I'm baacck! Did ya miss me? Been gone so long, I forgot what I was doing...the Olympics and extended family on college tours visiting, vacations and days off...where did my summer go?

I don't approve of physical violence, but I'm not against it either…does that make sense?

Jason strode into the room where their equipment was stored, dropping, tossing, throwing, kicking; gloves, helmet, bag, duffle, knife, scissors, ammo clips, flashlight as he walked. If it were removable, it went airborne.

Ray strolled in. "In a mood, I see. Got nothing, eh?" He eyed Sonny who followed on his boss's heels, decided not to even attempt a hello to the grumpy Texan.

"Not a damn thing."

"Kid's okay." Ray offered calmly. He knew nothing would tease Jason out of his snit. His boss would unload and properly stow his weapons, then hit the gym to whale on the punching bag until his hands were swollen. "Doc released him, Brock got him to eat." He was calmly talking about a grown, adult man trained to ruthlessly kill like he was a three-year old. Oy-vey. "He's been sleeping it off."

Yeah, duh, Jason knew that. Had received a full report from Doc. "Never shudda happened." He plopped down heavily on a bench, fought with a knot in the laces on his right boot.

Ray nodded. But it had. And it had happened on Jason's watch, right under his nose. Was gonna take some time for the Master Chief to get over that….uh, kerfuffle...if he ever did.

"Mandy's on it." Ray told his irate boss. "She'll crack him." He watched Jason make the knot worse, recover up a knife from the floor, slice through the lace over the boot tongue. Hum, maybe it wouldn't be the bag Bravo One took his frustrations out on. If the call came to 'beat' the truth outta, uh someone, Bravo's Team Leader would happily oblige.

Jason had intended to remain in the woods once Dutch had left with Clay, do his job but that hadn't happened. He'd managed to last several hours after their departure before packing it in and following them back. He'd told himself his reason for returning to base was his desire for answers from the prisoner...too bad he hadn't convinced himself of it.

Mandy was pissed at him for calling off the surveillance and coming in but he didn't care. That's right. He didn't care there were possible camps of hostiles in the area or what they might be after. That was her job to figure out, not his. He wanted to be here, have a crack at the prisoner, talk to Doc, discuss the situation with Blackburn, and uh, yeah, check up on Clay.

Sonny puttered around but no matter how many looks Ray sent his way, he avoided eye contact, wisely remained quiet and Bravo's second-in-command weighed whether or not to let it go.

"Mandy blew it." Jason sat down. "Observe and report was the mission. No intel hostiles were in the area. I didn't get that intel, did you? You get that intel?"

"It's always a possibility." Ray tried to reason with his boss, but it was a lost cause. Wasn't gonna happen. There'd be no placating Bravo One this day. Not when he'd nearly lost – by one method or another – his rookie that he hadn't wanted.

"Not the time Ray," came the growled warning.

Ray nodded, decision made, he turned to Sonny. "What about you? Riding the guilt train too?"

Sonny peered through the shelving unit and Ray thought he was going to be flipped the bird. "He cudda been killed Ray. Nearly was. Within shouting distance." He folded the flaps in on his Kevlar vest. "And he never made a sound. Didn't call for help. Nothing." He stacked his gear too neatly on a shelf. "We were feet away and he thought he had to fight for his life alone?"

"It might've been a simple snatch and grab, not a fight for life. He was asleep in his bag," Ray saw that perfectly stowed gear soon being swiped from the shelf in every direction, flung about by a fit of rage. Very soon. "Woke up dragged….."

"And most people yell or shout." Sonny cut him off. "But him? Not him. Oh no." Slapslamslap. The shelving unit shuddered under the force of items – some not so heavy – plunking down on a shelf. "Not Mr.-I'll-go-it-alone-cause-I-don't-need-any-of-you."

"I don't think..." Ray began, received identical looks from his two pissed-off teammates. "You can't believe..."

Had Clay not called for help because he hadn't wanted it from Sonny? Doubtful. No, Ray believed it was more than likely, by the time Clay had escaped from his bag, he and his assailant had already been rolling through the fire.

"So, the blame train." Ray shook his head, hands going up. "He didn't think of ways to piss you off when he was fighting off a knife-wielding assailant in a camp where he was supposed to be safe Sonny." He informed the Texan, then winced when he realized how that had come out, how it must have sounded. "I didn't mean….wait…"

But there was no waiting when Sonny Quinn exploded. A helmet slammed hard onto a shelf. Very hard. So hard, the entire set of shelves quivered, buckled when hit with a fist, grabbed by two hands and shaken until they rattled so hard, items fell off and bounced onto and around the floor, scattered in every direction…crash, bang, boom! A violent swipe of two hands cleared the shelves of every single, remaining item they contained. The unit quaked, fell forward, hit the floor. Was stomped on, kicked apart, shoved out of the way when its pieces blocked the door.

"Sonny,' Ray began, slam…and Sonny was gone, wanton destruction left in his wake. "Okay, Jay…." slam, and Jason was gone. "Well, that went well." He told an empty room.

()()()

Day turned into night or night became day, whichever, it didn't matter because when Clay woke to sunlight, a slight headache, sore eyes and a raw throat, time had righted itself. The air was warm and he was alone.

Correction. Not alone. There was a dog on his bed.

"Hey buddy," He yawned, stretched, lowered a hand to fondle furry ears, received licks from a wet tongue in response.

He wished he could remain quiet, keep to himself and 'take it easy'. The lingering effects from his romp through the fire made him sleepy and lethargic and he'd be content to spend the day in bed watching the 'boob tube', as Doc called it, while being monitored for; any fainting, breathing issues or fits of coughing.

Cerberus flapped his tongue, smacked his jaw, as if he'd tasted something not tasty to a dog. He stood up, shook out, jumped off the bed.

What the…? Oh, right. Yeah. Ugh. Clay tugged at a curl stuck to his forehead. He was sticky, dirty, sooty and decided he'd best get up and get going, hit the showers before someone came and dragged him out of his bunk by his ears. It had happened before and it wasn't an experience he ever wanted repeated.

With a yawn, Cerberus lapped some water, padded to the door, whuffed.

Well, decision made – the dog had to go out. He got out of bed, opened the door, walked with Cerberus to the grass under the trees, rubbed his dirty, tangled hair with sore hands.

Ow.

He'd been so damned exhausted after debrief, that he'd simply sought his bed. Brock had brought him something to eat and now, he guessed, it was sometime mid-morning. Maybe?

"All done?" He wondered where everyone was, decided he didn't really care. Ops probably and he didn't want to go there. He returned to their barracks, collected what he needed and took himself off to the showers, leaving the dog on Brock's bunk.

Usually, military dogs remained in the kennel's when on base, but yeah, this was Bravo and they did what they wanted to. If they wanted their dog with them in their quarters, who was going to tell them they couldn't? Blackburn? Pfft.

He expected to be intercepted on his way across the base, joined in the showers, escorted back to barracks, but he encountered no one. He constantly looked left, right, up, down, searching for cameras. Hell, he stopped several times and surveyed the sky, looking for a drone until his already sore eyes blurred.

But he saw nothing and no one.

It took several shampoos and numerous applications of soap before he even began to see skin and feel clean. Once the water ran clear, no tinge of grey from imbedded ash or soot from some hard-to-reach nook or cranny, he got out. He intended to get dressed and be on his way, but the warmth of the huge, thick, fluffy towel was too comforting to ignore and it was one of those times when you didn't want to get out of the shower because the water was warm and the air chilled and your skin was clammy, so when he slung it over the back of his shoulders to see-saw across his back, he just sat on a bench, huddled into its depths and wallowed.

Finally, his stomach growled. Right, lunch. Or what is it dinner? Breakfast? He should know, he'd been taught how to tell the time of day by the position of the sun in the sky. Did it matter? No, it really didn't.

Reluctantly, he pushed to his feet, brushed his teeth three times, got dressed, then stood outside squinting into the sun until he finally decided to head to the 'mess' tent. Maybe eating would ease his headache.

No one joined him or even came into view and he was beginning to feel paranoid. Someone, somewhere was watching him, he was absolutely sure of it. Just…he didn't know who, or how.

Apparently, by the food being served, it was lunch time. He selected a salmon salad, joined a couple of the guys from Support's 3rd team, asked an innocent question or two to get them talking and he was able to catch up on what he'd missed while sleeping.

"...Bravo One..."

"...yeah, surprised to see him..."

"...Mandy Ellis was able..."

So, Jason had come in last night, huh? And Mandy, after a show of force, had successfully cracked the man who'd attacked him. The force provided by none other than Bravo One himself.

"…glad you're up and around…."

"…..dude, feeling better?"

He nodded and commented the appropriate word when required, picked the olives out of the lettuce. Blah. Shudda had the tuna salad.

Ray popped in while Clay was enjoying a cup of various melons chunks as dessert. "Gearing up at 10." He advised, lingered a moment, observed, but their blonde sniper was showing no issues with shortness of breath or breathing.

Clay nodded, didn't glance up, gave a wave of acknowledgement to send Ray on his way. "Roger that." So, what to do all day?

()()()

"Back to the woods." Sonny groused. "We didn't learn anything last time, why we gotta go back?" He was in a pissy mood for several reasons: He'd had to clean up the mess he'd made in the weapons room. He hadn't been the one to beat the information out of the prisoner. There'd been no milk at dinner. Clay still wasn't talking to him. And Brock was probably correct, though he refused to admit it, that if he apologized for dropping the kid in the cold creek, Clay would come around.

"Cause this time, Brock will be with you." Ray teased. "He can, you know, do what you can't…..track."

"You ain't got such a good record in that area either there, junior Boss." Sonny retorted. "Didn't you go and get lost on that air carrier?"

He had indeed and he grinned.

Knuckles on his fingers skinned and the knuckles on the back on his hand swollen, Jason gestured for, and received, silence.

Clay packed and stowed his gear quietly. He didn't fancy a return trip to the woods so soon. Silly, he knew, but he was aware he'd been lucky he hadn't been taken, seriously injured or you know – killed, the last time he'd camped out under the stars. He preferred to wait another day or three. By then his hands weren't smart so much. Eh, maybe Jason wouldn't make him climb a tree to watch the team's back from a high perch. His hands wouldn't like that and his fingers were stiff, so accurately pulling the trigger might prove difficult. Maybe he should have practiced that earlier today but his eyes had burned, smarted and the thought of peering through a scope hadn't held any appeal. Eh, least, thanks to half a tube of Blessed Crest, he didn't taste smoke every time he swallowed anymore.

"…..Goldilocks," Sonny was saying. "Right?"

Clay glanced up, everyone was looking at him, so obviously he'd been the subject of conversation.

"Yeah," he responded dully. Ellis had given them the lead and he understood the need to return to the woods, find the trail of the man who had attacked him, just, he didn't want to do it right now. But there was an entire encampment of terrorists out there somewhere, planning an attack, and it had become Bravo's job to find who and thwart it.

Support was being sent on the same hunting trip, but in other directions, split into two groups. Clay had wanted to go with Dutch, but Jason had vetoed that. In fact, he'd made the decision Bravo would remain together and Support would split up, so there would be three teams combing the woods near where Bravo's rookie had been attacked.

Blackburn had been surprised, Mandy had opposed, Dutch had shrugged and here they were, about to leave, Support having already chosen teams and departed.

Him. He had a name. Would it kill them to refer to him as Clay, rather than kid or rookie or blondie or the sniper? He'd never realized how annoying that was. Until now.

"….least the weather's forecasted to be good." Brock pocketed dog treats. "Since we aren't allowed to take tents."

"Yeah….'bout that." Sonny drawled, "Anyone care to explain the thinking behind that?" He zipped his last flap. "Not like they're neon, glow in the dark. Am I right?"

"Takes too long to break camp." Ready to go, Clay hoisted his backpack, secured it evenly, attached the chest buckle, gave a smug smirk. "Dumb ass."

Sonny started, as if to lunge at him, but Trent slapped him hard upside an ear, and Ray warned him off.

Clay's smirk grew before he turned away. If it further enraged the most annoying member of Bravo, he didn't really care. As one of two certified snipers on a team of sharp shooters, his job was to go high, protect his team and he was looking forward to putting distance between him and his team. He forced his previous doubts about his hands from his mind and hoped Jason would point him to the furthest, tallest tree.

Jason didn't.

He didn't allow Clay any privacy. When Clay mentioned he'd go high, camp out in a tree, he nearly had an apoplexy – he turned quite an alarming shade of red, a vein popped out on his forehead and another throbbed in his neck, so Clay didn't get to go. When Clay complained he didn't need someone to hold his hand while he peed on a tree, Sonny was sent with him with orders not to let 'the kid' out of his sight, 'just in case' his zipper got stuck.

Haha, boss. Funny, real funny. His camo pants didn't have a fucking zipper. He figured it was more like Jason was afraid he'd climb the tree and refuse to come down, and someone would have to go up after him.

This trip was truly a true shit-show.

Why did it have to be Sonny? Why not Brock? The Texan teased and picked and pestered, never knew when to quit or back off. Having been assigned by Jason to be Clay's personal babysitter, he couldn't be shaken. He was always on Clay's heels, knocking shoulders, giving him unwanted obnoxious hugs, hooking an arm around his neck, giving him noogies.

How in the hell had this happened? He blamed Chuck and Dutch who had warned him not to let 'this' happen without. Like there was any way he could have prevented it from happening. Whatever the hell 'it' was. What had Randy called them? Oh, right. Bunch of mother-fucking-hens who, Dutch had said, would circle around and smother him, not let him out of their sights.

Seems like they'd been right….yay him! Not.

He and Sonny were back from their turn on patrol and Clay just wanted to see the last of his babysitter but it wasn't so easy to get rid of him or make him stop.

Ray told him a time or two, to leave off and he did, for all of a minute.

It took Jason, prompted by Ray, intervening when Clay began slapping back, to finally put an end to it. "Sonny! Leave him alone. Clay, go to bed. Trent?! Watch them."

"Huh? Yeah. Sure." He waved his boss off, and Jason and Ray departed on their turn to patrol the surrounding area.

"….useless….haven't seen hide nor hair of…" Ray was saying as he and Bravo One faded from sight.

If Clay thought Sonny would cease and remain 'desisted' after the departure of the team bosses, he soon learned the error of his 'thoughts'.

Distracted because he couldn't find a comfortable fit for his battery operated, oscillating, orthopedic bone saw in his new 'medical' backpack, Trent wasn't paying any attention to Sonny, whose silence should have – would have, if Trent hadn't been so preoccupied – alerted him the Texan was bored and up to no good.

A bored Sonny, was a dangerous Sonny, because he searched for something to do – such as, annoy a teammate by adding pine branches to make the fire bellow copious amounts of smoke and deliberately wave it in the direction of his trying-to-sleep teammate.

Clay was curled up in his sleeping bag. All the kid had done since setting up camp – since Jason had refused to allow him to go off on his own – was keep to himself. Trent had kept an eye on him, but like the others, had chosen to leave him alone. Well, not physically alone. Jason had paired them off; he and Ray, Sonny and Clay, Brock and Trent. No one was ever alone.

Trent heard a muttered, "…..asshole….", paused, cast a glance over. Clay turned over, faced away from the billowing, smoky, smoking smoke.

He shrugged. Whatever. "Let him be Sonny." Now, where was he? Oh right, let's see….if he removed the battery, put it in that pocket….no, wait, it had a charger, where the hell was he going to put that?

He doubted he would ever need a bone saw/drill in the field and if anyone was ever trapped and the only way to save their life was to amputate a limb, he wouldn't use this wonderful new saw, but just to have it, made him sooooo giddy….eeeeeEEE!

Oh, if he put the battery and charger here, the extra blades there, then the saw would, with a bit of jiggling, fit right there….Yah-Hoo! Success! He was on a roll! He hadn't needed to bring this backpack with him on this trip, but it had been too much temptation to be able to play with it on down time to leave it behind.

"Trent? Hey, why's he coughing?"

"Huh?" Trent wiggled and jiggled some more…there, perfect fit. Now where was that cutting tool? "Huh? Yeah. Sure."

Sonny paused, cast a glance in Trent's – on his knees, surrounded by medical supplies Sonny couldn't identify or justify the need for – direction, turned his full attention back to Clay, whom he ceased to badger. The medic always muttered; huh, yeah, sure, when he had no idea what had been said.

"What's wrong with him?" Sonny demanded, tossed a good-sized stone in Trent's direction. "Hey." His tone was edgy. "Talking to you."

Trent paused, hands and teeth full of packets and packages. He frowned, where was he going to tuck all this shit?

"What?" The stone hit his elbow, hit the ground unheeded. "Who?" He cast a look down, huh, pine cones falling out of trees now? "Go away."

"Are you listening to me?"

"What?"

"You didn't hear anything I said."

"Sure, let him sleep." Brock was around somewhere, let him get between Sonny and Clay, make the Texan behave.

"What?" Sonny huffed impatiently. Trent wasn't paying him any attention, absorbed with the backpack he'd outgrown – no surprise there – with unlimited access to whatever the medic wanted. What made him so special? Why hadn't Blackburn arranged for Sonny to have unlimited access to a weapons facility? Play favorites much Lt. Commander? "Dude, pay attention."

Preoccupied with too many too-small pockets and a lack in variety of sizes, he wasn't. Paying attention, that is, to Sonny or Clay.

"Let him be." Trent murmured distractedly. "Why you always gotta bother him?"

"I didn't touch him!"

"You've been poking at him since we got here. Leave him alone."

"But he's wheezing." Sonny complained. "Why's he wheezing? It's annoying. Trent…do your job, dude. Make him stop." He nudged Clay in the foot with a booted toe. "Come on powder-puff, if you're gonna cough, at least cough like a man."

Clay had felt fine – tired, but fine, what with burning eyes, sore throat, smarting hands and all – when he'd woken up. There'd been no coughing, no tightness in his chest, no trouble breathing. Not while he slept, or showered, or ate. Not even when he'd gone swimming or worked out before taking another nap. The inhalation of smoke hadn't had any lasting effects.

So, why had that all suddenly changed?

The air suddenly thick, he couldn't catch his breath. He rolled over, pushed to his hands and knees, crawled out of the sleeping bag, but when he attempted to rise, his chest tightened, he couldn't inhale. Dizzy and suddenly disoriented, he went down on his elbows, pulled his knees to his chest, remained doubled over, tried to breathe.

"Make up your mind. Is he wheezing or coughing?" Trent caught movement in his excellent peripheral vision, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, fuck, where the hell did the kid think he was going to go? "Where you going?" He still didn't get up, his attention still on what to place where. "Lay down, I promise Sonny will stop, won't you Sonny?" He shot the cowboy-wearing-hat-pain-in-the-ass a death glare. "Right?"

"Sonny, where the hell are you?" The 'walki-talki' sitting on a log nearby suddenly squawked. "Bravo 3?"

Lisa Davis.

"Can't it be both?" He scowled at the radio. "Now? She calls now? What the hell's her problem?" He didn't move to pick up the radio. "Women, I tell ya," If she was calling him by name and cursing, whatever she wanted, wasn't mission related.

"No." Aah, there was a somewhat empty pocket, now what could he stow and stuff in it? This? No. That? Maybe.

"Kid needs a physical or something." Sonny muttered, curled an arm around Clay's belly, hauled him off his knees. "On your feet. Stand up. Hey, put your feet…no…your feet…hey now….dude," he blew his breath out in exasperation, "don't be a pansy. Stand up." He gave Clay, who was draped over his arm, a jiggle-wiggle. "Look, I ain't kidding. Stand. The. Fuck. Up."

Trent huffed, like Clay hadn't just had one? Or two? Geez-Louise, you Texan ass-hat, pay attention! Doc had been very thorough.

"Sonny, I'm done kidding, leave him the fuck alone." Oh, Sonny well knew that tone. "If I have to get up, remember, you can't outrun me."

But Clay wasn't capable of cooperating with Sonny's demands. He was too busy coughing up a lung and simply choking on air. His ability to breathe was compromised and when Sonny tried to put him down, his chest squeezed tight, seized up, sealed off any and all access to his lungs.

Was that possible? Must be, because even though it was dark outside, his vision was greying because he – Could. Not. Breathe.

"Not kidding Clay!" Sonny growled impatiently, a bit breathlessly. Dangling him over his arm wasn't easy, and because the kid had gone boneless, was limp, and weighed a fucking ton, both arms with clasped hands beneath his belly were required to hold him. "Put your feet on the ground!"

But he couldn't. He couldn't even try. The band of steel around his belly – Sonny's arms – hampered his ability to cough, and without being able to cough, he wheezed, unable to actually breathe.

"Easy Sonny, Jesus." Trent advised when Cerberus appeared, bared his teeth over Sonny's rough-handling of his 2nd favorite person. "Put him down!"

"Bravo 3, radio check." Lisa sounded bored, annoyed. "Anyone out there? You sleeping again? Sonny? Hello?"

"Whatever." Sonny let Clay go, expected him to stand, but he collapsed to the ground with a thud that made Trent finally look over. Sonny rolled his eyes in disgust. "Trent, you can't answer them? You expect me to do it, like you do everything else, right? Just 'cause 3 comes before 4, doesn't mean I have to do everything, Ray's not…."

But Trent wasn't listening. Suddenly a whirl of activity, he scrambled on his knees, lunged for a different backpack, spun it around, tore open flaps and unzipped zippers as he fought to keep it upright.

Crumpled up in a heap at Sonny's feet, Clay struggled to breathe. No matter how many times he gasped, or how hard he tried to inhale, he simply couldn't get a breath and his black-dotted vision had nothing to do with kicked up dust. His fingers clawed at the dirt, but he was unable to push up or turn his face off the ground.

"The hell you doing?" Sonny demanded. "Clay, I swear, you are..." He picked up the radio, "Stand by Davis, twinkle-toes is throwing a fit."

"Get him flat." Trent ordered.

Sonny looked around, what, the medic was ordering him around now?

But, no. He was talking to Brock who had somehow, at some point, silently appeared. Sonny scowled when Brock quietly obeyed without question or hesitation. He grabbed ankles and knees, pulled, dragged, pushed, rolled, flipped until Clay was on his back, his head on Brock's knees.

Oh. So, no. Nope, no one was talking to him. What, he wasn't good enough to help Trent with the powder-puff?

Watching Brock in disbelief, it didn't occur to Sonny to offer to help. "Okay, now I say," he began, eyes widening, mouth dropping as he watched Trent dig, fling and toss item after item until he pulled out a portable EMT-3 oxygen kit. "When'd you get that?" He gaped. "When?"

"Heyheyheyhey….kid….come on….." Trent slapped Clay's hands away when the kid tried to block Trent from affixing the mask over his face. "Stop….Clay…STOP! Brock?!" He didn't bother trying to slid the mask over Clay's head, just held it against his mouth, adjusted the flow, opened the nozzle. "You're….okay, breathe….that's it….breathe, take a breath, another."

Brock, having gained control of Clay's attempts to stop Trent, let go of his hands, took the mask, held it against Clay's face, felt him relax, go limp against his thighs as the kid was able to breathe.

"The hell's this shit?" Sonny demanded, tried to itch his head, encountered his hat, scrubbed his nose. "Really Trent? That necessary? He needs oxygen? Why he need oxygen? Overkill memmbe, you think?"

Counting Clay's pulse, Trent glared.

Brock's quiet suggestion was in fact, an order. "Take a walk Sonny,"

"Wait," hands on hips, Sonny stood and stared. "You're not joking."

"Go find Jason." Brock waved him on. "He good?" He asked Trent who, apparently okay with Clay's heart rate, nodded. "The hell happened?"

"Clay? Hey." Trent patted his cheek until he gained Clay's attention. "You with me?" a slight nod. "Yeah? Okay, your chest hurt?" a slight shake. "No?"

"Smoke from the fire, you think?"

"Never bothered him before."

"Maybe some dumb ass didn't add pine before." He glared at Sonny, "Chill in the air? Might be different over here?"

"Maybe. Could be. Not sure."

Clay blinked, tried to keep his eyes open, but his lids were heavy and wanted to remain closed.

"Must be the pine." Brock mused, shot an ominous glance at Sonny. "Don't usually like to burn it."

"It does make smoke." Sonny smirked, backed up a step when Trent rose to his feet. "Whoa, just teasing man, down boy."

"Woof!" Cerberus was on all fours. "Woof!"

"Not you," Sonny shushed the dog. "Shush." He took a step back. "Brock, call him off."

"Why you gotta be such an ass all the time?" Brock sighed, snapped his fingers and Cerberus laid down. Trent had stalked Sonny and they now stood nose-to-nose, hands fisted at their sides but the most easy-going member of the team, knew a way to head off the potential fist fight...for the time being anyway. "Trent, what do I do here?"

"What's that you say?" Sonny didn't take his eyes off Trent, but he was talking to Brock, who ignored him because it wasn't Sonny he was talking to.

Okay, make that, two ways.

Since Sonny refused to leave and fetch Jason, Brock knew a sure-fire way to bring their boss running.

Dogs had an array of barks: Greetings, happy, friendly, playful, danger, frantic. And warnings; I-wanna-come-in, I wanna play, I've-chased-a-squirrel-up-a-tree, leave-me-alone, something's out there, if-there-wasn't-a-fence-between-us, I'm-gonna-rip-your-arm-off, you've-got-30-seconds, you'd-better-come-see-what-I'm-barking-at…...

And their boss knew every tell-tale bark of the team dog.

"Trent, hey, he doesn't like the mask," Brock exaggerated, got a confused blue-eyed sleepy look, gave the kid a grin. "Can he take it off?"

The medic turned away from Sonny, removed something from a backpack. "No."

And Cerberus continued to bark.

At first, Ray didn't know why Jason had just stopped talking, stood still, cocked his head.

"That Cerb?" Ray guessed, turned in the direction of camp but remained still. So much for some solitude and space from his squabbling teammates. Jason would be returning to camp and nothing Ray could say would deter him. Not with the dog barking like that.

Jason had ordered Sonny to leave Clay alone and for Clay to go to bed…so, what the hell now?

"Jay, we've gone over this," Ray began as Jason circled, set out at a steady pace. "More than once," he was on his boss's heels. "Look, we can't go running back because the dog is barking."

"Then don't." Jason snapped. "Patrol."

"That isn't how….okay, really?" He huffed. "There's no need to run."

But Jason strode ahead purposefully, thoughts on the last time he'd been 'camping' in these woods with Clay. Had that just been days ago?