"Thanks for coming doc, but I've got him." Vic said. "You can go."

Clay wanted no part of the doctor with the clammy hands. He'd allowed his temperature to be taken and now he wanted the ibuprofen and solitude. As usual, he didn't get his way.

Go 'way, lemme 'lone. Why I never get what I want?

"The doctor will remain and examine him" Betty spoke without parting her teeth. "Because. He. Fainted."

I didn't faint, geesch! I lost my balance.

"He was hot."

Yeah, that's right, it's hot. I'm hot….it's so fucking hot. Why'm'I so hot?

"Because he's running a fever."

"He always does." Vic dismissed it.

No, I don't!

"People don't faint merely because they're hot."

"Apparently, he does."

I do not!

"You shot him."

You did! He did! Ow!

"Not the first time he's been shot, won't be the last."

True.

"And has he always run a fever when he was shot?"

"Hell if I know."

Trent would know.

"Then let the doctor do his job."

"He didn't even recognize what the thermometer was!"

"I most commonly used rectal ones." The doctor spoke up. Clay squeaked, hugged the sheet tight to his chest. "Nowadays, the one I use, goes in the ear."

AACCKK!

Betty sighed. Would this day ever end?

"You said there were no signs of infection…." She began, only to be interrupted.

"You can see for yourself." Vic sniped. "Any redness? Any puss? No? Right, 'cause like I said, there's no infection."

"…..then for what reason, would he run a fever?" She finished. "Six tiny staples in his skin, wouldn't be the cause."

"I cleaned both wounds thoroughly, I know how to do that, you know." Vic snapped crossly. "Better than him," he jerked a thumb in the doctor's direction. "Better than you." He made a smug face. "Yeah, I'm that good."

Not that good, you ass. Not better than Trent. Or Brock. Not even Ray.

"Don't be too sure about that." She countered. "I've been with Eric nearly 30 years. I've seen it all."

He gave her a look, unsure how to respond to that. "He gives orders from a phone." He muttered finally. "No danger in that, now is there?"

"You think he always held the rank of Lieutenant Commander?"

"Here now, let me take a look." The doctor rubbed his hands together, picked up Clay's wrist, sought his pulse. "Looks a bit worn out, he does."

Who the hell are you? Let go my hand.

"He's good, been through a bit is all." Vic acknowledged. "He took a hard hit to his kidney, our last job out. The flight home was long, he doesn't always fly well when he's hurt. Climbing a rope ladder into a hovering chopper isn't easy. Then yeah, he fell off the bike, down the hill, and into the fence."

"Pushed." He was corrected. "Into the fence."

"He slipped."

"And a pit of mud." He was pertly reminded.

He heaved an aggrieved sigh. "And a pit of mud."

"Pulse is a bit fast." The doctor announced. "Not unusual when a body is fighting a fever."

"Yeah, yeah. Really Doc, he's good."

I will be, ya'll go away.

"There's a hurricane raging out there." The doctor said. "Not like you can simply take him to the nearest hospital."

"We're safe here." He and Clay had barely made it back and it was still raining hard, no one was going anywhere either on foot or by car - not even in Blackburn's fancy SUV. "No danger of flooding or trees falling."

"True, true." The man replied. "Just the danger of the wind tearing off the roof is all."

Vic glanced out the window. Huh. That was a very real possibility and it hadn't occurred to him. Was gonna be a long night.

We lost the roof?

Clay gave up trying to follow the conversation. He couldn't hear that well anyway.. His hearing appeared to come and go…..mostly go….and lacking one of his strongest senses, made him irritable and uncooperative.

"I assume the fever is a result of either the gunshot wound or the staples..." The doctor began.

"You assume?"

"There's really no way for me to know."

He held it together a bit longer than Vic expected him to, then his gentle squirming became more aggressive when he moved a hand away or pulled his head aside. He wasn't really giving the doctor much of an opportunity to examine him.

"All good doc?" Vic decided it was time to intervene when Clay tried to get up. "Hey you, stay put." He moved closer to the bed. "He gets cranky when he's tired," he explained. "Once you're gone, he'll settle down, go to sleep."

Stay put? There's no roof!

"He's not experiencing any difficulty breathing," the doctor greed. "Tylenol will manage his fever, so I'll check on him in the morning."

I can breathe just fine, you quack. Just...can't...really hear too well.

Betty let him go, because whether or not she liked Vic, she trusted his first aid abilities. She knew how well trained he was, courtesy of his job and his employer, but she was also very familiar with Bravo. Jason only tolerated the best. And that included a medic who insisted everyone on the team be better than the training 101 class provided to everyone.

"Thank you," She closed the door behind him.

"What a waste of time." Vic scoffed once he was gone.

"It made me feel better for him to see Clay." Betty snapped. "Deal with it."

Vic blinked. Since when was she giving orders and making decisions? "Feel better? What the hell did he do, to make you feel better? Or him?" He pointed at the bed without looking over. "He didn't even poke a god-damn staple!"

"You said neither wound was inflamed!"

"He could have looked!"

"You didn't want the man anywhere near him!"

Clay knew they were arguing, but could only hear the timbre of Betty's higher-pitched voice. His hearing came and went, remained muted.

Ignoring them, he slowly slid to the edge of the mattress, swung one foot to the floor, sat up, lowered the other foot. He had to pee and though he wasn't up to a shower, he thought maybe he could handle sitting on the side of the tub and wiping down with a wet towel.

"Where you going?" Vic helped him stand and gain his balance. "Why can't you ever stay put?"

He hunched a shoulder, wiped his face on his wet t-shirt, flipped the bird, shuffled towards the bathroom. Vic let him go.

"Aren't you going with him?"

"Uh, NO?!"

"You can't let him go by himself."

"He's toilet trained." Vic mocked. "He knows to pee in the toilet."

"Really?" Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Was that necessary?"

Mrs. Bonsky returned with ice, juice and cups of pudding. Betty let her in. "Generators will provide limited power for the kitchen and lobby." She announced just as a thud came from the bathroom. "And that was?"

"Clay hitting the floor. Happy now?" Betty asked. Vic scowled.

"Clay?"

"SPENSER?" Vic shouted. "Dammit!" His palm smacked the wall in frustration.

Betty collected the first aid kit, snagged a t-shirt, headed to the bathroom. Vic blocked her advance, tried to snatch it from her hands.

"I've got him." He growled.

"You've done enough." She retorted. "Now stand aside and allow me to pass." She wrested the shirt from his grip. "Clay? I'm coming in." She found him slumped on the floor, hugging the tub, forehead and cheek pressed against its side, towel discarded in his lap. "Hey there, what'cha doing?" She knelt beside him, set the kit down, took the towel from his limp hold, turned the tub faucet on.

He'd finished peeing and lost his balance reaching for the towel he'd wanted to soak in cold water. He hadn't heard her come in, didn't look at her now as she pushed her hands between his elbows and forced his arms apart.

She tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. It was wet and clung to his slick chest, but she finally got it off him. He was compliant and quiet sitting on the floor as she helped him wash up.

"You, uh, fond of the tub?" She teased.

"Feels...cool." His head wet from a soaking via wet towel, he rose to sit on the side of the tub, allowed her to towel his hair until it no longer dripped. He used another towel to dry his neck and shoulders, then donned the dry shirt.

"It's warm." She agreed. "No a/c."

He let her apply an antiseptic to the sets of staples with a cotton swab on a stick and wrap a bandage around his leg, then accepted her arm to stand up, gain his balance and get back to bed.

"Thanks, but…." Clay swallowed, mouth dry yet saliva pooled on his lip. "…you can go. I'll feel better…in the morning..."

"You sure?" Betty hesitated, not sure whether she should leave him alone. He was settled in bed with a cold wet cloth on his forehead, somewhat more coherent. "You didn't eat much dinner. Are you at all hungry?"

"Just gonna sleep." Clay finished the cup of juice Mrs. Bonsky insisted he drink. Anything to get everyone the hell outta his room. "I'm good." He told her when she offered him yet more juice. "Later though, thanks."

"With that fever and this heat, you'll dehydrate." She admonished. "Never does anyone any good, they don't get enough fluids. Why, I tell that husband of hers all the time, he…."

"So, that's where he gets it." Clay muttered. Bravo's Lt. Commander was always on his men about drinking enough. Always. The cup was taken from his hand, he let it go, pressed both palms against the cloth on his head.

"Who gets what?" Vic asked. "Someone fill me in? No? Man, I hate not knowing what the hell everyone talks about."

"Get the hell out Lopez." Clay pulled the sheet over his legs, laid down. "Sorry ladies."

"I'll stay until you're asleep." Betty said firmly. She had a bathroom to clean up. "Mind if I borrow your sat phone?"

"How come you don't whack him for cursing?"

Mrs. Bonsky merely pursed her lips, remained silent.

"Fine. Need me, you know where my room is." Vic agreed to leave. He wanted to talk with the manager, walk the grounds, make sure everything was still good outside.

"Wait, you can escort me to the lobby. I want to see the news." Mrs. Bonsky stated. "I'll check in before I go to bed." She told Betty who nodded, walked them to the door, locked it behind them.

By the time she turned back – mere seconds – Clay was asleep, so she headed to the bathroom to mop the floor with towels. That chore done, the bathroom restored to rights, she took a seat in the armchair, made a mental note to collect many more towels, called Eric.

"Hey," Eric greeted. "How was dinner?"

"Clay fainted at the table." She blurted out. "Never got to finish it."

"That all?" He waited, obviously it wasn't. After all, this was Clay they were talking about.

"Oh, no. Apparently, when Clay fetched Vic, Vic shot him, thinking he was a bear. Neither thought I needed to know, so Vic 'handled it'. Cruise isn't going to be enough, think around-the-world tour."

Eric laughed. He tee-heed at her until her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so hard, her eyes throbbed. After she was sure he had laughed tears into his eyes, he finally said. "Not so easy, is it?" He sobered. All those nights, she had patiently sat beside him, listened to him, talked to him, stayed up with him, he knew she didn't quite believe he didn't exaggerate his stories. Well, now she knew.

"I tell you, had our first child been anything like him, there wouldn't have been a second."

"Flesh wound?" He guessed. Nothing serious or he would have been contacted immediately after his wife had found out one of his men had been shot. "And no, he's never fainted at dinner before." And had it been life-threatening, he would have heard from Lopez as soon as it had happened - if he hadn't, no matter what Jason and Ray thought or how they felt, Lopez would be transferred off the team.

In a bar once, though.

"Fleshly part of the outer thigh. The doctor here isn't helpful. Didn't even recognize the thermometer. Do you trust Vic?"

"His ability to properly treat a gunshot wound? Yes." He didn't have to like the man to trust him. "Trent's made sure of it." He visualized the gunshot. "In and out?"

"Above his knee." She told her husband what all had happened. "Staples look a bit swollen, but no signs of infection. Or is it too soon?"

"With Spenser?" Eric snorted. "No." Fever though, huh? From a mere skim of skin? Odd. "He being cooperative?" And above his knee? What the hell kind of angle had Vic shot from? Vic carried a .9mm, capable of doing serious damage, how had he managed to only wing Spenser in the leg?

"Clay's content to let Vic near him, but he didn't like the doctor touching him. Tolerated it though."

"Might be best to limit who gets near him." Eric advised. What was weird, was Clay going down from a flesh wound. That didn't sound right. The kid had suffered worse, battled through painful, surgery-required injuries and hadn't collapsed.

"…..we can't leave," his wife was saying. "Roads to town are flooded. They'd have to evacuate us by boat, but we are safe here. Generators are providing minimal power, so we can watch the news in the lobby. That's where Mom is now."

Eric was well aware of their situation. The roads. The water. The storm. The lack of electricity. Their safety. "He'll be fine." He assured her, hand not holding the phone talking to her, already thumbing a number on a second cell phone. "Didn't bleed around the staples, right?"

"Right."

"So, he fainted, running a fever, disoriented." Eric ticked off each symptom. "No signs of infection, no bleeding, no seepage or oozing around the staples?"

"No."

"And he's not complaining about his side?"

"He's not." She was watching her charge sleep. "Nor any bruise or bump from his fall off the bike and spill down the hill."

"Any other symptoms?"

"I don't believe so. He says he's hot. You deal with this every mission?"

Eric laughed. "Hell no! It happens, yes, but not every mission and he's not the only team member who gets hurt or sick."

"Sure seems like it does."

"Let him sleep." Eric told her. "Tylenol or Advil for his fever. Trent prefers you alternate every two to three hours….yeah, I know, not the recommended time, but Doc and Trent figured it out, so we abide by it. It goes over 103, call me back."

"Roger that." She hung up. 103? Hell, she wasn't prone to panic. Was a firm believer, if she showed it, she'd scare whoever was causing her to panic, so yeah, she blew off any injury to her kids. But none of them, at any time in their lives, had ever run a fever over 101. "Forget the tour, I'm thinking a Caribbean island to retire on."

Eric poured a glass of whisky, sat down in his favorite chair with several ginger cookies. He rested his eyes until he consumed the fourth and last cookie, then pressed send on the phone.

"How did Lopez fuck up?"

"Shot him."

"Course he did."

"Where you at?"

"Less than an hour from Madison."

"They're flooded in."

"That matters, why?"

"Rather you not walk in alone."

"Jason sent Metal."

Eric filled him in. "Stand by."

"Will do." Trent hung up.

"Now what?" Metal asked. Five kids either played or watched TV nearby. "He wreck a four-wheeler this time, 'stead of a bike?"

"Drown?" Janine joked.

"Trapped under a tree?"

"She lost him?" Janine high-fived Metal.

"Vic shot him." Trent grinned.

"Oooh, that's a new one, right?" Janine cocked her head as she gave it some thought. "Nope, he's never been shot by a teammate before." She returned a head to a doll's body. "Right?"

"So, we gonna go get him?" Metal opened three more bottles of beer, handed them out. "It's why I'm here, ain't it? When?"

"Yeah, we are. It is. Soon."

"Still don't understand why Blackburn made him go or why Jason sent Vic, but whatever." Metal downed half the bottle in one gulp. He'd been at his mountain cabin with Pam when Jason had called and told him to join Trent in North Carolina.

He had no idea Trent had taken his family camping, but yeah, once he realized it was close to the resort the women had taken Clay to, it all made sense; someone other than Vic from Bravo would always be nearby wherever their rookie was.

"Just tryin' to help the kid get some rest."

"How'd that work out?"

Trent shrugged, drank some beer. When the storm had been forecasted, he and the family had relocated to the safety of a hotel where Metal – who'd been ordered to join Trent after Clay had wrecked on the bicycle – had taken a room when he'd arrived. It was further away from the resort than he wanted to be, but the safety of his family came first.

Thankfully, Metal had left Pam behind, because while Janine wouldn't bat an eye no matter how many kids she had underfoot, her patience would be tested if she had to entertain Pam by herself in a hotel, during a storm where Pam wouldn't have anything to do.

"Okay, I'm gonna ask….why did Vic shoot him?" Janine asked. "I mean, how'd it happen? Clay wouldn't just stand there and let him shoot him."

"You gonna be okay here with five young un's?" Metal asked as a squabble started, grew louder.

"Dude, every day of my life." She grinned.

"Vic went into town to avoid Betty seeing his split lips from Clay's fist. With the storm, Blackburn wanted him at the resort, so Clay went to get him….Vic thought he was a bear."

"In a hurricane?"

Trent shrugged, waved a hand, told them the rest of what Eric had divulged. "Blackburn's checking with the local authorities, but looks like we'll be walking in."

Metal shrugged. "I can swim."

"Should I pack up? Head home?"

"Nope." Trent finished his beer. "Gonna take his ass home with us. See how he likes riding in a 32-foot RV with five kids, running a fever with a bum hip, bruised kidney, a gunshot wound in his thigh and you behind the wheel."

"Hey now, I drive just fine." She protested. "I don't speed, I yield properly, I don't tailgate, I know how to merge and I give way to big rigs."

"And if there's a pothole, anywhere on the road, you'll find it." Trent pointed out. "You swerve to avoid one, you hit another bigger, deeper one."

That was true and she merely grinned back at him.

"Two." Metal waggled his fingers.

"Two what?" Janine asked.

"Gun shots. In and out, even if it ain't bad, gotta suck." He considered having another beer, decided against it since he didn't know when they'd be leaving. "And Vic stapled him? Really gotta suck. When we heading out?"

"And you know that, how?" She inquired, taking away a toy when the squabble erupted into a slap-fight over it.

"Vic's an ass, but he ain't a dumb one." Metal explained. "If he had to dig a bullet outta the kid, he wudda called Blackburn himself. So, can't be a serious gun shot."

She turned to her husband, slapped the knuckles of the closest bickering kid. "You always say all gun shots are serious."

"They are. Just some aren't that bad."

"You're talking about Clay." She reminded him, made the toy disappear.

"And the reason we're heading into a hurricane, depth of waters unknown to get him."

"Hurricanes don't usually last that long." Metal said.

"And when has Clay been caught in the middle of one, requiring Trent's help?" Janine snorted. "And the burst dam in Roanoke doesn't count."

"Good point." Metal conceded. Sure, sure….this was Clay, so yeah, safe to bet this would be the longest lasting hurricane the mountains of North Carolina would ever see.

Trent picked up his buzzing phone, aah, Jason. "Hey boss." He went into the bathroom, shut the door.

"Gonna take couple hours, to get there." Metal observed. "Course, it has to be at night, height of a storm. Couldn't get shot on a sunny morning."

"Guess I should get him packed." Janine ruffled the hair of the kid bawling in her lap over the loss of his toy. "You're okay dude, suck it up."

"Uh, packed?" Metal had been in the Navy since he'd turned 18. He'd been on teams, in units, with platoons. He'd led his own team. But in all his years, he'd never encountered a team like Bravo. They liked one another, they hated each other. They'd defend their brother, then throw him under the bus. Let someone hurt one of them and heads were lost. Never had there been a tighter team.

"Med pack, you'll need clothes. You're gonna get wet and muddy, so you'll need to shower."

Women, Metal rolled his eyes heavenward, were creatures of comfort. "Spenser will have toothpaste, soap and shampoo."

"You'll need your toothbrush."

"Right, sure." He muttered into the neck of the bottle. "My toothbrush."

Trent popped his head around the door. "Authorities are prohibiting traffic on the highway. Back roads are unreliable. Rain is heavy, travel is unpredictable and not advised."

"So, we're walking."

"We reach Madison, meet the National Guard, Blackburn arranged for a canoe."

"A canoe?" Janine questioned. "Odd boat."

"Oh, sure, great." Metal heaved a false, dramatic sigh, finished his beer. "So, walk, hike, swim and carry a canoe over my head, in the dark, during a hurricane to retrieve a kid who never should have left home in the first place."

He'd willingly joined this team, why?

"Lotta bitchin' from the man who lost the kid in his own house." Trent came out of the bathroom, picked up the kid clamoring for his attention.

Metal scowled. "Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

Trent beamed. "Your. Own. Fucking. House. Metal."

"I'd been drinking homemade moonshine." He added defensively. "And that was like, months ago."

"And you've been forbidden from doing so again when you're responsible for babysitting duties." Trent dumped the kid in her mothers' lap. "And Jason doesn't forget, it's why you were sent here."

"Gonna be a long walk."

"Don't be so melodramatic." Janine chided good-naturedly. Right, two men could easily carry a canoe and it even if the current was strong, as long as it wasn't raging, they could navigate it to where they wanted to go. "If you have a canoe, you won't be swimming."

Trent's phone buzzed; he read the text. "Let's go get him."

***000***

Clay raised a hand to scrub over his sweaty face. His hand was gently guided to rest on his belly and a cold, damp cloth dabbed his forehead, nose and cheeks.

He didn't like that.

"Have you alternated acetaminophen and ibuprofen?" Mrs. Bonsky asked.

"Yes mom."

"Have you bathed him with tepid water?"

"Yes mom."

"And you've kept the cloth on his head, cool and wet?"

"I have."

"And his fever has gone up, not down?"

"That's correct."

"Are you sure that thing is working right?"

"I am."

"Why is he so red?"

"Fever?" Betty said uncertainly. The room was lit by wick lanterns, so it was dim but he did seem to have a red hue to his skin. "The heat?"

"Have you called the doctor back? He lives on the grounds, you know."

"I do know."

She'd thought about it, then dismissed the idea without even discussing it with Vic. Clay barely tolerated her anywhere near him, went tense and rigid whenever she tried to touch him. Talking softly didn't work. The sound of her voice didn't sooth him. Her touch didn't comfort him. She didn't think letting a complete stranger - she doubted Clay would remember meeting him numerous times - anywhere near him was a good idea.

"He's not settled."

No, he wasn't and nothing she did, made him so.

She'd cared for sick kids. She'd tended injuries – and not just scraped knees and cut fingers. She'd helped her husband change dressings and bandages on infected wounds that were red and bruised and swollen, oozing green and yellow fluids with a bad odor. She'd seen glued incisions with black skin; seen them stapled, stitched, held together inadequately with butterfly band-aids and steri-strips with black skin that had to clipped off.

But always, that was after Eric had been properly and professionally treated. Top-notch medical care was a short drive away at the base hospital where they never had to wait to be seen.

Vic was good, but he wasn't Trent-good and he wasn't a professionally trained medic. And never, had Eric been sick, unresponsive, so unsettled or so reluctant to respond to her. Her husband was always willing to slurp soup, eat pudding, drink juice or ginger ale.

Not Clay.

This was all new territory.

"No, he's not." She crossed the room to open the door. "Vic." She let him in. Maybe he could do something.

"Just checking in." Vic closed the door behind him. "All's good outside. Winds have let up, but the rain hasn't."

Mrs. Bonsky nodded. "Alright, then call that husband of yours."

"I did."

"And?"

"He's as unable to respond as everyone else affected by the storm."

"Pish-posh."

"Excuse me?" Vic asked. What the hell did that mean? "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means bullshit." The elderly woman breathed in exasperation. "I don't believe a word she's saying. If that wastrel wanted to move mountains to the beach and get his man out of here via a ship, he would."

"Wastrel? What wast….Blackburn?" He shook his head. "What?"

"Vic, it's late, you should go to bed." Betty said. "Thanks for checking in."

Oh, Vic wanted to. He was so tired, his eyes burned, but he just knew Betty was going to insist she spend the night with Clay and yeah, he didn't feel right about that.

"Just…it might be better, we leave him alone, let him sleep."

"He's not going to do anything to me." She said before he could protest further or find a reason to remain in the room. "He's sleeping." Well, not exactly sleeping, more of a fitful, restless dozing, but still, she could handle it.

Clay stirred, sensed the additional person in the room, decided he just had to know who it was.

I'd be asleep, everyone would shut up.

"No raised voices." Vic advised. "No sudden moves, don't try to restrain him. Talk to him, before you try and touch him."

Oh, it was Lopez. Asshole.

Betty barely refrained from snapping. What the hell did he think she'd been doing, these last hours?

"Oh now, good grief!" Mrs. Bonsky huffed. "What's he going to do? Jump out of bed, wrestle her to the floor and lock her in a scissor hold?"

"Yes." He said simply, waited, dared her to scoff at him.

"Elizabeth!"

"Mom, please. Don't start with him." Betty was tired, she had a headache and she wanted to simply sit in the chair and rest her aching eyes. "Vic, just go. Go to bed, you're just down the hall, if I need you."

"He'll be okay alone." Vic said seriously. "He's not delirious, not puking, right?"

Hot. I'm just hot.

"That very well may be true." She agreed. "Or I'll come to check on him and he'll be gone."

"Where would he go?"

Dip in the cold lake sounds good…..'cause...I'm hot.

"I don't know Vic, does he always choose to go somewhere when he disappears? Or does he get taken?"

"No one here is going to kidnap him!"

"You're willing to take that risk?"

"FINE! Stay and babysit him. I'm going to bed."

"And stay there this time!" Mrs. Bonsky yelled after him. "Really Elizabeth, I just can't like that boy."

"Mmmm."

Her last call to Eric, he'd told her to sit tight, he was working on it. She hadn't been able to connect with him again on any of the three phones; landline, cellphone or sat.

So, she was sitting tight.

"Why is the bed wet?" Mrs. Bonsky tsked-tsked. "He can't be comfortable in wet sheets. Have you called for fresh ones?"

She had. And she'd changed the bed when he'd gotten up for the bathroom, but between how badly he was sweating, the warmth of the room, the muggy humidity and water dripping from towels she used to try and cool him down, the sheets had become soaked and she hadn't done so again.

"Alright." Mrs. Bonsky said briskly. "That chair reclines, get some sleep. I had a nice nap watching the news." She pulled the desk chair closer to the bed, plopped down, produced a book. "I'll watch him for a bit."

Betty wanted to argue, but her mother hadn't suggested she leave the room and return to her own, so she nodded and went to the bathroom to wash up.

"And you, my blonde Adonis, stop this nonsense." Mrs. Bonsky fearlessly laid a palm on Clay's forehead. "I'm much too old to figure out what ails you."