"Special. Warfare. Operator. Lopez."

He looked over at Betty, belatedly wiping the scowl from his face. "What?"

"Don't scowl at me." She chided. "I wasn't going to say anything, but then I didn't expect Clay to collapse at my feet. Did you suffer an unfortunate encounter with a door?"

He flushed. He couldn't very well say his encounter had been with Clay's fist, so he pasted what passed as a smile on his face, nodded.

"Slipped in some spilled water."

"Mmmm." She drummed her fingertips repeatedly on the table. "And did you apply ice on those split lips we've ignored all during dinner?"

"Sure." He blew her off. She stared him down, one eyebrow arched, waited. He fume, not used to being dressed down – silently, mind you – by his team's commander's wife. He didn't like it and he didn't feel that he should have to tolerate it. "Uh….yes, um, ma'am?"

"I see now, why you decided to spend the day elsewhere."

"I had plans before…." Vic stopped, scowled. "...I hit a door."

"Elizabeth! Do something!" Mrs. Bonsky hissed. "He's causing a scene!" She hid her face in her napkin. "Everyone is staring!"

"What would you have me do Mom? Toss a tablecloth over him?"

"Oh, I don't know! Get the doctor perhaps? Have him removed? You!" She pointed at Vic. "You're a soldier, carry him out of here." She flapped her napkin at the gawking on-lookers. "You all! Be gone! At your age, surely you've seen someone fall before."

"He didn't fall, he fainted." Someone replied.

"Not no one looking like him." Said someone else. "Him being so fit and all."

"Sailor." Vic corrected, withered under Betty's incredulous look that clearly and plainly said – Are you serious? Like what you are matters right now!?

Not enough scotch in her suitcase. Teeth gritted, Betty managed to utter, "Do we need the doctor?"

Vic thought of Clay's first aid kit, shook his head. "He's, uh...fine. I've got him."

Betty remained uncertain whether or not to trust him.

"Could he not faint in the privacy of his room?" Mrs. Bonsky bemoaned, extended a foot, was just able to nudge Clay along his shin, near his knee. "Must you embarrass me? Get up! Get up, I say. Get off the floor immediately! Everyone is looking at me!"

Vic gaped, though: You? YOU? Listen, you old bat…..wait, the hell was she doing?

"Move your damn foot!" Alarmed, his tone was sharp, made Betty give him yet another hard look. He was beginning to realize she wasn't the scatter-brained female she'd led him to believe she was. "I mean nudging him like that, isn't gonna wake him up."

If you nudge too hard or manage to nudge a bit higher, he's gonna feel it, 'cause he has two holes and six metal staples in his skin, which are probably puffy, inflamed and sore.

"Then what will?" Mrs. Bonsky demanded. "Elizabeth, get the doctor. Where are the lights? Is there no generator in this place? Why are you both just standing there, staring at one another?" She banged her fork on the table. "Someone do something!"

"Uh," Vic hesitated. "I'll go with you." He told Betty. "Get the doc?" He added at her confused look.

"You just said he didn't require the doctor's assistance." Betty stood up. "Make up your mind." It wasn't a suggestion.

"Yeah, just," he hesitated. He'd expected the ladies to panic, flutter around, call for help, wring their hands, look at him to give orders…not act like this. "I'd rather see what kind of supplies he has now, rather than have to go later."

"Now that is just nonsense." Mrs. Bonsky waggled her fork about. "He is the doctor, he will know what he needs." She rolled her eyes, violently stabbed a slice of melon, pointed it at Betty. "Elite unit, you said?" She tore the fruit with her teeth, chomp-chomped. "We have a vastly different definition of the word 'elite'." She smirked. "Daughter."

"Supplies?" Betty questioned, ignored her mother. Vic winced, nope Blackburn's old lady wasn't dim-witted at all. "Supplies for what? Why would you need to go after supplies later?"

She reached for a napkin, held a glass of water. A manager had rallied the waitresses into moving the small crowd back from the table, anxiously asked what he could do, informed them he would send for the doctor if they wished, assured them the generator would soon kick on and provide limited power.

"People! Please!" He clapped his hands. "Remain back, give them some room."

Battery operated camp lanterns had appeared with employees, emergency lights winked over exit doors but the room remained dim.

"I don't trus….erhm…know him." Vic objected as Betty knelt beside Clay. What, dumping water in face wasn't good enough? Apparently not, all tender and care Mrs. Blackburn was gently patting his cheek, thumb making caressing circles, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Betty frowned at the heat her palm encountered. Damn beard and dim lights, she couldn't see if his cheeks were flushed.

"Oh, for the love of God." Mrs. Bonsky harrumphed. "You don't need to trust him! He. Is. A. Doctor! Really Elizabeth? This is the best Eric could do?"

Vic fumed as Clay eased completely onto his back, twisting his hips so slowly, Vic almost moved to help him.

Almost.

He only stopped from kneeling beside his fallen teammate because Betty cleared her throat, raised an eyebrow. Clay's hands moved from the floor, palms coming to rest on his belly. He was still for a moment, then drew his knees up.

"Clay?"

Once his feet were flat, he lowered his hand to his left thigh. It hovered in the air, then returned to rest next to its mate on his belly. Unsettled, he stretched his legs out. Drew them up. Knocked his knees together, pressed his thighs against one another, stretched back up, rested his heels on the floor.

Betty waved towards the door. "Go back to your room Mom. I'll get him settled." She dipped a corner of the napkin in the water, dabbed Clay's forehead and cheeks, frowned when he scowled, rolled his head out of her reach. "Hey there, hi. That's it, open your eyes. Clay? Can you open your eyes?"

"And how are you going to get him there?" Mrs. Bonsky demanded tartly.

Clay blinked, lashes fluttering. His half-opened eyes, closed with a grunt. It took him a moment and a couple misses, but he finally found his face with his hand, swiped a palm down his nose, over his mouth, the cold water and coarse cloth made his skin sting…..ow. He took a breath, eyes still closed, pushed the hand near his face away, lifted his head.

"Stawp." He squinted though there were no bright lights. "Shi..iitt." He licked his lips, tongue remaining trapped between his teeth as he tried to look around the room. "Wha…at?"

"No, don't sit up yet." Betty advised. "Take a minute." She could see he was in pain. He was blowing hard, tight lines around his mouth, skin around his eyes crinkled. She'd seen that look, knew those signs, had spent many a night with Eric, nursing him through some injury or another. "Stay."

Clay didn't pay her any attention, knees slightly bent, heels digging against the floor as his stomach muscles bunched in preparation of sitting up.

"Spenser, stay down." Vic ordered.

Clay again drew his legs up, pressed his knees together, let them splay, stretched them back out, drew his right ankle up to his left knee, then let his muscles go limp.

While the female voice was familiar, he couldn't place it. The male voice though, he knew that one and while he didn't take kindly to it telling him what to do, he obeyed it because trusting that voice meant life or death…and if he didn't, Jason wouldn't let him have hot water in his shower for a month – and he really, really liked hot showers.

And that right there, Vic thought with a smirk at Betty, is why you need me; You can't handle him, Mrs. Lieutenant Commander.

Clay blinked rapidly, repeatedly; a desperate attempt to clear his vision, focus his eyes…a lame attempt to restore his hearing to normal because everything was muted. This thought process was: He didn't know where he was or what had happened, but knew he liked hot showers. Ruh-Roh.

"There you are, relax…." Betty set the cloth aside because it was obvious Clay didn't like the water against his face. "You with me?"

"Mmmm." He licked his lips, glazed eyes searching. For what, Betty wondered, or who? Vic? Or anyone he knew? "Hmmmm."

Betty waited, but other than Clay's obedience to Vic's command to stay down, he didn't respond.

"Help me." Vic motioned to two of the staff who had responded to the managers request for assistance. "He's heavier than he looks, I've got his feet, he kicks." He squatted down. "Cradle carry, just be careful. Mrs. Bonsky, would you lead the way, open his door for us?"

Vic decided to take control because it was obvious, even if Vic allowed him to, Clay wasn't going to get up on his own.

"Why? Does he bite?" One of the men who knelt to give Clay assistance joked. His amusement faded when Clay tensed, went rigid, curled his fingers into tight fists. "Wait….he…does?"

Vic sighed, he'd been hoping Clay would let people he didn't know help Vic get him upstairs, but that wasn't going to happen. He knew what to expect next if he allowed the men to try and pick Clay up, so he motioned for them to back away.

"Not usually." Vic tapped Clay's cheek until the blonde blinked and kept his eyes opened. "Just me Clay, okay? Relax, I'm right here." He waited. "Look at me. You know me?" Clay nodded. "Yeah? Okay, good, that's good." He waited, reached out to force Clay to uncurl his right hand. "You good now?" He wasn't. "I'm right here, just listen to my voice, focus on me."

He'd heard the team joke and tease about Clay's responses and reactions to people he either didn't know or knew but didn't recognize. He'd been coached by Ray to always obey Trent when it came to injury, illness or reaction. He'd learned the 'odd' team rules. And he'd been with the team long enough to know they didn't 'F' around, so yeah, he was going to take Ray's lectures seriously. He knew what Clay was capable of, his abilities and talents and he didn't need an…uh…altercation.

Not here. Not now.

Mrs. Bonsky watched Vic work with Clay, held her tongue – for the moment.

"Then you're going to have to walk." Vic was saying when Clay flinched and tensed to avoid anyone's touch. "I can't carry you by myself, 'less I sling you over my shoulder and Quinn says you'll puke, I do that." And he wasn't even sure Clay would tolerate Vic trying to pick him up.

"Nhh'I'mma'k." Clay slurred, shoved his wet bangs off his forehead with a sweaty palm. "Is't hot? N'ime hot."

"Yeah, it's hot. Powers out, no a/c. Wanna sit up? Easy, lift your head first." Vic cautioned. "You good?" Clay nodded, came up on his elbows. "Relax your fists, I'm right here. It's just me." The very last thing he wanted was Clay fighting him. It was obvious that Clay wasn't going to let anyone he didn't know anywhere near him, and even in his condition, he could do serious damage to anyone who approached him – Vic included.

"Vic?" Betty inquired. "Might be better, strangers stay away from him, don't you think?"

He nodded his agreement, thanked the men for their offer to help but said he'd handle getting his friend to his room on his own, since it appeared Clay would be able to walk with his assistance.

"Walk on his own, my ass!" Mrs. Bonsky turned on her daughter. "Anything you want to explain to me?" She asked calmly. "Elite unit huh? Who the hell are they Liz?"

Oohh, her childhood nickname. Not good.

"Eric's men."

"I get that." Her mother snapped. "However, I am neither stupid nor blind. You have never confided in me about Eric's job, his career, his service, other than he's in the Navy. I long ago accepted you tell me what you are able. I figured out all on my own, he's special ops or you wouldn't be so vague and tight-lipped. Are those two boys SEALs? The level of, we-led-the-mission-to-find-and-kill-America's-greatest-enemy SEALs?"

"Mom."

Vic coughed. Wow. He saw where Betty got her quick mind and ability to connect 'the' dots from.

Mrs. Bonsky waved her off. "Doesn't matter and I'm not prying. Just…..if that boy is trained to kill, I want more than my slipper to ward him off."

Betty smiled, laughed, gave her mother a hug. She knew her mother would never discuss anything she guessed or learned with anyone, nor would she bring up the subject again. "He would never hurt you."

Mrs. Bonsky nodded. "Well then, you have a doctor to find and apparently, I've been relegated to opening doors."

Betty kept her eyes on Vic who remained squatted next to Clay, resting his weight easily on his toes. He didn't lose his balance nor did he change position – and it wasn't an easy one to hold.

Clay was neither responding to Vic nor resisting him. Once the men who had offered to help had backed off, Clay had…well, not relaxed, but gone mostly limp. He allowed Vic to touch his hand, remain next to him, but he didn't really lie still, legs restless, heels digging, and he still hadn't obeyed Vic's request to un-fist his hands.

"Want some water?" Vic offered. Clay's eyes had remained open, somewhat fixed on one spot, so Vic felt it safe to allow him to sit up. "No? Okay, sit up…that's it." He helped Clay off his elbows, allowed him to draw his legs up, rest an arm on his bent knees. "Dizzy? Anything spinning?"

"Uh," try as he might, Clay could neither form a complete thought nor a sentence. "Hot." He swallowed hard, swallowed again. Hot and tingly, he hunched a shoulder, wiped drool off on his sleeve. He wanted to itch, yet couldn't decide where to itch….or why. Oddest damn feeling ever.

"What the hell happened, man?"

"….uh…..smell…of fish…." He turned his head, spat saliva, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "…got warm."

"Women my age faint due to the heat." Mrs. Bonsky huffed. "Not boys…." Her eyes gleamed. "….like him."

"Mom!" Betty exclaimed. "He's young enough to be your grandson."

"Phsish….hardly." She harrumphed. "And, really Elizabeth, it's not really all that warm."

"Count of three, we're going up."

Betty didn't miss the way Clay rose awkwardly to his feet bearing little, if any, weight on his left leg. Saw him immediately lift his left foot from the floor, let Vic support him until he gained his balance and tested his weight with his left foot before nodding at Vic.

When they moved forward, she noticed he didn't know which leg to limp on, finally decide to favor his left. His gait was stilted, he would have fallen if Vic didn't have an arm around Clay's waist. He hissed with each step he took on his left foot, groaned when that leg bore his weight.

Hmmmm…she let it go as the men moved towards the door. She had a doctor to find.

"Here now, have a care." Mrs. Bonsky waddled her way in front of Vic. "Step aside, give way…move." She shooed and flapped with both hands. "Boy might have gone and hit his head, never know."

Exasperated, Vic assured her, "He didn't hit his head."

She stopped and turned. "Why is he limping?" She frowned down her nose in such a way, Vic's teeth were set on edge. "He's limping on his left leg."

"He's not limping." Vic scoffed, said a prayer he was convincing. "Geesch!"

"He hurt his right hip….what did you do to him now?"

Vic groaned. Hell, if the old woman picked up on that, there was no way her daughter hadn't. His ass was grass, he got home.

"Dunno, maybe his foot fell asleep or something." Vic lied. "He's good. Let him get some sleep, see how he feels when he wakes up."

He wanted privacy once he got Clay to his room, but that didn't happen. Mrs. Bonsky barged right in on his heels and had no intentions of leaving. By the time Vic let Clay collapse on his bed, both were sweating from the exertion and lack of a/c from the walk.

"Uh….thanks, Mrs. B…..Bonsky." Vic hastily corrected. "We're good, I got him."

"I'll wait right here until Elizabeth comes with the doctor."

"Bett….." He saw her face, quickly amended the words coming out of his mouth. Despite what Clay thought, he did know how to address his elders. "Mrs. Blackburn didn't need…."

"Oh." Mrs. Bonsky fluttered a hand in dismissal. "She wanted to see what 'supplies' he had." She gave him a smirk, entered the bathroom, filled a cup with water, dampened a wash cloth. "You should do what you can to cool him down." Clay was sprawled haphazardly on the bed, feet still on the floor, trying to catch his breath. "Here now, swing the poor boys' feet up onto the mattress. He can't possibly be comfortable." She set the cup on the nightstand, bent over, grabbed a foot, prepared to lift. "You can't leave him like that! You call that a job well done? Pfft."

Vic yelped, jumped forward, nudged her away from Clay with his hip. "I've got him."

Clay crawled into the middle of the bed, turned onto his back via his right hip, wormed his way up the bed just enough, he was able to prop up against the pillows Mrs. Bonsky piled up as Vic swung his feet onto the mattress.

"There now, isn't that better?" She beamed. "Comfy, right? Bet you feel better, don't you?"

Vic didn't know if Clay was compliant because he knew the woman or because she was a woman. Didn't matter, he just wanted her gone.

"You…step out…I can help him get undressed." Vic suggested, quietly said something to Clay, who was barefoot, the flip-flops he'd worn had been abandoned on the painful, slow walk to his room and were now in the possession of Mrs. Bonsky, helped him out of his shirt.

He side-eyed her, she still had them both in her hand….they would hurt a lot worse than her slipper, should she decide to schwack him with one.

"Pish-posh. All men possess the same anatomy." She approached the bed, flip-flops tucked under one arm. "Here, I'll tug one leg, you get the other….just don't drag the poor boy off the bed, he looks done in." She folded the cloth, laid it on Clay's forehead, offered him the cup of water.

He took it, sipped, swallowed, sipped again.

Vic nodded, hoped to accomplish getting Clay's jeans off and under a sheet before Betty arrived with or without the doctor.

Yup. Nope. Didn't happen. Christ, could nothing go his way? Just one damn thing!?

The door opened and Betty entered, the doctor on her heels just as Vic whipped the sheet over Clay. He must have been on his way and she met him in the hall. Great.

"Ladies." The old man nodded towards the door. "I'm sure you understand my need to examine the patient with privacy."

"I'm not going anywhere." Betty stated firmly. "Every time I let him out of my sight, he has a new bump, bruise or limp."

"Ma'am, I'm going to need to undress him…."

"Three kids and a husband in the Navy. He doesn't have anything I haven't already seen." Betty didn't even bat an eye. "Please, by all means, carry on."

"Not very observant, are you?" Mrs. Bonsky accused. "He's already undressed."

"Really, Mrs. Blackburn," Vic began, shifted his weight in an attempt to block her view as the doctor tugged on the sheet. Didn't work. "He's good…I got him…you don't…you can go. I'm best….."

"Is that a bandage?" She pushed in between the doctor, who strongly objected her presence, and Vic, who squawked at her interference. She crossed her arms, tapped a toe. "Vic? Care to explain?"

"No."

"Fainted, you said?" The doctor mused. "Could be heat, I suppose. Lull in the storm brought extreme mugginess. He's sweaty, clammy…mmm."

"Do you not see the bandage?" Betty demanded incredulously. "His entire thigh is wrapped! Are we going to ignore that? Vic?! Start talking."

Refreshed by the water and cold cloth, Clay spoke up, "Damn Lopez, that quack?"

"Kinda hard to avoid, you faint at the dinner table."

"Yeah, but….you…know….uh….I'm good." He swallowed, made a face at the foul taste on his tongue. "I think."

"I may be retired, but I know medicine." The doctor said briskly.

"What was your specialty?" Mrs. Bonsky asked.

"Pediatrics." He set about cutting the bandage loose. "Let's see what we got here."

Vic blew his breath out in relief. Pediatrics? The man was 80 if he was a day. He'd long forgotten med school and his residency. With the staples set in Clay's leg, he wouldn't recognize the gunshot wound.

And he didn't.

But Betty sure did.

"That's a gunshot." She raised horrified, accusing eyes to Vic. "HOW? WHEN? WHERE?" She stepped forward. "Did you do this!?" She poked his chest. "Did. You. Shoot. Him?"

"Now, now, don't go getting an upset." The doctor scolded. "Certainly not a gun shot. Don't worry yourself."

Amazed, Vic asked. "How could you possibly know that?" His eyes were wide in stunned disbelief, unable to wrap his head around her obvious knowledge. "You can't know that! You can't tell just by looking at staples!"

"I know a gunshot when I see one." She insisted. "I've treated them. Eric has come home with more than one over the years."

Mrs. Bonsky's head whipped around so quickly, she lost her balance and Vic had to steady her, to keep her on her feet. She didn't know what upset her more: that her son-in-law had been shot, obviously more than once, or that her daughter was so calm about it!

"That's not the same!" Vic scowled, ducked his head. A sure sign of guilt that Betty knew and recognized. "It's not!"

"The only time he was out of my sight long enough to get shot, is when he went after you." Betty threw her hands wide. "You shot him? What the hell's the matter with you?"

"I thought he was a bear….." Vic began.

"Out in this weather?"

"I shouted for him to stop, raise his hands, step into the headlights, he didn't."

"So you shot him?!"

"NO! I mean…I didn't know it was him! I yelled…."

"Do you not hear the weather out there?"

Vic scowled. "It's just a flesh wound. Skimmed him is all. Not even deep enough to hit muscle."

"It's in and out. A bullet entered his body. You stapled both wounds closed. You didn't think that warranted a mention?"

"Honestly? No." Vic was close to losing his temper. "It's field medicine. We make do. He's fine."

"Does he look fine?" Betty shot back. "And he has access to medical care, field medicine is not required here."

"Pfft." Vic snorted. "Hands down, Trent is better than this quack."

Clay knew they were talking about him – arguing, rather, but he couldn't follow what anyone was saying, because they spoke too fast and he couldn't hear all the words. His vision was blurry and he didn't know the old man with cold hands who was waaaayyy too touchy-feely for comfort.

"Go slow doc," Vic warned when Clay shifted his weight away from the doctor. "He doesn't take well to strangers."

"Did you not bring a medical bag?" Mrs. Bonsky asked. "It's obvious the boy's running a fever."

"I was told a guest fainted. No one said he'd been shot."

"Oh, so now you believe he was shot?" Mrs. Bonsky sniffed. "Can you even treat a gunshot wound?"

Vic crossed the room, removed Clay's first aid kit from the top dresser drawer. "Don't make any sudden or threatening moves." He cautioned as Clay continued to squirm uneasily. "I can."

"You can, what? You said you had it handled." Betty said to Vic.

"I do." Vic said

"He doesn't." Mrs. Bonsky scoffed.

"You don't." Betty agreed.

"He does." Clay said.

"I will." The doctor said.

Silence.

"I must insist you all vacate the room and allow me to see to the patient." The doctor said. "I can't possibly work like this. There are too many people in this room."

"I'm not going anywhere." Vic stated. He didn't dare.

"Me either." Betty said firmly. "I may not know the details of my husband's missions or his job but I know how easily the team loses him. No, there are no sheikh's lurking in the hall and I don't see the building collapsing on him, but I'm not comfortable letting him out of my sight just yet."

"I'll stay." Vic said firmly. "You both can go." She knew about that? He bet she knew more of the story than he did. And didn't that just piss him off.

Betty knew she'd hit a nerve with the reveal she knew about the Sheikh. HA! Just wait until he found out Jason's teen-age daughter knew the entire story as well! He'd really have a fit!

"He's running a fever." She pointed out.

"When isn't he?" Vic countered.

She now understood why Jason had insisted on sending Vic with them. If hurt, sick or medicated and he felt threatened, Clay was hard - maybe impossible - to manage, handle.

"Any idea why Vic?" She smacked her palm against her forehead. "Oh right, he was shot!"

"I'll give him some ibuprofen." He cut her off when she began to object. "He has liquid Tylenol, he needs it."

"You should take his temperature."

"How?" Mrs. Bonsky asked. "With what? Dr. Doo-Little over there didn't bring his medical bag."

"Got it covered." Vic held up the first aid kit, smirked, made a grand-stand display of his actions to prove to her, he knew what it held and that he could 'handle' taking care of Bravo's rookie. Doctor not required.

He withdrew the temporal thermometer, waved it about theatrically, smirked.

"What is that?" Mrs. Bonsky demanded.

"You said you wanted his temperature taken."

"That's a thermometer? Let me see it." She held her palm out, waggled her fingers. "Gimme."

Vic ignored her, approached the bed but Clay waved him away, turned his head. "I'm good."

"I've never seen such a thermometer before."

"Me either." The doctor said.

Betty sighed, rubbed her temples. Oh. Good. God.

"Lemme guess," Vic drawled sarcastically. "Glass and mercury? Huh? I'm right, aren't I?"

"In my day, yes. But even I upgraded to an ear thermometer once the grandkids came along. Now, what's wrong with the new no touch, point and press?" She pounced right back.

"New? They're like, 15 years old." Vic snorted. "Look Gra….."

"Your yakkin' is giving me a headache." Clay mumbled groggily. "Why you always gotta argue about everything with everyone?"

"Shut the fuck upppppYOW!" He whirled, hand flying to the back of his head. "The HELL was that for?"

"I've asked you repeatedly not to use such language." Mrs. Bonsky brandished the leather flip-flop menacingly. "I've a mind to wash your mouth out with soap!"

"Ask? ASK? You've never asked!" Vic yelled. He'd forgotten all about the flip-flips. OW! "You ol…"

"LOPEZ!" Clay sat up, held his head, wiped his face with the sheet, then went limp against the pillows, face flushed.

"WHAT?!"

"Aren't you in enough trouble? You really wanna add to it?"

"ME? What about HER?"

"What are you? Ten?"

"So now, you're gonna be all wide awake and coherent? What's up with that shit?" He extended a hand to ward off Mrs. Bonsky. "Lady, you whack me one more and time and I'll….."

WHACK!

Vid turned red, vein on his forehead and one in his throat protruding as he fought for control of his temper. He cupped his abused, smarting ear, chest heaving. Finally, jaw clenched, he dug a bottle of generic ibuprofen out of the kit, went to the bathroom for more water.

"Clay, the doctor wants to take a look at your leg." Betty said. "Check your pulse, your breathing. I need you to be okay with that."

Confused, wet, sticky and smelling like sweat, Clay managed to mumble, "….no…." He didn't mention the itchy flush or red skin, the thick throat, excessive saliva or the annoying desire to drool. "No…need…"

"He bruises easily, bleeds quickly, throw reactions to various medications." Betty was telling the doctor. "He can't take Naproxen, is allergic to adhesive glue…."

"Wait, wait, wait. Just wait. You know that how?" Vic demanded. Christ alive, no one told him anything and here was Betty Blackburn, rattling off Clay's medical history like she was part of the team.

Betty rolled her eyes, spared him an exasperated glance. "It's like you don't even stop to think." She said tartly. She turned back to the doctor. "Pay him no mind."

"I want to take his temperature." Mrs. Bonsky stated. "With this new fangled thing. How do I use it?" She stepped closer for a better look, picked it up from where it had been left on the mattress. "It doesn't look like any thermometer I've ever seen in my life."

"And that's a lotta years." Vic snarked.

"Lopez." Clay warned wearily.

"Hold, press this with your thumb, touch his forehead here, roll to your right, come down to his eye, let it sit a second or two, release. Be quick and be careful with it." Vic warned. "It's not a toy."

"What? This?" Mrs. Bonsky waved it about, holding it with finger and thumb. "Come and get it!"

"Yes, that." He snapped. "It cost $800.00 and unlike Trent, I can't write it off as lost in battle. They'll deduct it outta my next three paychecks."

"$800.00? Pfft. You really expect me to believe that?"

"I don't make a habit of lying."

"Vic's exaggerating." Clay said tiredly. "Not over $600.00." Christ, he felt like shit.

She pulled up short, slowly returned the thermometer to the mattress. "Why is it so expensive? You can get a good point and press one at the drugstore for $9.99."

"Trent doesn't trust their accuracy." Vic piped up.

"Piddle. That's just nonsense. Who is this Trent person?" She demanded. "We need to have a talk about expenses. Really Elizabeth, no wonder the military budget is so high!"

"Accuracy is important." The doctor agreed.

Betty picked the thermometer up. The hand Clay raised to hold his bangs off his forehead was shaking and he was sweating. "101.8"

"I'll make it three ibuprofens." Vic decided. "He's gonna stay in bed, take a shower maybe. Right Clay?"

"Huh?"

"No more than two." The doctor objected. "Has he taken anything today?"

"No." Vic lied.

"He took aspirin before he left to find you." Betty corrected. "And I'm damn sure you gave him something when you poked staples through his skin."

"Take a lukewarm shower, drink plenty of fluids, stay in bed." Mrs. Bonsky ordered. "Keep a cold, wet cloth on your head."

"He'll sleep." Vic huffed. "Time for everyone to go."

But Betty hadn't forgotten about Clay's leg and she wasn't about to let it go.

"No one is going anywhere." Betty said firmly. "The doctor is going to examine him, you are going to tell me why you shot him, explain why you cleaned him up and stapled him together and didn't bother to tell me and then you are going to call my husband and tell him what you let happen."

"And he needs to drink." Mrs. Bonsky said. "Plenty of fluids. Don't want him dehydrating."

"Okay, that's it." Vic had had enough. "First, I didn't ask him to come after me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself in any situation."

"You did not tell me you were leaving the grounds." Betty reminded him. "Eric called because of the news reports on the storm. I couldn't tell him where you were when you were supposed to be keeping an eye on Clay."

"Thought that was your job." Vic snarled. "And second, I didn't know it was him I was shooting."

"You make a habit of shooting random people?"

Vic ignored her sarcasm. "Third, I don't you any explanation for anything I did."

"Yes, you do."

"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong. What I do, is no business of yours."

"Your job while on a military sanctioned mission is no business of mine." She corrected. "You were given orders to accompany us here and keep an eye on Clay. Bang up job there, Mr. Lopez." She ticked off with her fingers. "Thrown off a bike, rolled down a hill, pushed into a fence, knocked into a pit of mud and oh yeah, shot!"

"Why don't you ladies go check with the manager about the power." The doctor suggested.

"I'm not letting him out of my sight." Betty said firmly. "Vic can escort..."

"No." Vic cut her off. "Don't start with me. The answer is no. He might be okay with you, but he doesn't know the doctor and you aren't….you're not….he might…he could…."

Betty nodded. Right. She wasn't strong enough to handle Clay, should he lash out against the doctor. She didn't think he would, he wasn't medicated and his fever wasn't high enough to induce delirium, but Clay was groggy and not really responsive.

"Very well." She looked at her mother.

"Why do I have to go?" Mrs. Bonsky complained, but complied. "I'll be back."