"I didn't throw you, you asshat." He finally retorted with a scowl. "Chill out. Not my fault, you lost your balance."

"Really?" Clay raised an eyebrow. "None?"

Voices had been raised, words had become ugly, pushing and shoving had ensued. Vic had placed both hands on Clay's shoulders and forcefully shoved him backwards. Off balance due to an aching hip, his entire body sore and not expecting the shove, Clay had fallen backwards into the metal railing that topped the fence around the outdoor patio that was just the right height, he hit the edge with his already bruised kidney.

Wow, his right side was really taking a beating.

Clay hadn't been able to hide the wince or suppress his hiss of pain. He'd been slow to get up and though he'd tried, he hadn't been able to hide a limp. He was still sore from the tumble off the bike and roll down the hill.

He'd tried to blow it off, but Betty had ordered him to see the doctor – hence, his third visit. Again, the man hadn't done more than ask him simple questions and poke at the bruise with a gloved hand. With a warning to let him know, should Clay see blood in his urine, he'd sent him on his way with a warning to take it easy the rest of the night.

So, he had. He'd donned headphones, sprawled in a hammock tied between two trees and read until it had become too dark to see, then retired to his room and watched TV until he'd fallen asleep, still wondering how Betty had even known about the incident.

He'd gone to bed with one hell of a headache though and ugh, this morning, he'd woken up with it and was so stiff and sore, more than he'd expected to be, that he felt like doing absolutely nothing.

He'd taken some aspirin sometime during the night, but it hadn't worked. Maybe he'd spent too much time in the sun, or hadn't had enough to eat at dinner. Maybe it was the tension of dealing with Vic. Maybe the spill from the bike, the roll down the hill, the collision with the fence, had caught up to him. Or maybe he'd hit his head and hadn't known it.

He ran his finger through his curls…time for a haircut….nope, no lumps or bumps, so maybe it was his sinuses due to the barometric pressure from the building storm, the one the news said could become a dangerous hurricane. The guests had been assured they were safe at the resort: There were no close trees in danger of crashing through a roof, they were too high in the mountains to flood and should wind become a problem, the main building with the guest rooms had been built to withstand hurricane strength winds.

He massaged his temples with the pads of his thumbs. Hopefully eating something would ease this damn headache. He'd go to the kitchen after breakfast, get a popsicle or something cold to eat.

"I didn't throw you." Vic repeated crossly. "Learn to stand on your two feet. Maybe then, the team won't always have to chase after your ass." Man, but Spenser just pissed him off and they were only eating breakfast. Clay was at ease with the staff, at home in their world and no matter how hard Vic tried, he just wasn't accepted as easily as Clay was. "What are you smirking at?" He demanded angrily. He'd loved to wipe that shit-eating grin right off Spenser's smug face.

Clay blinked, Vic's annoying tone pushed through his thoughts, cut short his wallowing about his misery.

"Just thinking about what Jason's gonna say." Clay's lips stretched across his teeth in some semblance of a smile. Ray might believe Vic was innocent and agreeable but Jason wasn't yet sold on that. Clay never would be.

"About what? You insisting I don't treat the help the way you think I should?" Vic sneered. "Yeah, good luck with that. Ain't shit he's gonna do about it."

Clay tilted his head, stared his teammate down.

"Nah, your momma shudda done that." He strongly suspected this trip wasn't punishment. It was a way for Jason to separate Clay from Rebecca while he rested and let his kidney heal while avoiding temptation to travel or 'meet her'. And he was okay with that, he just didn't understand why he'd been saddled with freakin' Lopez.

"Fuck you."

Clay flipped him off, ate the last piece of now cold bacon on his plate. Breakfast was over.

Really, his team was going to have to accept the presence of a girlfriend in his life. They accepted every other wife, girlfriend, fiancée…whatever the hell Pam was, so they would just have to find a way to welcome Rebecca.

"Why you gotta be such a jerk?" Vic asked. He didn't understand why Bravo, Blackburn and Davis included, hovered over Spenser like he was the Golden Child come to Earth.

It. Fucking. Drove. Him. Nuts.

Mostly, because no one would tell him anything. And what pissed him off even more was Metal, who hadn't run with Bravo the first two and half years Clay had been on the team, knew everything Vic didn't.

Yeah, the big guy had led Alpha, the team that most often accompanied Bravo on missions, but even so, a lot had happened when Metal hadn't been with the team, and yet, he knew everything!

In order to get a feel for the team, understand how they operated, Vic had requested and been allowed, access to the action reports of Bravo's missions. He'd read them all but either a lot was left out or Bravo ridiculously over-reacted when it came to Clay, because nothing he'd read led him to believe any of the stories they told about Spenser or any of the rumors he'd heard.

When he asked questions, only Ray would give him any kind of answer:

Metal shrugged, said it was all before his time, walked away.
Sonny guffawed, tweaked Vic's nose, walked away.
Brock, who never spoke anyway, shrugged his shoulders, walked away.
Trent simply glared, muttered something about life with Clay, walked away.
Davis explained her new status prohibited her from discussing it, walked away.
Blackburn questioned why Vic would question him, walked away.
Jason said it was need to know basis, and Vic didn't need to know, walked away.
Mandy - yes, he'd even approached her, asked why it mattered, walked away.
Ray explained Clay had suffered an allergic reaction to a combination of meds but was okay now.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Didn't explain all the jokes and comments about 'losing the kid'; whose turn had it been to watch the rookie, or the utter panic he observed on the team when Clay had been out of their sight longer than they thought he should be.

"It's a knack." Clay responded, left a five-dollar-bill on the table, pushed back his chair. He needed a moment before he tried to stand. His hip had locked and he flexed/scrunched his butt in an attempt to make the muscle ease.

Finishing his coffee, Vic asked. "What're'ya gonna do all day?" He didn't care, but he had plans, wanted to throw it in Clay's face.

Clay leveled the man across the table from him with a look, almost a sneer, finally felt confident, rose to his feet.

"Plenty to do." He said evasively. "Don't start worrying about me now."

Vic shrugged. That meant Clay had plans to do something, most likely with some of the staff. Hell, it bugged him how everyone liked Clay and included him in everything. Clay, Clay, Clay. Always so polite and courteous and friendly and helpful. So well-mannered, chivalrous. Gag…it was enough to make him puke.

He waited, but Clay didn't invite him to join whatever outing was planned. Yeah, well, the friendly blonde prick wasn't the only one who could make friends.

"I'm headed into town, catch a movie with a couple of the guys from lawn maintenance." They hadn't invited him, he'd had to ask to tag along. No one asked him to go fishing or invited him to enjoy a couple beers at a campfire party. No, that had been Clay.

"Today? You didn't watch the news?" Clay felt obligated to advise. The crew that maintained the lawns were temps hired for the summer. They were loud and lewd, rude and crude, and weren't well liked among the permanent staff, so of course Lopez had bonded with them.

He had no idea what the hell Vic did all day…and he didn't really care, but those guys were up to no good. He sighed, the team wanted the two newest members to get along. For whatever reason, it was important to Ray, so that made it matter to Jason. Clay was trying, he really was. But there was just something about Victor Lopez that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn't explain it, it just was.

"Why?"

"Look out the window, you ass. You don't hear, see the storm? You do watch the news, don't you?"

"Really? Huh." Vic shrugged, blew the storm, his teammate off. "The news? No, why would I?" 'cause, Clay thought, you don't, you might get caught in a flood caused by a burst dam, be rescued by two well-meaning, but senile ladies and bartered away for two cats. "Don't go getting yourself hurt." He was warned. "Well, any worse than you already have."

"You should take a hike, maybe you'll do us all a favor and get lost." Clay shot back. "I ain't coming to your rescue, but I'll send out a search party." He'd finally, reluctantly, agreed to accompany the ladies to the resort, but no matter how much he'd protested, Jason had assigned Vic to be Clay's babysitter.

Like he needed one.

"Awww…you make me all warm and fuzzy." Vic snarked.

"Jason expects it of me." Clay shot back.

Vic scowled, decided the $5.00 was enough for the both of them, stood up, led the way from the room. "So, you wanna come?" He asked, as they weaved their way through a throng of slow-movers. "Or wait, you got 'plans'?" He mimicked sarcastically. He should back off a bit, knew he was pushing, but goody-two shoes Spenser, ugh, just egged him on.

Clay held back a huff. No, he didn't want to go. He didn't want to spend any more time with Vic than he had to. And he did have plans. He was going to hit the gym then retire to his room where he'd Skype with Rebecca before reading a book from the library in bed, see how he felt after resting a bit. He was sore, aching and his headache hadn't abated. Hell, his eyebrows throbbed.

With the weather raging, and the news meteorologist calling for the forecast to get worse, it made sense to stay put. Preferably in his room, and well away from Vic.

"Gonna hit the gym, call Rebecca, then yeah, found a good mystery to read."

"Always got your nose in a book." They entered the room with the saunas, whirlpool tubs and mud pits. "Dunno when you find the time to….." Vic bumped into a girl who was coming around the corner, arms full of magazines and books. The force of contact knocked her back several steps and the contents in her arms hit the floor when she fell into a table. "Watch where you're going." He scornfully chided her.

"Do you always have to be an ass?" Clay commented as he squatted down, gathered the pile of books strewn across the floor. "Not the place Lopez." He added once he had returned the items to the arms of the employee, who smiled and thanked him, shot a dirty look at Vic.

Vic hadn't even apologized or offered to help her gather what she dropped. He'd stepped over the strewn pile on the floor, kept on walking. When she'd stumbled against the table, glasses and dishes had been upended, but hadn't fallen. Again, Vic hadn't offered assistance or even inquired if she was alright.

That attitude and behavior is what made Clay have a hard time liking the guy. Those actions just pissed him off to the point, he couldn't warm up to the newest member of Bravo, no matter how hard he tried.

Vic smirked: Clay Spenser, ladies and gentlemen. Always courteous, forever polite.

"Yeah? What'cha gonna do about it Spenser?" Vic threw his arms wide. "Don't see anyone here to take your side this time. You're all on your own, walk away, read our book, you wimp."

Punching a teammate, a brother, in the mouth was frowned upon. Would probably result in running multiple flights of steep, concrete steps…..but Clay didn't care. He was done. He limped, gimped, had a sore hip, numerous bruises, burning scrapes and road rash, and it was all Vic's fault.

His right fist shot out, connected solidly. He pulled his punch, and Vic retained possession of all his teeth though both his lips split and he rocked back a couple of steps.

"You're an asshole." Clay retorted as Vic raised a hand, dabbed at first one bloody lip, then the other. He'd had enough of his teammate, his mouth, his attitude, his insults, his actions. He didn't feel well, his head was killing him, had been all damn night, he was in considerable discomfort because of the mouthy ass and he'd gotten little sleep because Vic simply would not leave him alone.

"I'm sick of you and your fucking attitude." Vic spat.

"What are you gonna do about it? Wanna come at me? Come on!" Clay raised his voice angrily, threw his arms wide, waited. "COME ON!"

Vic glared, wiped his fingers on his hip, considered throwing down with Spenser, decided against it. Whatever punishment Jason would dole out, just wasn't worth it.

"Yeah." Clay scoffed scornfully, "What I thought." He turned to walk away and Vic snapped, lunged forward.

"You might be the best shot I've even seen, but that don't make you better than anyone else." Vic growled. He expected to simply shove Clay off balance, maybe knock him into a table, but Clay, tired, sore, and bruised with a splitting headache, staggered sideways, not forward and the girl with the magazines tried to steady him, but slipped in spilled water and knocked against his shoulder.

The combined shove and knock propelled him forward with such force, he went head-first into the mud pit.

He didn't even try to stop himself because he was so sick of Vic's shit, he knew this would get reported to Betty and Vic would find himself in trouble with both Blackburn and Jason….hahahah….maybe he wouldn't have to run concrete stairs after all.

Childish? Yes. Did he care? No.

That's what happened when he had a sick headache and Vic came pounding on his door, dragged him to a breakfast he didn't want and badgered him into eating in the main dining room. He should have refused to accompany him, remained in his room and ate later in the kitchen. But no, he hadn't. Would he ever learn?

The mud pit was actually a sunken concrete tub for soaking and massages, clear skin. Clay went in face first and was completely submerged.

Vic pulled up short with a curse. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was in the process of jumping into the pit when Clay surfaced, spit out mud and turned over onto his back. He sought the built-in seat, perched uncomfortably while Vic twisted awkwardly to avoid landing in the mud with him.

"Toss me a towel, will ya?" He taunted Vic with a smirk, mud dripping from bangs hanging in his eyes. "Come on, be a pal." He wiped mud from his face with a muddy hand. "You know, for once."

Vic managed to land, if without grace, on the other side of the pit. His relief that Clay was conscious and apparently suffering no ill effects from the fall, vanished with Clay's glib attitude.

"Fuck. You." Vic ground out, pivoted smartly and strode from the room.

Clay chuckled. The mud was warm, smooth and the heat felt good on his sore muscles and aching hip, so he decided to just relax and see what the fuss was all about over mud baths. An attendant entered the room and promptly brought him warm, wet towels as well as clean, dry ones. She offered him refreshments, asked if he preferred a change in the music or wished the TV on, then proceeded to clean up the spilled water and dishes.

Cuddled in a comfy seat, surrounded by warmth, Clay fell asleep.

***000***

Betty relaxed into the depths of the comfortable leather chair, sipped her hot tea sweetened with honey and a splash of scotch, her feet soaking in warm, lemon scented bubbly water in preparation for a pedicure. It was still morning and she was already exhausted. She'd gotten little sleep, because the last twenty-four hours had gone and done her in.

The reason? Clay Spenser.

It was simply impossible to keep track of that boy! She'd tried, she truly had, to keep an eye on him! Why, the very day of their arrival, she'd enlisted the help of the maids, waitresses, a waiter or two, the desk girls, when she'd failed to find him where he'd said he'd be - reading peacefully in the library. They had no problems reporting back to her what he'd been up to, they all found him very fine indeed and Vic was worthless. She felt a bit sneaky doing it, but she was entrusted with the boy's care and he wasn't going to come up lame on her watch! No sirree!

BAH! WAH! HA! Epic failure there, Betty ole girl!

She'd come to the conclusion that it was impossible to watch Clay. He bored easily, lost interest quickly and never stayed in one place. Read a book? Yeah, for half an hour. Watch a movie? Yeah, until he couldn't sit still. Skype with the girlfriend? Yeah, until the Wi-Fi slowed down. Take a nap? Yeah, until he couldn't fall asleep.

Yesterday - yesterday! - their first full day at the resort, she'd taken her eyes off him for two minutes and he'd taken a fall off a mountain bike and gone head first off a cliff! Then, at dinner, she'd gone to get dessert at the buffet and he'd fallen into a wrought-iron railing! And then….and then…this morning, she'd taken a moment to apply a touch of lipstick and he'd gone off to breakfast with Vic and ended up falling head first into a pit of mud!

Mmmmm...okay, so no, she was forced to admit, much to her consternation, Eric certainly hadn't exaggerated when he told her how hard it was to keep Clay hale and hearty, within your sight. She'd been the one to suggest to Eric, he arrange for the boy to have an opportunity to relax, rest and just take it easy without everyone hovering over him, texting him, calling him, dropping by his place, inviting him out….fetching him in helicopters that made the evening news...had brought up the idea of the spa. He'd laughed at her willingness to subject herself to 'watching Clay' voluntarily. Called her naïve, warned her taking care of Clay was nothing like raising kids.

She sighed, sloshed her feet in the water.

Good Lord, when she got her hands on her color-the-truth-don't-tell-the-whole-story-husband, she was going to wring his bloody neck! She hated it when he was right! He'd neglected to inform her while telling her numerous stories about life with Clay, that the boy never stayed still, never remained where you put him, was never found where you left him!

She always thought, with bemusement of course, that Eric exaggerated and embellished the stories for her entertainment. But now, now she knew, he made light of the situation, the circumstance. No wonder he called her three times a day.

"Elizabeth?" Her mother bellowed. "Where are those boys? The news just said we are in the middle of a hurricane!"