Shout out to Laura! I've had family in town, Fall weather makes me want to sit outside and read...but they've returned to filming and I'm getting back in the mood to write.

"Clay?" Betty knocked softly on his door. "Hey, you in there?" She knocked again, a bit louder, a tad longer, waited. "Clay?"

Tousled-headed, sleepy-eyed and yawning, Clay opened the door in response to her gentle, yet persistent knocking. He pushed his mop of hair off his forehead, laid his cheek against the edge of the door, eyes red and puffy, at half mast.

"Hey." He greeted huskily. He thought maybe if he let go of the door, he'd fall down, so he slumped against it in a way that looked like he wasn't using it as support. He took a deep breath, held it, blew it out, repeated until he no longer felt like the room was rotating.

"Sorry, were you sleeping?" She entered the room when he stepped back to allow her entry. "Do you know where Vic might be? He's not in his room. I tried his cell, but went straight to voice mail."

Still holding the door handle, Clay held his bangs out of his eyes with a sweaty palm. He still had a headache and was somewhat befuddled from disrupted sleep.

Vic who?

Finally letting go of the door, he yawned, slapped his cheeks. Oh, right.

That Vic.

Why would Betty care where the hell Vic was? Clay sure didn't.

Betty blinked at Clay's haggard appearance. Chubby-cheeked, he squinted against the light as if it were too bright.

It wasn't.

"Clay?" She frowned when he shielded his eyes, lowered his head.

"What?" He glanced up, dropped his hand. "Oh. Uh, just a headache." That had been relentless since he'd woken up from his nap in the mud. Damn, it was worse now than it had been at breakfast.

Vic might be an ass and a royal pain, but he would not ignore a call from his Commander's wife. He crossed the room, lifted a duffel onto the bed, dug through it, retrieved his sat phone, sent Vic a text, called his phone…..nothing. No response, no answer.

"Sat phone?" She questioned. "Would Vic have one?"

"No." He answered shortly, sighed when he realized he'd taken her head off with his tone. "Aah, sorry."

"You have a cell." She pointed out, doubted he would have let the battery die. She knew Clay always carried a sat phone. And a GPS tracker. And wore Navy issued dog tags.

"Uh, yeah." He waved a hand in the direction of the dresser, where his cell sat in a bowl of crystal cat litter. "It…uh, took a bath." The maid had brought him a bowl of cat litter to dry it out while he'd showered in the public showers. She'd then taken his clothes to be taken to the laundry, though there was little doubt they'd ever be wearable again and he'd returned to his room in a fluffy robe.

"Were you asleep?" She glanced out the window as rain slashed the pane hard enough, it was easily heard. "Have you taken some aspirin?"

"What? Asp….oh…uh…yeah…a couple." He walked over to the window. "He uh, went into town with a couple of the guys from….uh…the kitchen?" He had no idea who Vic had gone with. Or where they'd gone, for that matter. No, wait, yes he did. "Uh, no….grass….um, lawn. Rain, and all, you know." He paused. "Movies, I think."

"The news is saying the storm is now a category two hurricane." She explained. "Eric called to check in. I was able to tell him you were in your room, but I couldn't find Vic. He wants you both here."

Clay pulled the curtain aside. Hurricane? What hurricane? Here? In the mountains of North Carolina? Since when? He could see it, were they anywhere near the beach….wait, had Vic also ignored a call from Blackburn? What time was it anyway?

"There's flooding in town, more is expected and residents are being urged to shelter in place. Do you think he'd find somewhere safe to stay?"

Doubtful. He'd try and return to the resort because his orders had been to accompany and keep an eye on Clay for the duration of the seven day stay.

"I'll head out." Clay said, popping three extra-strength Excedrin with water. "Cell's might be down in town, due to the storm."

Betty hesitated. Clay's track record of going missing and acquiring injury was well known to her, though she was aware, he didn't know she knew that. Hell, the last twenty-four hours had proven it to her.

"I don't think…" She began. "I'm sure he's on his way back."

This 'trip' had been arranged to give Clay the opportunity to rest and relax and recuperate and she didn't think treks about town and/or the countryside during a category two hurricane that had the potential to turn life-threatening, fit any of those categories.

"No worries." Clay assured her. "What's the latest news?"

"Heavy rain for the next 16 to 18 hours. The front has stalled. We are safe here from flooding and high winds, but I'm not familiar with the area." She saw his look, blushed and admitted with a nod of her head, that no, she had never been here before and this trip had not been for her and her mother. "We can discuss it later." She waved it off.

He let it go. "I'll ask around with the staff, see if they've heard from the others." He assured her. "They went to the movies. Don't worry." He smiled at Betty. "He's trained for worse conditions than a simple hurricane. If no one has heard from anyone, I'll go after him." He tried Vic's phone again, but the call went straight to voicemail and texts weren't returned.

Betty nodded, squeezed his bicep, took her leave. She went directly to her room and called Eric – landlines still connected – who advised her to let Clay do what he thought best.

She did, but she didn't like it.

***000***

Vic kicked the flat tire on the borrowed car in disgust. Oh yes, there was indeed a spare, but there was no lug wrench or jack. What he got for not knowing the car, trusting who was driving and not ensuring the car was 'good to go'.

Ray was going to light him up, he heard about this blunder.

The rain was hard, heavy and fast. He was blinded by the driving rain and blowing winds. Though it was nowhere near the time darkness would fall, it was too dark to see clearly. His flashlight was not sufficient to cut the darkness and the occasional flashes of lightning revealed it wouldn't be safe to walk with the danger of falling tree or tree limbs.

He guess-timated, he was closer to the resort than town, but the walk to town would be safer than the one to the resort. The radio blared weather alerts, warned everyone to get off the streets, stay inside, avoid roads and to turn around, don't drown.

Flooding was the issue. Well, that and falling trees. He could see water in ditches, along the roadside, on the berm of the exit ramp. It wouldn't be long before the road to the resort would be under water and it didn't take much water at all, to sweep a vehicle into waters that could be dangerous.

"Fuck you Spenser, this is all your fault." Vic seethed, getting back into the car. He slammed the door, wiped water from his face with a wet hand.

If it hadn't been for Ray advising him to keep an eye on Clay, take care of the ladies and not let anything happen to anyone, he would have just stayed in town. He'd been offered the couch of someone's apartment, but oh no…..he'd chosen to be heroic and return to make sure all was well at the resort.

Because that would be what Jason would expect him to do.

"Sonofabitch." His cell was charged, but received no signal. He couldn't call out or send texts. His data was on, but there was no service.

Apparently, no one was coming to or leaving the resort, because he hadn't seen any other traffic. Most likely, he reasoned, everyone was smart enough to do what the resort's employees had done…..stay put.

But not him. Oh no. Nope. Here he was. Out where he shouldn't be. Eh, well, he knew how to swim and he was accustomed to operating in the dark. Nothing to do, but go forward…even if he had to walk.

His luck, Clay would set out in search of him, something would happen to Dennis the Menace and he'd be blamed for it. He'd best get back before that happened.

Lightning flashed and he squinted out the passenger side window, convinced he'd seen a shadow. Great, just great. Just what he needed, a bear deciding he'd be a good snack.

Pulling his gun from the back of his jeans, he flicked off the safety, got out of the car.

"Who's there?" He shouted. "Step into the lights and identify yourself!" He stayed behind the open door, crouched down for safety. Was that a light? "I'm armed, I will shoot! Now step into the lights, put your hands up and identify yourself!"

Lightning flashed, wind gusted, thunder rumbled, the shadow loomed…..Vic fired.

()()()

Clay was soaked by the time he walked to the car from the kitchen. He wore a black raincoat that billowed in the wind and it took more than a moment of batting and clutching, to corral it so he could shut the car door.

If he found Vic, comfy and cozy, in the bed of some bimbo in town, the man would need a dentist.

The Yukon handled well on wet roads and easily navigated puddles of water that were deeper than he probably should have driven through, but the storm was wreaking havoc on his ability to judge distance, focus his eyes and the puddles when he finally saw them, didn't look all that deep. The almost, but not quite darkness, during the afternoon gave him vertigo….uh, so this was how Metal felt – yeah, not a good feeling.

His headache was still there, but with his mind focused on making sure his teammate was okay, he was able to temporarily conquer it into submission. Still, the world tilted and rotated sickeningly and staying between the lines on the road that blurred and wavered, took concentration that taxed his already limited ability to focus.

He wished he felt better. His skin was crawling over the thought of driving into the storm, destination unknown, in the afternoon that was as dark as night and leaving the ladies behind to ride out the storm until he could return. He scratched at his neck, felt a flush of warmth spread down his back. His mouth was thick and even with his lips closed, teeth clenched, he drooled. He swallowed but the saliva stuck in his throat. He tried again, coughed….ugh….all he needed was a cold in the summer. Sonny would never let him live it down.

Rubbing his throat, he wiped his mouth on his shoulder, encountered wet plastic, used his hand. He mentally reviewed the contents of his first aid kit, couldn't decide whether or not he had any Day or Nyquil with him. Maybe he could buy some in town while he looked for the movie theatre. Any corner drugstore would have it and the town couldn't be that big...mountain towns were not cities.

He followed the main road, detours on side roads were unreliable and dangerous in a storm like this. He had to go around a fallen tree and swerve numerous times to avoid debris, but the road was passable….until it wasn't.

He pulled the SUV to the side of the road, well away from the danger of falling trees, shut it down. Armed with a strong flashlight, he got out to survey the body of water where a body of water shouldn't be.

Even he could tell he couldn't drive through it. Driving around it wasn't an option either, but he could walk around it. He guessed he was two or so miles from town, he would walk in, find Vic, return to the SUV, which was safe from immediate flooding and get back to the resort.

He walked the perimeter of the water. Based on the forecast from the radio, he calculated the rate which the rain fell, how much was falling, how fast the water could rise, how soon it would reach the SUV, decided he needed to be back within an hour because while the SUV might not be in danger of flooding, some of the 'puddles' he'd driven through, would be impassable on the drive back.

He set out, and as he walked, the thunder grew more distant, the wind wasn't as strong, and despite the cold rain, the air was humid, muggy and he felt warm…all over. It didn't occur to him, he wasn't staggering because of the wind, but because he couldn't hear.

Twin beams of light cut through the darkness. Wasn't bright, but was steady. Wasn't lightning. He slowed, squinted…..headlights? He waited for the next flash of lightning, yup, a car headed in his direction but parked, and as far as he could tell, not running, was revealed on the exit ramp.

He changed direction to his left, started forward.

Was that a roar? He heard a roar. Thought he did. He knocked his head against the heel of his hand above his right ear, but the action failed to clear his hearing. It was ringing. Everything was muted, sounded far away. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The rain eased, the trees stuttered, the running water slowed….nothing was right…..

He altered his approach so that he was on the passenger side, swung his flashlight in a wide arc….what was that roar? That was a roar.

***000***

Vic unlocked the door to Clay's room, kicked it open. He supported the majority of Clay's weight, who limped heavily, arm slung around his neck.

"I can't believe you shot me." Clay let go of Vic, fell palms first on to his bed, slowly turned around, sat down, stretched his leg out.

"I didn't fucking shoot you." Though he damn well had.

"Is there a bullet in my thigh?"

"No!" Vic huffed. "Maybe. Hell, I don't know. We should get the doc."

"You know how to take care of a gunshot wound." Clay had no intentions whatsoever of letting Betty find out he'd been shot in the thigh by Vic. "You'll do a better job than that quack ass." Trent would have a fucking fit, Clay went and allowed that ancient relic from yesteryears way of medicine treat his bullet wound.

"I didn't know it was you." Vic repeated for the umpteenth time. "Thought it was a bear."

"A bear?" Clay hissed dubiously. "In this weather? Seriously? You can't be serious. Do I look like a bear? I don't in any way resemble, a fucking bear." He tried to toe his boots off, but they were laced too tight.

"Small one." Vic muttered. "And you did, that rain coat blowing in the wind and all. Get your jeans off, let me see." He went into the bathroom, came out with towels.

"Bears don't carry flashlights."

"I yelled at you to identify yourself, warned I would shoot."

"Blow the fucking horn." Clay reached for the button on his jeans, didn't mention he hadn't heard Vic shout at him.

"The hell were you doing out there anyway?"

"Betty wanted you here." Why was Vic talking in slow-motion? Garbled like Charlie Brown's teacher? Now was not the time to be an ass. "I've got it, you can go.

"Yeah, see…no." Vic shook his head. "You just said you didn't want the doc and I do know how to take care of gunshot wounds." He moved around the room, turning on every light. "Besides, I'd like to have kids someday and Trent knows ways to prevent that from happening….so…..no." He came out of the bathroom with hot water in the ice bucket. "You're stuck with me."

"Call Betty, tell her you're back, you're fine, taking a hot shower, we'll meet her for dinner at seven." He panted, gasped.

"What? Oh, hell no. You aren't leaving this room." Vic studied him, not liking Clay's erratic breathing.

"Since when, do you get out of a car, firing your gun?" Clay hadn't cried out in pain, hadn't collapsed and Vic had hoped maybe he'd missed him...yeah, no such luck. "You know the shit you'd be in, you'd shot some dumbass?"

Yeah, he knew. It was the kind of mistake that Blackburn couldn't bury. He'd've been arrested, if charges had been levied, there would have been a trial, if he'd managed to avoid jail, his career would have been over.

"Look it up, there's been reports of bears in town."

"Don't doubt it." Clay blew his breath out, hands clenching the mattress either side of his hips. "Take away their habitat and they go hungry." Ow, sonofabitch. "OW." He lifted his heel from the floor hissed, jiggled his leg, groaned.

"That hurt?" Vic asked. Clay nodded, bottom lip sucked in, trapped between his teeth. "Then don't do it." He slapped Clay across his knee. "Put your damn foot down."

Clay broke his death grip on the sheets to flip him off.

Vic had complied with his request to return to the SUV, Clay limping heavily and accepting Vic's offer to lend a hand. He'd been wet, dirty, tired and sore, from being, well….you know…..shot by the time he'd collapsed in the passenger seat. He'd allowed Vic to cut his jeans open with a knife, poke and prod in search of the bullet, but the worsening weather had made him insist on simply applying a bandage from the car manufacturer issued first-aid kit and getting back to the resort as quickly as possible.

"Move. You're gonna let me see whether you want to or not." Vic told him. "Can't leave you like this."

He expected Clay to give him attitude and trouble, but he simply laid back on the bed at Vic's order, popped the buttons on his Levi's, wiggled and shimmied his jeans off his hips.

"Raise your knee." Vic said. "Put your foot on the mattress….left foot….." Clay tried, but was hampered by wet jeans he'd left at his knees. Vic tried to help him get them off completely, but first he had to take the time to pick the laces loose on Clay's hiking boots and remove them. "You good? Okay?" He didn't know why Clay was being so amendable, but he wasn't about to question it. That always led to a verbal fight between them.

"Just...a flesh wound." Clay panted, swallowed. "Went through."

"You know that, how?"

"Not the first time I've been winged."

Vic scoffed, dander going up. "Winged?" He snorted. "I may not have your 'sniper abilities', but trust me, I hit what I aim for."

"Yeah." Clay snorted derisively. "And if I'd'a been a bear, you wudda been his meal."

"Fuck you." He sliced the hastily applied bandaging with a quick flick of his wrist, tugged the bloodied wads of gauze free, tossed all aside. "First aid kit?" He didn't doubt Clay had one, after all, Trent was their medic. Clay pointed to the top dresser drawer. "You felt for the bullet in the car on the ride back here, didn't you?"

"You shot me, you dumb ass." Clay retorted, ignored the accusation that was accurate.

"Stay still." He removed the kit, donned a pair of rubber gloves, took the shade off the lamp on the desk, moved it closer. "You're right." He said a moment later, thumbs over the entry and exit wound. "In and out, not even deep." Had to be uncomfortable though and he felt a moment of remorse that he was the cause of Clay's obvious pain. "I'm gonna clean it….glue…." He pawed through the kit. "No Dermabond?"

"Allergic." Clay came on up on his elbows. Though he trusted Vic with not only his life, but his teammates as well, he didn't like being flat on his back and vulnerable in front of anyone. "Steri-strips?"

"Skin's cold, you're gonna want a shower…..doubt they'll stick."

Clay licked his lip. Trent would be able to make them stick. His supply of steri-strips was not-over-the counter from Wal-greens, but he didn't offer up that information.

"Staple it then." Clay could clean and close both wounds if he had to, but he didn't because Vic had both the knowledge and ability to do it as well and he was just so tired...

"You want anything? What you got in here? Morphine? You want a hit?"

"Liquid gels caps should do."

"Doubt it."

"I need something stronger, I'll take it." Clay bit out, dug through the kit, tossed a package at Vic. "Use this."

"Styptic powder? I don't have that in my kit." He paused. "Don't have a stapler either. Hell, man."

"Just finish and get out. I want a hot shower and my bed with you nowhere near me."

"Gratitude dude. Show some."

"You shot me."

"How long you gonna throw that in my face?"

"Until you finish and get out."

"Right then. Don't expect me to be gentle."

"And don't tell Betty."

"Don't want her mother-henning you to death?"

"You do remember who her husband is, right?"

Vic nodded. He didn't think the gunshot wound was all that bad, saw no need really, to even report it. But this was goody-two-shoes Clay-fucking-Spenser and he'd damn well tell on Vic.

Clay remained silent and still while Vic checked both wounds for debris, dirt or threads from his jeans, cleaned both thoroughly first with hot water, then saline water, then hydrogen peroxide. He patted both dry, applied the styptic powder, removed the access and any remaining blood, set three stables in each wound and squirted antiseptic gel on both.

"Need me to wrap it?" Vic asked, pulled the gloves off, balled them up and tossed them in the trash can. "I'll wait until you shower." He cleaned up empty packages, wrappers, used gauze and bandages, tossed it all.

"Nah, I'm good." Clay really wanted a shower, some pain pills and bed. His legs ached from his hips to his knees. His right, from the aggravated bruise on his kidney from hitting the railing and tumbling off the bike, his left, from you know, two holes in his skin.

"Need me, call." Vic said seriously. "I'll check on you before dinner, take a look. Don't want an infection, but I cleaned it thoroughly, so you should be good."

Clay sat up. He was able to raise his right foot, pull his sock off, but his left leg wouldn't bend the way he wanted it to, nor could he bend over and reach down. After three aborted attempts, heavy panting and a couple of hisses, Vic squatted down, took the sock off for him.

"Stay off the leg." Vic advised. He repacked the first aid kit, returned it to the drawer, glanced at Clay when a knock sounded on the door. "Who the...?"

"Clay? Vic?" Betty knocked again. "You both in there?"

"You didn't call her?" Clay whispered furiously.

"Did you see me call her?" Vic shot back.

"Hide the trash." Clay hissed as he limped to the bathroom, donned the robe, tied the belt securely. He smoothed the bed, waited for Vic to hide the trash can under the desk, completely out of sight, then opened the door.

"Hey Betty, Mrs. Bonsky. Just ready to take a shower."

"Good idea." She agreed, eyes lingering on his face. "You look peaked, you should warm up."

Vic tossed bloody towels over his shoulder, kicked them under the bed. "Warm up?" He scoffed. "It's like, a hundred percent humidity out there! It's fueling the storm….oooffphhh." He doubled over from an elbow in his gut. "The hell was that for?" He gasped, stumbled a step back. "The fuck, Spense, Jesus!"

WHAP!

Stunned, Vic's palm flew to his red cheek. What the hell had just hit him?

Armed with a rubber-soled pink fuzzy slipper clutched in her right hand, Mrs. Bonsky exclaimed. "Stop this nonsense immediately!" She raised her hand for a second slap, but Vic wisely stepped out of reach. "What ails you, leaving the safety of this spa, going into town with people you don't know? Making your friend here come after you?" She raised a hand when Vic opened his mouth. "Bah-bat-but! One more word out of you and I'll whack your behind!"

Betty rubbed her forehead wearily. Vic was quite hard to like.

"I warned you about your language." Mrs. Bonsky continued. "Put you over my knee, tan your hide but good! Someone should do it. Elizabeth! What ails your husband?"

"I'm glad you both made it back safely." Betty told Clay. "Cell's are still down, but landlines get through. I'll let Eric know you're both here."

"You need the sat phone, let me know." Clay offered, hands fisted in the pockets of the robe to hide the fact they were shaking.

Betty nodded, not taking her eyes off Clay. "Thank you. Come Mom, let Clay get his shower and Vic needs to change, clean up. We'll see you both at dinner." She said pointedly, waited until they both nodded.

Vic left with the ladies to return to his own room and Clay limped into the bathroom. Each step jarred his aching back, sore hip, hurting leg. He couldn't even gimp properly, unable to decide which leg to baby.

Once in the bathroom, he dropped the robe, shed his shirt, sat down on the tub side to remove his boxer briefs which didn't come off as easily as the shirt had. Finally shed of all articles of clothing, he turned the faucet on, adjusted the temperature, swung his legs around so they were inside the tub, stood up, drew the curtain and pulled the lever to allow the water to come through the shower head.

Hair washed and rinsed, he scrubbed with the bar of soap, careful of the staples in his leg, until he deemed himself clean. He shut the water off, sat down on the tub side again to get out. He was tired, exhausted from the simple act of rubbing soap over skin, so he sat for a bit, face buried in a towel.

How the hell was he going to hide from the team? Could he?

He swung his legs around, placed both feet on the floor, stood up to dry off. Huh, water must have been too hot – he hadn't noticed it, chilled from the rain that was cold despite the high humidity – because his skin was all red.

He frowned, well, not all his skin. Mostly his arms, neck, chest. He turned his back to the mirror, hunched a shoulder. And the back of his shoulders…and….yeah, his lower back. Odd.

Eh, whatever. H was too tired to figure it out.

He finished drying off, applied more antiseptic gel to both sets of staples, taped a wad of gauze over both, wrapped a compression bandage around his thigh, collapsed in bed. He intended to sleep until he had to get up to join the ladies for supper.

***000***

Clay was miserable. He was unable to hear the conversation, understand what anyone was saying at the dinner table. He wasn't even hungry, his head pounded sickly, his leg throbbed and oh yeah, he ached all over. He'd been itchy since he'd been shot and what meds he had with him, didn't take the edge off. He didn't itch bad enough he wanted or needed to scratch, but the hot, prickly feeling made him short-tempered and uncomfortable.

So yeah, he was irritable and cranky.

He hadn't slept well, unable to find a comfortable position. Laying on his back, made it ache right where girls liked to get a tramp-stamp. He couldn't lay on either side – sore hip, bad leg – so that left him on his belly and while that was an acceptable position, the gunshot wounds in his thigh burned if he laid still too long.

"Don't like salmon?" Betty asked, spearing a snow pea with her fork. Not her favorite vegetable, but better than endive.

"Huh?" He blinked, cheek supported by his cupped hand. "Oh." He glanced down at his mostly untouched plate. "Uh, no. Not for breakfast."

Puzzled, Betty said, "We're eating dinner."

"What's'it matter?" Was he slurring? He was slurring.

"For pity's sake Elizabeth, leave the boy alone. So he doesn't like fish."

He did like fish, he was just too exhausted to eat it. Well, that and the thought of swallowing anything made him want to vomit.

He swallowed hard, pushed his damp bangs off his sticky forehead. Someone should really check the a/c, it wasn't working properly.

"So Vic, any word on the car you left?" Betty sipped her mineral water. "The others remained in town, did they not? Called their boss?"

"Oh. No, no problems…..thank you?" He slid a glance at Clay, who, rosy-cheeked and quiet, merely grunted. "It was just rain."

She gave him a look "You should watch the news." She picked up a slice of lemon, squeezed the juice in the glass, stirred with a stir stick.

"Uh….no need?" Uncertain, he posed his response as a question. "Vacation, you know."

"Here now," Mrs. Bonsky tsked. "Can't you carry on a decent conversation?"

"Yet, you decided to return?" Betty continued mildly

"Sorry, um, ma'am?" Vic addressed Mrs. Bonsky first. "Uh, yeah, I….see….Jason said….I mean….uhm, not a good idea…to leave, eh, Clay alone for too long."

Betty shook her head, try as she might, she simply could not warm up to this young man.

"He wasn't alone and he was perfectly safe here." She commented calmly, tone slightly telling. "He was in more danger setting out after you."

"He didn't need to. I was okay and can take care of myself."

"I couldn't tell Eric where you were."

"Didn't know I needed to tell you my daily plans."

"Only if you leave the premises."

Vic's looked darkened, his eyebrows narrowed and he bit his tongue to stop a snappy retort. He wasn't the one who required a babysitter.

Her messaged delivered, Betty turned her attention back to Clay.

"Clay?" She said for the third time, her voice raised a bit in an attempt to get his attention. "Clay?"

"What?" He snapped, lifted his head, blinked. "Uh, sorry?"

"Think you need a nap." Mrs. Bonsky muttered.

Clay scowled, lip curled in annoyance. "I just had one."

"Then you need another one so you can get up again, find the right side of the bed this time." She muttered.

"Are we done?" He pushed back from the table, removed his napkin from his lap, stood up and promptly hit the floor in a dead faint.

The lights went out, stayed off.

Betty sighed.
Vic cursed.
Mrs. Bonsky continued to eat.

"Now look at what you've done." Mrs. Bonsky put her fork down, pointed a finger at Vic, waggled it in his face. "Must you always cause trouble?"

"Me? ME?" Vic protested. "I didn't do anything?" He'd watched Clay rise unsteadily to his feet, saw him sway, reach for the chair or table to balance himself…had not at all, expected him to hit the floor in a dead faint.

Betty rubbed her forehead. What the hell had she missed?