, he can talk, so jaw isn't broken." Jeff joked.

"Repeating 'ow', isn't talking." Trent huffed. "Go, AAH." He demonstrated by opening his mouth wide, showing his tonsils, teeth.

Clay complied. "Aa…OW!"

"What's ow'ing you?" Trent sighed. He'd brought the kid to tears? Really? "Grab an arm, count of three. One…two…three."

Between them, they lifted Clay to his feet. He wobbled, leaned left, pitched forward then caught his balance, rubbed his eyes with knuckled fists.

"You're never gonna be bored with this one." Jeff tucked the boots under his free arm. He supposed there were socks somewhere, but didn't look for them. "He's pretty loopy."

"Ow." Clay shuddered, hunched a shoulder, reached to rub above his ass. "Ow."

"Aah." Trent nodded. "Tailbone." He started for the hall. "I'm gonna find the ass on duty, find out what they gave him."

Clay started to follow him, Jeff held him back. Trent turned around, pointed at Clay. "Stay." He ordered sternly. Clay blinked, looked at Jeff. "Go with him."

And Clay blinked. "Ow."

"Christ man," Jeff teased. "How hard'd you go and hit him?"

"Shut up."