Of all things Jason expected to see when he made his way into camp, Clay sprawled in Brock's lap with an oxygen mask over his face, his hands clutching the material at the dog handler's knees, was not one of them.
Where the hell had Trent gotten an oxygen tank? When?
He threw his arms out, jutted his weight to one foot, settled his fingertips on his hips, waited for and got – without asking – an explanation. His silence and stance said it all.
"Sonny blew smoke in his face." Brock promptly said, his tone somber, serious. "He's breathing okay now, doesn't want the oxygen but Trent won't let him off it."
HaHaHa, Brock snickered…Jason was annoyed now? Pfft, had he arrived sooner, he would have seen Clay twitching, fidgeting, unable to relax and lie still, fighting the oxygen mask, not realizing it would help him breathe as Trent patiently talked him through it.
"Smoke?" Ray questioned skeptically. "Really? Smoke?" his dubious tone, look, stance, portrayed doubt. "You mean..." he waved a hand at the fire, "That smoke?"
"From pine wood." Brock shot back defensively. "Yeah, Ray, that smoke."
Jason wanted to believe Brock was kidding, but he knew that tone, that look, that set jaw. No, this wasn't a prank.
Ray went silent, gauged and judged the tension between Trent and Sonny, didn't miss the cackle in the air. Oh yeah, he believed Sonny was responsible – deliberate or not – for the current state of Bravo's rookie. He decided to change course.
"There a problem here?" He asked calmly. "Cause we're out here to do a job, not fight each other." A job that currently wasn't being done – by anyone. "We done playing games?"
"I don't believe this." Jason shoved a hand through his hair, pointed a finger at Sonny. "You."
"Oh boy." Sonny heaved. Yup, he was on the shit list now. "Now Boss, I didn't do nothing." He pivoted away from Trent, glanced down at Clay, looked away. Was he feeling…..guilt? He gulped. He hadn't meant to hurt the kid...hell no, he hadn't done anything to hurt the kid. "Look here….I…." He back-stepped as his boss stalked forward. "Listen, you see….the kid, he….it was smoke Jason." He stressed his innocence. "Just smoke."
And Jason's hands went up in disbelief.
"What we looking at here Trent?" Ray asked. "He'll be good after some sleep, right?"
"Wrong." Trent snapped. Ray blinked. Had the medic just taken his head off? That wasn't going to be tolerated.
"What was that?" Ray asked sharply. Oh no, he was not going to be talked to like that. He stepped forward. "What did you just say?"
"Did I stutter?" Trent countered, and Ray took another step forward, his advance halted by a palm against his chest. He looked down, if that hand belonged to Trent, he would….oh...t was Jason's.
Trent, without Ray even noticing, had moved to swipe the walkie-talkie from Sonny who slapped at him in an attempt to block him and keep it.
"I don't have time for this." Jason's tone shut down any and all attempts to argue or talk over one another, separated Trent and Sonny. "I don't want to hear another word from anyone but you." He pointed at Trent. "The fuck happened?" He took possession of the walkie-talkie, gave it to Ray, who keyed in.
"Who'm I talking to?" Ray asked calmly, look of irritation cast at Trent who glared, no, glowered, right back.
"Bravo 2?" Lisa's inquiring reply was prompt. "About time! What's going on?"
"What do you want Davis?"
"Oh, just standing by." She replied airily. She was used to Bravo and their ways, wasn't at all offended. "Sonny?" She prompted. "Never mind. Hey, listen…."
"He's busy pondering how many hills he's gonna run with 50 lbs. on his back."
"HEY!" Sonny protested. "For what? What'd I do?" He turned to Jason for back-up. "Boss!?"
"Not. Another. Word." Jason uttered lethally and Sonny wisely held his tongue. "Trent? Still waiting."
Clay stirred, blinking sleepily to bring his vision into focus. It was harder than it should have been and left him slightly panicked.
"Hey there." Brock was upside over him but identifiable and had an immediate calming effect. "You with me?"
Clay nodded, relaxed. "Ni'I'm'ok." He mumbled around the oxygen mask. He raised a hand to push it away. Brock glanced at Trent who nodded, so he let him.
"Davis, gonna have to get back to you." Ray tossed the walkie-talkie and no one dared retrieve it. "Now, what's going on?"
"Start talking, and so help me God, it had better make sense." Jason ordered. "What the hell happened to him?"
"Now Boss, just listen," began Sonny, who was silenced by just one look. The words, 'I don't want to hear one more word from you' didn't need to be spoken. "Right, yeah, shut up Sonny."
"Nigh 'eel….nawful." Clay struggled to sit up. Brock glanced at Trent who nodded, then helped the blonde off his lap into a sitting position.
But Jason only had eyes for Trent. "Does he need to go in?"
Clay coughed, hacked, coughed some more. Palm against his chest, he wheezed in one shaky, hard-fought breath, then another. "No," he shook his head, "I'm….uh, good." He wheezed, eyes closing. "Membe….not, so…much"
"Your chest hurt?" Trent ignored his boss, kept his attention on Clay who Brock was ready to catch should he fall over. He flashed his light in Clay's face, relieved to not see blue tinged lips. "Hey?"
Clay wasn't prone to panic, had never had a panic attack, but right now, he was scared. Breathing was hard. It hurt. Hurt to talk, hurt to breathe, hurt to draw in what should be a simple breath, hurt to sit up.
The allure of the warmth Brock offered was just too damn much and Clay pitched sideways into his arms, went limp.
"Dammit!" Trent exploded, kicked a duffel and Brock reached for the oxygen mask.
Ray was impatient, insisted Clay get some sleep here at the camp, the rest of them had a job to do.
Brock and Trent ignored everyone but each other.
Jason was annoyed Brock and Trent carried on a conversation without including him.
Sonny was trying to avoid taking blame for, well, anything.
Clay remained doubled up across Brock's lap, struggling to breathe, even with the oxygen mask.
"You." Jason pointed at Sonny. "Take him in."
"ME?" Sonny jabbed his thumb against his chest, "Alone?" He waited, but Jason's silence was his affirmative confirmation. "How?" He demanded, playing with his beard. "Don't look like he's gonna do any walking."
Jason held a silent conversation with his medic, their eyes doing the talking.
"It serious?"
"Dunno?"
"Should he go in?"
"Yup."
"Do you need to be the one to go with him?
"Sonny ain't gonna kill him."
"Then carry him." Jason growled, pivoted on his heel, melted from sight.
***000***
Tasked with returning Clay to base, Sonny was eager to see him safely into Doc's capable care so he could seek a hot shower and decent meal. But once there, he finally learned the reason Lisa had radioed in on the walkie-talkie: Doc wasn't on base.
Well, shit.
The team from Support led by Dutch had fallen ill from polluted water, bad food, poison ivy or oak or some such calamity and Doc had galivanted off to visit their camp. If by some chance they'd contracted something contagious, no one wanted them back on base.
That left Sonny with no choice but to take Clay to the infirmary and relinquish him to the staff's care. Blackburn was in a meeting, smoothing over some infraction or another caused by Bravo at some point in time and couldn't be interrupted.
Had he just stopped to think, he might have remembered, the very first thing he was supposed to do when he got back, was go to Ops, call Trent – not deposit Clay at the infirmary and wander on his way in search of a burger.
By the time he remembered what his orders from Trent had been, he'd showered, changed and eaten and Clay had been in the infirmary for well over an hour – probably going on two – and he decided to contact his team before checking on his teammate, thinking no one would ever know what had happened since returning to base...what sense that made, eluded him, he simply didn't want to think about it.
Not his first mistake of the day. Or second. Third?
All they did - every last one of them, even Support, because the teams had met up - was give him shit. They hadn't known Doc wasn't on base when Jason sent Sonny back with Clay and no one appreciated it when Sonny had pointed out Ray had been the ones to decide not to hear Davis out when she'd contacted them.
Instead, they insisted it had been Sonny's fault they hadn't known because he'd been the one to tell Davis to 'stand by'. When Sonny had pointed out Ray had been the one to toss the walkie-talkie, that comment had been ignored and he'd been told, had Sonny bothered to talk to Davis, Sonny would have remained behind and Trent would have accompanied the team's rookie. So, it was Sonny's fault he was stuck on base, doing babysitting duties.
And they were pissed Sonny hadn't called in and told them. They found out when, not having heard from Sonny, they'd contacted Davis, who had rolled him under the bus. Hell, she'd backed up and rolled over him again!
A fact the medic was quick to point out before he ordered – ordered – Sonny not to leave Clay alone or in the infirmary with that bespectacled quack. He was to keep the kid within his sights at all times, in quarters where he would stay until Bravo, who remained out on recon and surveillance, returned to base and Trent and Doc figured out whatever the hell the problem was that Clay had.
Sonny decided now wasn't the time to inform Trent he'd done exactly that – leave the kid alone with the quack. Hell, wasn't his fault Trent wasn't aware how much time had passed since he and Clay had left the camp. And besides, Trent didn't give him orders, who the hell did the medic think he was? And who the hell did he think he was talking to?
Soooome people, geesch!
He stuttered out some response that was not at all understandable when Trent asked to speak to Clay and quickly disconnected. He had shit to do!
Trent stared at Jason when the walkie-talkie went silent and no amount of repeated name calling, convinced the device to magically produce Sonny's twangy accent. Jason understood, he nodded, slapped Trent on the back in a show of support.
"You can kick his ass." Jason promised, shut Ray's objections down with a hand wave. "Later Ray."
Able to communicate with Doc via comm's when they hadn't heard from Sonny, Trent was reassured by Doc who was confident that since Clay had responded to oxygen; there wasn't anything much to fret over, no need to be concerned, all would be well; they'd figured this out. In the meantime, he suggested they keep Clay out of the woods and away from smoke for the next week or so.
When Trent pointed out their rookie had spent a lot of time near fires right there on the base camp and hadn't once been affected by smoke, Doc assured him, though he was unable to explain what was happening, together, they'd figure it out. In the meantime, perhaps, it'd be a good idea to confine their 'imitator of a gasping, waterless fish' to base.
He hadn't given up, and refused to be defeated and his firm confidence was all Trent needed to be reassured.
Jason let Trent handle whatever was happening back on base, didn't ask questions about his conversation with Doc. Ray was concerned Trent wouldn't be able to focus, do his job, but Jason waved away his worries. He had no doubt in his medic's abilities to forget about Clay and do what needed to be done out in the woods.
He was looking forward to eradicating the camp of hostiles they were seeking so he could return to base and find out for himself just what the hell was going on. He wasn't going to prevent the major shit-show waiting to happen because he was pretty pissed at Sonny himself. Trent was on edge and ready to start throwing haymakers…..Because. Sonny. Simply. Did. Not. Listen...and Jason was going to let him.
()()()
Avoiding Davis, Sonny slipped of out the Ops room and safely made his escape. Whistling, he made his way over to the infirmary, expecting to pick Clay up and be on their way.
His good mood and merriment were short-lived.
Clay wasn't in what Sonny guessed was the infirmary ER. When he charmed the female soldier at what he assumed was an information desk, he expected to be told Clay had been released, and was making plans to track him down, return him to their quarters when he was instead told, Clay had been moved to a private room.
Say what? The infirmary had private rooms? Who knew? Well then, okay, where the hell were they?
She pointed with a pen, didn't even bother to look up, "That way."
"Right-o," Sonny barged in, clapped his hands. "Yo! Boy Toy, time to go!" His foot kicked a table on wheels, it skittered across the floor, banged into the sink counter with a clank, clash, clang, loud enough to bring the dead upright in their coffin.
Wake Clay, though? Oh hell no.
Sprawled on his back, an oxygen mask over his mouth, raised rails on the bed, a blanket bundled to his chin, the blonde merely rolled his head when the silence was shattered and his sleep disrupted. He was groggy and confused, his face so pale, even a clueless Sonny noticed. His eyes blinked opened, focused somewhat, but he made no other move to acknowledge the disturbance.
Sonny counted that as a positive sign, deciding the kid knew who he was and saw no need to panic. Yeah, that. He was gonna go with that, and not even consider the possibility the blonde might be medicated or….well, you know…..so, uh, ill, he couldn't respond.
"Hey! Yay! You're awake." Sonny chattered, tugged at the blanket. "Dude, we gotta get goin' and you can't ever let Trent know you were here." He nodded when the loss of the blanket revealed Clay was dressed in his boxer briefs and attached to no needles or tubes other than the oxygen. "You got me? You do, don't you? Are you mobile? You can walk, right? I don't wanna hafta carry you." He was trying to detach the oxygen mask, wondered why he was having such a difficult time. "You ain't as light as you look, you know."
"Go…'way."
"Tarnation….is this contraption?" He muttered, tugged and pulled and twisted until he finally freed the plastic/rubber mask from Clay's mouth, tossed it aside. "Finally! Okay then, you good? Let's blow this joint." He helped – made – Clay sit up, slide down below the rails, swing his feet off the bed. "And never, ever tell Trent you were here."
Clay didn't want to go. The bed was comfy, the room was warm, someone popped in to check on him, ask if he needed anything. He certainly didn't want to depend on Sonny who did nothing but make him miserable...and...wait, don't tell Trent? He wasn't ever supposed to keep shit from Trent, was he? He wasn't.
"Heyheyhey….what'r'ya doing?" Sonny prattled on when Clay pulled a foot back onto the mattress. "The floor dude, the floor. Put your feet on the floor."
But Clay didn't want to. Finally alone, laying down in silence, his chest had eased and he could breathe without gasping, without pain. So yeah, he was content to stay right where he was.
"Oh no you don't." Sonny grunted when the pain-in-the-ass tried to lie back down. "You can't be found here. Trent will skin me alive. Come on, come on, get up. You can sleep in your own bunk."
It should have occurred to Clay to say no. To insist he wanted to stay where he was. To call for the medic on duty, raise a ruckus. But it didn't. Even though being around Sonny wasn't pleasant, he was Bravo, his teammate, and where they went, he would go.
He was foggy-brained, muddle-headed and beyond comprehending he had a say in what Sonny wanted him to do.
"Oh boy," Sonny sighed. "Dude! Come on here! We gotta go!" And Clay responded to the urgency in his teammate's voice. Though why Sonny felt the need to hurry, he couldn't explain. Maybe something to do with Trent?
Other than Clay's pale complexion, sleepy eyes and grogginess, he appeared fine to Sonny because Sonny wanted him to be fine, so the burly Texan didn't think to ask how the kid was feeling. If he had, and had Clay told him though he could breathe and there was little pain, he was exhausted and wanted to stay where he was, Sonny just might – might – have left him in the infirmary.
Maybe. Probably not.
It was only later, in the darkness and solitude of his own bunk, Clay sleeping across the room, did Sonny admit he may have slightly panicked, seeing the kid all pale and listless in a hospital bed. He was by no means scared of 'the wrath of Trent', but Clay had looked so small and young, huddled up on pillows, burrowed under a blanket up to his clean-shaven chin – which had made him look even younger – that Sonny's only thought had been to get the kid out of there and back to the safety of their room, where he would be normal-sized and Sonny could keep an eye on him.
The kid had walked out of the woods to their transport, some two miles away, but Sonny had had to support his weight….there was nothing small about the guy….so why then, had he reminded Sonny of being, like, 12?
And why had it bothered him so much?
With a muttered curse, he got up, crossed the room, turned on a desk lamp, tossed a t-shirt over it to mute the bright bulb. Yeah, he was a 30-something year old Navy SEAL trained in a hundred different ways to kill, and he needed a nightlight to sleep.
Pfft…..he needed a nightlight so whenever he opened his eyes, he could see the reason his ass was gonna get kicked. No one was around to call him on it…..so, yeah, the light was staying on.
***000***
Bravo didn't return to base for two days. They trudged in, tired, dirty and hungry but successful along with the Support team led by Randy. Doc remained off base with Dutch and his team.
Trent, still unaware that Clay had been left alone with the infirmary doctor, was too tired and dirty to hunt the kid down upon his return. They were all beat, wanted hot showers, a hot meal and bed.
By the time Trent had stowed his gear, put away his weapons, showered, dressed and ate, hours had passed. When he asked where Clay and Sonny were, he was told Ops with Davis and Blackburn and he sure as hell wasn't going to go there!
He'd see the kid in the morning. Or after dinner. Whenever.
He had a headache, he ached and the lure of his ratty, lumpy mattress with its crisp sheets and warm blanket was just too much to ignore. The room was empty, no one else had yet returned, he didn't know where anyone was and he didn't care.
He kicked his unlaced boots off, shimmied out of his pants, fell flat on his back onto his bunk dressed in a long-sleeved Henley and boxer briefs. He was too tired to even crawl under the blanket. Closing his eyes with a grunt of relief, he flung his arm over his eyes, blew his breath out….aaannddd….what the fuck was that?
()()()
Clay rubbed eyes that burned from fatigue. He hadn't felt good since walking out of the woods and waking up in the infirmary. The sequence of events was hazy, and what he did remember, didn't make any sense. Sonny, the only team member on base with him, was constantly around but somewhat subdued and Clay hadn't wanted to do anything to make him start acting like his usual, annoying self.
Restricted to base, he ate and slept, worked out and went swimming. He went to the shooting range, checked his weapons inventory, called home, sat with Mandy in Ops, translated and deciphered, popped aspirin when needed.
"Ellis?" Blackburn entered the command room. "Davis." He nodded in greeting. "Been at it awhile, Bravo's back, Spenser, take a break."
"We're nearly…." Mandy began but Blackburn was shaking his head. "Just another five min…."
"Pick it up again later." His tone brooked no-nonsense. "Make yourself scarce Spenser. What we got Davis?"
Clay didn't insist on staying or protest the order, he escaped and returned to barracks, expecting to grab a nap before hitting the weights, then dinner before returning to Ops – not duck items thrown at his head the minute he opened the door.
Instinct and training had him ducking, drawing his gun from the back waist of his jeans and crouching as he took aim.
Trent didn't care. Didn't even seem to notice.
"What. The. Fuck. Is. This?" 'this' hit Clay in the chest, bounced off, tip-tapped twice, skittered under a bunk. "The hell Clay? You hiding shit from me?"
Jeff lingered in the doorway, shook his head. "Oh, boy." Should he stay, play referee? Leave, fetch Jason?
Since it was Trent asking, Clay had a fairly good idea the medic knew exactly what it was. He returned his gun to its previous position, stood up, but stayed out of flying fists reach.
Trent advanced, Clay retreated and they began a slow dance of staying just far enough apart as they circled the room, neither could strike the other.
"Where did you get it?" Trent uttered around a clenched jaw. "It doesn't have a label."
Licking his teeth, Clay blinked, aaahhh….huh….best way to answer that? He opened his mouth to answer but apparently, he'd taken longer than the allowed two seconds, because Trent was off on a tangent.
"I have five kids," Trent began, paused, shrugged. "I think.…." he frowned, shrugged again, "You have one job, make sure we go home. That's it. It moves, you shoot it. It's dead, done deal."
Clay gave his head a vigorous shake. Say what? He must be more tired than he'd thought, 'cause Trent wasn't making any sense. He had five kids? The hell?!
Trent stared, just stared. He was exhausted and his ability to think coherently was just out of reach, but there was something about the kid...something...some-thing...something he couldn't put a finger on...just...yet...it was...it..was...
"Five kids?" Clay repeated, rubbing his jaw "Really? Uh, wow! How do you manage that?"
And just like that, Trent was distracted from Clay's appearance. "You don't need to worry about the quantity of rug-rats running around my house. Let's talk about that." He pointed to the plastic vial on the floor. "How you gonna save my ass, I'm running across an open space, you're huffin' steroids from a plastic vial?"
Standing his ground, Clay defensively objected. "Not a steroid. He said it was just a mist…available over the counter. See?" he bent to retrieve it, held it out. "It's just Primatene…."
"He? He who?" Trent pounced. "Who's he, Clay?" He began to stalk, and oh, that look. Clay stepped behind Jeff, constructed a barrier between him and one very pissed-off medic. "He….He? Who…." He stopped to think. Doc hadn't been, still wasn't, on base, so who would have….oh no. No. No way. Oh, hell no. "Not that asshat I wasn't allowed to strangle?"
Wow.
Clay understood the reason Bravo was so good, was their ability to think fast, grasp details, connect dots, add pieces together. But he'd thought that was attributed to Jason….not…well, not Trent.
"Well, but Trent...the thing is..." Clay began. Christ, the medic had to be exhausted - he looked like shit. Eyes red and puffy lined with shadows from lack of decent sleep. Did he never quit?
"Tell me you didn't see….." And the stalking began again, Jeff backing up, Clay behind him. "You did, didn't you? You saw that funky glass-wearing asshole? He gave you this?"
"Uh….."
"Sonny let him?"
"Um…."
So, Sonny had, and hadn't told Trent about it. "When?"
Silence.
"When?"
"When what?"
"When. Did. He. Give. You. This?"
"I…." Clay shook out. What the hell was he doing? He wasn't scared of Trent. Jeff wasn't scared of him either. Oh, the medic might throw punches, but he would never hurt any of them!
"When?"
"Trent….." Clay wheedled.
But the medic wasn't swayed. "We just went over this! What? Two days ago? Jesus Christ Clay, what part of listen to Doc, didn't you get?"
"I….he…..he wasn't…." Frustrated, Clay cursed. "You see…now, wait! Doc wasn't here!" So he'd been told by someone on staff at the infirmary. "I..."
"You're not stupid, stop playing like you are…..and you don't hide shit from me. You get that? You can't! Our lives depend on your ability to do your job!"
And now Clay's temper began to heat up. "Hide? What did I hide? I didn't hide a damn thing!"
"What part of 'you tell me', are you not getting? Toothache, headache, bellyache, hung over, don't matter. YOU. TELL. ME!"
"Does that include everyone on the team?"
"You damn well know it does!"
"I didn't hide anything though." Clay insisted, peeked around Jeff's shoulder. "You knew I was brought in, hell you're the one who sent me back….didn't they tell you Doc was called off base?"
"Where was Sonny?"
Caught off guard, Clay blinked. "What?"
He snatched the vial from Clay. "You got this here? In the infirmary? From that asshat?"
"Uh. Yeah?"
"When?"
"Does it matter?"
"It does." Jeff offered.
"Does Sonny know?"
"Then, I dunno." Clay tried to think, but those hours were still murky. "Uh….aaah….um….when I got back, I think? Maybe? Look, I…."
"Why? For what? What for?" Trent demanded. Why hadn't Sonny told him? "And you didn't call to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" Clay took a step back. "Doc wasn't….here, I don't think and….I…um, I mean….look, I…." He shrugged, spread his hands. "But…..uh…well, yeah." He finished lamely.
Trent's look was incredulous. His jaw dropped and his hands rested on either hip. Clay waited, prepared to flee. He was just too God-damned tired to engage in a fist fight now.
"Where. Was. Sonny?"
"Uh."
"Where was he, Clay?"
"Um..."
"I'm going to ask you one time," Trent began calmly, tone lethal. "Where was Sonny when the asshat gave you that inhaler?"
"Uh….." He looked at the ceiling, out the door, at the floor. "I…don't remember….?" he stammered weakly.
Trent pushed a hand through his hair. A red flush crept up his cheeks. Anger. Anger at Sonny and the doctor, not Clay, the blonde hoped. "Sonny let him give you that? Didn't question it?" And the Texan hadn't even told Trent about it.
"Uh….yeah….said…" Clay paused. "Look, I….I wasn't feeling so good Trent. I don't really know…where, um, Sonny…..he…was….huh." He again rubbed his jaw...Trent blinked...his bare jaw...his jaw was bare! "The infirmary was..."
Infirmary?
"Are you telling me…..he wasn't…..with you?" Trent questioned slowly as he reasoned it out. "You're saying…he left you...?" Still thinking, he paused...and finally, what bothered him about Clay's appearance, hit him. "When did you shave?"
"What?" Clay looked stupefied, the change of tone in the medics voice startled him more than the change of topic did. He simply stared, hand holding his jaw slowly dropped. "Uh..."
"Your beard is gone." Trent spoke slowly, slower than Clay had ever heard him and he didn't know what that meant. But Jeff did. Oh yes he did. Support's medic knew Typhoon Trent was building. "You're clean-shaven. You know who shaves beards Clay? Nurses who clean up patients in the infirmary." He looked up at the ceiling, rolled his eyes, took a deep breath. "He left you alone, didn't he? Left you alone…..in the infirmary?"
Jeff's look sharpened, the amused smiled dancing around his lips faded. "Aah, Trent? Hey now."
"Uh…who?" Clay shifted his weight uneasily. "I don't think….um…well...uh...huh."
"Sonofabitch!" Trent spun in a circle, stalked to the door, stopped, turned around. "For how long?
"What?"
"How fucking long did he leave you alone in the infirmary?"
"He...I..." Clay shrugged helplessly. "Little bit is all, I guess...he came and got me..."
"Long enough for them to clean you up."
"Guess so," he swallowed.
"Since you were there hours...did they give you a lung function test? Sinus X-ray?" he demanded. "Cause if that asshat, if anyone says you have asthma, they're going head first through a window."
Clay's eyes widened. A mere Navy medic knew enough about asthma to question if a diagnosis was determined? Wow.
"I don't know." He replied honestly. "Trent. No. He didn't say that. Just said to try the inhaler….."
"And what….let him know?" Clay had been groggy and confused, suffering from a second round of smoke inhalation when he'd been brought in, but Trent had adamantly told - ordered - Sonny not to leave Clay alone in the infirmary. "You don't know. Why's that?"
"It's all kinda...fuzzy, hazy." He sighed. "A blur."
"I'm gonna kill him."
Sonny.
Sonny Quinn.
The Texan.
Who was soon going to have two black eyes, a broken nose, and require the services of an oral surgeon.
Because he was about to be knocked into next week.
'Cause suddenly, Trent wasn't feeling so tired any more.
"Trent." Jeff said uncertainly. "Trent, whoa. Hey! Where are you going? Wait…..you…..TRENT!"
Trent had enough shit on his mind – mainly, what the hell was wrong with Bravo's kid. He sure as hell didn't need his teammates ignoring his orders and doing whatever the hell they wanted to.
But first, there was a man who wore his glasses wrong that needed to be set straight. Then, then, he'd find Sonny.