Well, okay then. Now that I got this little diddle out of my head...I can attempt an idea one of you suggested.
Well, in the next chapter...

"Can piss by myself." Clay groused when Brock followed him into the bathroom.

"Yeah, we let you do that at the café, got you back bruised and broken." He didn't add how relieved Bravo was to have gotten him back when and how they did. Had the assailants made off with the kid, Bravo would have had to return to base, dig and wait, recon and worry, plot and fret, get a lead, gear up, head out and God knows what would have happened to him by then. "You've got a security detail, deal with it."

"Nothing's broken." Clay huffed, popped the button on his jeans, engaged in a short fight with the zipper – lost – and had to submit to the humiliating act of letting Brock work the stubborn metal on the denim. Uh, security detail? The hell?!

"No?" Brock questioned lightly, pulling the zipper down as he chose to ignore the slight shaking in Clay's hands and not call him on it.

"Just…." Clay swallowed hard, suddenly flushed with sweat. "Memmbe, the….zipper."

"Hey," Brock turned Clay towards the urinals. "Trent doesn't know how you're upright and walking, taking two hits to the head like that..."

"Three." Clay held up four fingers, squinted at his hand, tried and eventually trapped his pinkie under his thumb, beamed at Brock, proud of his accomplishment. "Three."

"Three?"

"Mirror." Clay touched his nose, winced. "Sink." He touched the steri-strips holding the gash together. "Sink." He rubbed a spot between his eyebrows.

Brock cursed silently, made a mental note to discuss it with Trent. He doubted it made much difference, but Clay hadn't mentioned anything about three whacks to the doctor and Trent always wanted to know things like that.

"Your guardian angel has to be exhausted, dunno what she ever did in life to be given you, but kid, you wear her out." And us, kid, you wear us the fuck out. How did your old team ever manage? One of these days, I'm taking Trent up on his offer to track down someone from that unit, buy him a couple shots, see what we shake loose.

"Who?" Clay stared blankly, unable to follow what Brock was saying. "Yeah, I'm tired." He paused, maybe Brock meant the zipper on his jeans was worn out. "I can change." He fingered his fly. "Zipper gone bad? It busted?"

"I meant, after what you've been through, being confused and fumbling a bit is expected."

"What?"

"Pee." Brock sighed, turned sideways, crossed his arms over his chest. Oh no way in hell was he taking his eyes off Clay. Well, okay, yeah he was, but he could still slant his eyes right and see the kid should he choose. "Just...make sure you take it out first." He teased. "Your aim good?"

"Huh?"

Rationally, Brock knew there was no way Clay could disappear from the bathroom in their own quarters on a heavily guarded American military base. No, make that, he knew Clay couldn't be taken. In his befuddled state, Clay could easily wander away, head God knew where, so yeah, he was gonna stand right here and watch the kid pee.

Trent, Doc and the doctor at the infirmary all said Clay was okay. Would be fine in a couple of days. His nose wasn't broken, there was no concussion, his head was intact. The black eyes would fade, the swelling in his face would subside, the headache would go away, he'd be able to breathe through his nose again soon, but until that happened, no one would sleep well.

Goddammit, they'd come so fucking close to having him snatched right out from under them, that not being able to see him, made Brock anxious. He turned, gave up all pretense of giving Clay privacy.

"Brock?" Clay had shuffled over to the sink, fly neither zipped nor buttoned.

"Yeah?" He moved over to turn the faucet on, took Clay's wrist, extended his hand, palm up, dispensed soap.

"I don't feel….right." Clay washed his hands, held them under the hot, running water because the heat felt good.

"You smacked your head pretty good."

"Ow."

"Yeah." Brock agreed with a grin. "Ow." He turned off the water.

"I, uh….can't really see." Clay held his hands out for Brock to dry with a paper towel.

"Your nose is swollen, making your eyes black and puffed closed."

"Yeah, can't really breathe." Clay sighed. "Dark though."

"Cause light makes it worse for you." Brock explained, thinking Sonny lacked the patience to deal with Clay when he was like this. With any of them. "I can turn the lights on, see how you do." He tossed the paper towel, reached for Clay who held his hand out. Brock ducked his head, grinned, took Clay by his wrist.

"No." Clay said quickly. He rubbed his forehead, temples pounding sickly against his eyebrows. He wondered, if he shaved them off, if whatever was knocking to get out, escaped, his head would stop throbbing. "Uh, time are we flying out?"

"We're not."

"Why?" He frowned, palm against his forehead. He didn't at all feel like gearing up and heading out. "Ray..he wanted to…didn't he..." He was ready to ask for a razor, got distracted when Brock spoke.

"Because someone tried to take you Clay."

"Take me? Who wants to take me? Take me where? I don't wanna go any where. Bed, maybe. I'm with you, so…" He stopped. "Aren't I?"

"Doesn't matter. Someone knew you were U.S. military and tried to take you. Not letting that go. Doesn't matter who it was they tried to take, we're on it."

"Okay, but…" He took a breath, dug deep, past his discomfort and cloud of haze. "Echo's coming, let them…"

"Have you met Jason?"

Right. No one took what belonged to Jason Hayes.

"Right." He licked his lips, trapped his tongue against his bottom one with his teeth. All he felt like doing was laying down and sleeping, wondered if he could beg off heading out with his team, decided against it. "We gearing up?"

"No." Brock said firmly. "And when we do, you're not going."

"Uh, yeah, yeah I am."

"You're staying here."

"Brock, I'm okay." He met his teammate's eyes, his gaze clear, focused and steady. I'm good."

And Brock knew he would be, was, if he had to be.

"H, I, J, K…?" Brock chanted.

"F?" His brow furrowed, Clay blinked at the abrupt change in subject.

"L." Brock took Clay's elbow, started to lead him towards the door. "Yeah, you're okay." He added sarcastically. "Come on, only place you're going is back to bed."

"JFK." He insisted as he tried to follow what Brock was asking, saying, doing.

"Is a dead president, not the next letter of the alphabet."

Clay gave up, let the knocking in his head, in. All ability to focus or follow or concentrate was lost. He trailed Brock back to their room where he obediently drank from a bottle of water, then obeyed Brock's suggestion – order – to lie down.

Brook picked Clay's foot up by the ankle, pressed his knees together, propped Clay's heel on his thighs, unlaced his boot, pulled it off, tossed it aside, put his foot back on the bed, repeated the process with his other foot.

He reached for Clay's jeans which were loose, tugged by the hem. "Lift your ass." He tossed the dirty denim aside. "Roll left, pull your knees up...both of them, that's it...now slide your feet." He helped Clay get under the blankets. He drew the line at labeling it 'tucking him in'.

It'd been nearly, what, seven, eight hours since they'd returned to the base and Clay wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, might as well make him comfortable. Someone had cleaned him up, probably a nurse at the infirmary, but still, he needed a shower, clean clothes. He wondered why Trent had let him come back from the infirmary and go to sleep, dirty and clothed, but knowing Trent, he'd probably decided since Clay was able to sleep, he could clean up later. "Want some ice?"

"Makes me cold."

Brock chuffed over the slurred, slow words. "How about an ice pack? Huh?" He took an instant pack from one of Trent's duffel's, squeezed to activate it, picked up a pillow. "Keep the pillow right there." He adjusted it slightly so that it covered Clay's forehead, eyes and top of his nose only. "Shouldn't be too cold with the pillow, get some sleep."

"Get me up…..when it's time."

"Sure." Brock lied, gave Clay's foot an affectionate squeeze, sat down to watch him fall asleep while he waited.

Trent returned with soup and cherry pie, set both on a desk across the room from where Clay slept. He immediately noticed the discarded boots and jeans but made no comment.

"No cake, huh?" Brock got up from his bunk to join Trent. "Thanks."

"He get up?"

"Took him to the head, doesn't like light, doesn't know the alphabet, didn't want ice." He took a bite of pie, waved his fork in Clay's direction. "Settled down with an ice pack on a pillow."

"He'll wake up when the others come back." Trent sat down to eat with Brock. "We'll be rolling soon, eat while we can."

"He, uh, needs a shower."

Trent sighed, nodded. "I know, just…we got back, he was so tired, just wanted to lie down. Didn't wanna make him get up again."

Brock nodded. Yeah, he understood that. "He said his head was whacked three times."

"Three?" Trent's mind whirled. Two injuries, but three hits were entirely possible.

"Mirror, sink, sink." Brock quoted with a grin. "Thinking face to the mirror accounts for the nose."

Trent nodded. "Two hits to the sink. Second one split his skin open."

"Make much difference?"

Trent shook his head. "Good to know though. Means she wasn't that strong. If she hadn't had back up, he'd have been able to subdue her." He'd call Doc soon as he could, but a now known third hit to his head, didn't change anything. "Make Sonny happy to know that."

Half an hour later, the door swung open.

"Hey," Sonny barged into the room, ignored Ray's advice to venture forth slowly and quietly. "Where's Tinkerbelle?"

He was hit in the face with a boot. He caught it one-handed, let it thud to the floor with a soft thump.

"The fuck was that for?" Sonny demanded in an outraged whisper. "The hell?"

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm whispering!"

"Then use sign language."

Sonny flipped Brock off, stomped over to Clay's bed. He meant to wake the kid up, make sure he was doing okay, but he stopped short, seeing, now that he was close enough to see in the dim light, Clay was sprawled on his back.

"The hell's this?"

"Headache."

"The hell that have to do with why he's on his back?" Sonny squatted down to see better in the dim light. Clay didn't move, stretched out to all four corners of the bed, blanket over his legs to his waist. Sonny blinked, feeling a sudden, odd urge to slide a finger into Clay's relaxed hand with the palm to the ceiling, see if his fingers would curl Sonny's, hold tight.

"His head hurts." Trent whispered impatiently. "Leave him alone."

"Then give him some aspirin."

Trent rolled his eyes, felt Brock kick him under the table. Yeah, like he hadn't thought to give Clay anything for his head.

"He. Broke. A. Sink. With. His. Head. Sonny."

"I know that!" Sonny sputtered, hands waving. "He never sleeps on his back."

Trent tossed his cards, he was losing to Brock anyway. "He sleeps in whatever position is comfortable."

"Flat on his back?" Sonny wondered, pulled up a chair, sat down. "That ain't like him."

"For whatever injury he has." Brock finished. "It's easier for him to breathe, now come away from him."

Sonny guffawed, making Clay stir in protest of the noise.

"Sonny, I swear to God, if you wake him up," Trent threatened, stood up. He'd thought Clay would wake up when the others returned but he hadn't and now Trent just wanted him to continue sleeping.

Sonny blinked, oh okay then, Trent wasn't kidding. He wheeled away from Clay's bed, joined Trent and Brock by the window as Trent sat back down.

"Thought he was ok." Sonny said seriously. "No concussion, no puking, coherent. Jason said so."

"His head hurts." Brock explained. "Sensitive to light and noise."

"Can't breathe through his nose." Trent added. "Learn anything in command?"

"Yeah, Mandy has a lead….waiting for the go to gear up. From what she and Randy can piece together, they knew Clay was U.S. military, dunno how yet or what they wanted him for, still working on it. We bring them in, we'll find out more." Sonny looked across the room, it wasn't usual to see Clay so quiet and still. He didn't like it.

"Our job here was done." Ray turned to Trent. "We were supposed to fly home later today, would we be, we weren't going after who tried to grab him?"

"You could if you wanted to." Trent replied. "But him?" He pointed at Clay, shook his head. "No."

It was getting to be a habit Blackburn was having a hard time justifying to the upper brass, Bravo not flying home on schedule, because when they could, they all preferred to fly together.

"Doc say that, or you?" asked Sonny seriously.

"Base doc says he's cleared to fly." Trent answered. "Doc says no."

"How long?"

"Until he can move around, tolerate light. Couple of days."

Sonny nodded. "Roger that."

It was a only an hour or so later when the call came to report to command. Bravo was being sent out to capture the trio who had attempted to take one of their own.

"No, not you." Brock scolded gently when Clay tried to sit up. "Stay put." He set a cell phone on the stand between the beds. "You need anything, speed dial 1, okay?"

"But….we going out?"

"No, go back to sleep."

Clay wanted to argue, insist if his team was going out, then he was going too, but the mere motion of rolling his head on the pillow had him closing his eyes and pulling a pillow over his face.

"Ya need me," he swallowed, nose stuffed. "I'll come after you."

And the thing was, they knew he would.

()()()

Bravo was gone longer than anyone thought the snatch and grab would take. The stronghold they tracked the trio to was reinforced with more combatants than thought. It took a gun fight, a forceful entry and hand-to-hand combat before being able to subdue and apprehend who they were after.

"Nothing's ever easy." Eric muttered to Lisa, watching the movements via ISR. "How the hell are they so fortified and we didn't know it?"

"You didn't want to wait." Mandy retorted.

Hands on hips, Eric stared Mandy down. She stood her ground, waited.

"And if we had? And missed the opportunity to grab them?" Eric asked, tone both commanding and confrontational. "Life with Sonny would be unbearable and Jason...? You want that?"

Mandy turned her back. No. No, she didn't want that. She wanted whoever had tried to take Clay just as much as Bravo did, but she didn't want anyone getting hurt because of rushed or incomplete intel.

"HAVOC, target secured." Ray came over the radio. "Clearing site and returning to exfil."

"Roger that, Bravo 2." Davis replied, high-fived Eric. "Good to go."

***000***

Clay struggled into a half sitting, half slumping position on his bed, shoulder against the wall. He was thirsty and nothing to drink was on the table next to his bed. There was a phone, but he didn't think wanting a drink of water warranted hitting 'speed dial 1'.

Annoyed, he huffed. That he remembered, but he couldn't remember what had happened to make him feel the way he did…which was, like shit.

As he sat on his hip, wondering why the mere thought of actually getting up made him cringe, he gradually became aware that both his head and his belly hurt, but he wasn't nauseated or dizzy. Not even queasy. Fuzzy-headily, he decided the pain in his belly was from hunger, slid his feet to the floor, pushed to the edge of the mattress, sat. His ears weren't ringing, he didn't feel like he wanted to tip forward or fall sideways, so he cautiously pushed to his feet.

Yeah, no. Nope. Not happening.

Soon as he lost the support of the bed, his head tilted him left and he stumbled to catch his weight before he hit the floor. Already falling left, he found no support to prevent his descent, hit the mattress face first. You'd think falling onto a mattress that was so soft and welcoming when willingly crawling into it, wouldn't feel like your nose just smacked into a concrete wall when falling on it, but you'd be wrong.

He howled at the impact of swollen, bruised nose against deceptively soft, comfortable mattress and tears welled. He somehow managed to raise his knee from the floor and crawl completely onto the mattress before his strength and coordination failed. Exhausted and disoriented, nose pulsating sickly into his eye sockets, he collapsed on his belly, flapped a hand about for the pillow, didn't find it, gave up.

His nose was trickling blood and he couldn't breathe. Bloodied by a mattress. Christ, the guys would never let him hear the end of the teasing.

He was cold. Wanted under the blankets. But despite no matter which way he rolled or how high he lifted his hips from the mattress or how hard or how many times he clutched and pulled and yanked the blankets, he couldn't get under them.

Fuck.

Little by little, one finger, toe, foot, leg, hip at a time, he accomplished the herculean feat of rolling over onto his back. He wanted the pillow because just that slight elevation made it easier for him to breathe. Unable to find it or make the blankets obey, and because no one was there calling his name, telling him to stay with them, slapping his cheek or telling him not to, he submitted to the shadows tugging at the edges of his vision, went with them willingly.

His throbbing nose and aching head, won. Hunger and thirst forgotten, he knew no more.

()()()

"And this Sonny," Trent paused, door knob in hand, the rest of the team crowded against his back. "Is why we don't leave him alone."

"Lemme see." Sonny whispered about as quietly as a two-year-old demanding a forbidden cookie. He nudged Trent forward who stubbornly resisted taking the first step that would allow the rest of the team to spill into the room. "Move, you big oaf. Hey Spenser for hire! We're baccc….pphhff." He grunted when Trent dug an elbow into his gut. "The hell…..uumpphff!" His words were muffled when Brock, who was behind him, clamped a hand over his mouth rendering the rest of his diatribe intangible.

Having pushed past everyone, Ray frowned. "He's still on his back." In his mind, if Clay would sprawl on his stomach or his usual half belly, half side position, then they could, you know, fly home in the morning.

"Why's he backwards in bed?" Sonny asked. "He's upside down. You leave him like that?"

"Yeah Sonny, it's how we left him." Brock snarked. "Probably tried to get up. Keep your voice down."

"Get up?" Sonny repeated. "To do what? We told him to stay put."

"Like you Sonny, he never does what he's told." Trent glared. "Keep your voice down or get out."

Sonny rolled his eyes, huffed, but sat down on his bunk, said nothing.

Trent held a pen-light, leaned over the bed, thumbed up Clay's eye lid. To his experienced eye, Clay was paler then when they'd left. Skin crinkled around his eyes and mouth, signs of discomfort, pain.

"It's been hours Trent." Ray had his computer in his hands. "Shouldn't he have slept it off? Be feeling better by now?"

"Come here." Trent's tone wasn't friendly, he stuck the flashlight between his teeth, waggled a hand in Ray's direction. "Lemme bounce your face off the wall, see how fast you sleep it off." He reached over to the closest bunk, tugged the blankets free, spread them over Clay. Dressed in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, the kid was shivering, had goose-bumps.

"Lose the attitude." Ray warned. "No need to bite my head off. I want to fly home tomorrow, that okay with you?"

"Who said you couldn't?" Trent checked the other eye. Clay was stirring now, pulled his head away, slapped ineffectively at Trent's arm. "Not putting him through that yet."

"Echo's here to take up the mission, no need for us to stay." Ray hedged. Clay was okay if miserable, the people responsible for his condition were in custody, Echo would take up the fight and Ray wanted to go home, see his kids, his wife. His daughter was going to be in a school play, if he left at dawn, he could be home in time to catch the performance.

"No one's stopping you from leaving Ray." Trent hadn't lost the attitude. "You wanna go, go. Take Sonny with you, it'll be quieter around here."

"Hey now, don't go dragging me into your squabble." Sonny objected. "I just be sitting over here, why pick on me?"

The blankets tucked over Clay up to his shoulders, Trent squatted beside the bunk, rubbed his arms, chest, belly to help him warm up. Whether or not it was an effective gesture didn't matter. It made Trent feel better to do it.

"Because you can't keep your mouth shut." Brock eased the pillow under Clay's head. "Bull in a china shop, you just can't not make noise."

Sonny opened his mouth to argue, closed it, glared. They wanted him to be quiet? Fine! Go ahead, ask him a question, he'd freaking find pen and paper to scrawl out his answer. Let them try and read his handwriting. See how well they liked that!

"Don't boot up in here." Trent told Ray. "Take it outside."

"Say what now?" Ray raised an eyebrow, not used to his medic giving orders about what could and couldn't be done in quarters. "You wanna try that again?"

Trent sighed, motioned to Brock, raised to his full height, pocketed the flashlight, turned to confront his team's 2IC.

"Ray, I don't care how long it's been and just because you feel he should have slept it off by now, doesn't mean he did. It's not gonna happen like that. It's gonna be days. You ever had your bell rung so hard? I have. I had a good medic and Clay's gonna get the same care I did."

"There's no injury, no concussion," began Ray hotly.

"So, he's faking it?" Trent was ready for battle, but before that would happen, he'd drag Ray out of the room by his ear. "Three whacks to his head Ray, let's see how you feel after one."

They both knew Trent was a hell of a lot stronger than the woman who had attacked Clay, even if he pulled his punch, it would still hurt like hell.

"Ray," Jason squeezed his shoulder, Eric was with him. "Wheel's up at 0600, you wanna be on the plane, be on it."

"He's seen a doctor Jason, he's had tests. He's medically cleared to fly."

"They don't know him." Brock interjected. "We do."

"He's not flying." Trent poked Ray in the chest. Ray slapped his hand down - a clear warning he wasn't happy.

"Ray." Eric spoke up, tone quiet and calm. "I called Doc back home. He's talked to the doctors here, seen the scans. Clay's gonna be fine but the only thing that's going to make him feel better is ice, rest, meds and time. He's not flying anywhere until Trent says he's ready. He can choose to stay with him if he wants, but the rest of you are on the flight come morning."

"How long, you think?" Jason asked Trent.

"With him?" Trent shrugged. "It's Clay, so…three days?"

Brock was quiet. Whether or not he went home depended on how good a night Clay had. So far, all the kid had done was sleep, but Brock wondered how he was going to feel, when he didn't sleep so much. Katie would understand, she learned he'd been able to return home and didn't.

Brock caught Eric's eye. "He has a bad night, I'm staying."

Sonny mentally gave himself a kick. Blackburn was likely to let one of them stay with Trent to babysit and if he'd thought to say it first, it could be him.

"Won't Katie be expecting you home?" He tried to give Brock an easy out. "Like, yesterday?"

"Yup. She'll understand."

"I expect the rest of you to be on the plane." Eric said pointedly. "You too Brock, he sleeps through the night."

"Ray, come on." Jason coaxed. "Bring your laptop, we'll check in with Mandy, see how her interrogation is going, then you can call home."

"This isn't over."

"Get out." Trent pointed to the door. "Go. Come back when you're in a better mood."

Jason sighed, tiredly rubbed his brow. "Trent, not helping."

"Can...you guys...be quiet?" Clay asked sleepily. "Ya'll...makin'...my head...hurt."

"They were just leaving." Trent said pointedly.

Eric took the hint, left with Jason and Ray. Sonny remained on his bed, lingered, not sure whether he wanted to join Jason, shower, or get something to eat.

"Aspirin." Clay winced, pressing the heels of both hands against his head just above either ear. "Man."

Trent frowned, it'd been hours, long enough that he thought Clay would at least be able to tolerate noise without wincing and hitched breathing.

"Bit stronger than aspirin." Trent shook two pills out of a bottle. "Sit up a bit. Can you swallow okay?"

Clay eased up on one elbow, held out a palm for the pills. "With water."

Brock handed him a bottle, simply stared after Clay popped the pills in his mouth and guzzled the water.

"Why'd you get up?" Trent was asking. So, the kid was thirsty. Might help explain the headache if he'd gone all day without having much to drink.

"I didn't...did I?"

"Turned around in bed. You get up? Fall?"

Clay finished the water, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, laid back down. "Couldn't find the pillow. Cold." He stretched his legs out. "Can't breathe."

"Ice would help, you'd keep it on your nose."

"Makes me cold." He reached for the blanket, found coarse material, held tight, twisted the fabric in his fist. "Uh, stomach ached." His eyes were closed. He tried to breathe through his nose, whined when he couldn't, licked lips chapped from breathing through his mouth. Brock sat down on the bed near Clay's feet, didn't try to break Clay's hold. "Thought, memmbe, I was...hungry."

Sonny, Brock and Trent looked at the wall clock then the watch on their wrist.

Shit, Trent thought. He'd gone and failed the kid this day. They all had. Ordered him to stay put then had gone and left him alone with no water, nothing to eat, no one to check on him. Clay had been jumped around 7 that morning at breakfast that he'd never had a chance to eat. He'd missed lunch and it was well past dinner time. So yeah, the kid hadn't had anything to eat in well over twenty-four hours.

"I'm on it." Sonny whispered, got to his feet. "Uh, anything go?"

"Nothing spicy." Trent offered. "Tomato soup, grilled cheese. No teeth are loose, but his whole face is sore."

"Swollen." Sonny corrected, lingered with a backwards look, left. The door shut with a soft snick.

"Okay." Brock held a zippered hoodie. "Sit up." Clay struggled up, accepted assistance from Brock, who, for whatever reason, was sitting on his bed. "Okay, okay, that's good. Arms up." He worked Clay's arm into a sleeve, Trent the other. Clay rolled left, let Trent zip the hoodie up to his chin. "You'll warm up soon. How you feeling?"

"Been worse." Clay admitted. "Been better."

"You got nowhere to go."

"Spense? Hey, one, two..."

"Buckle my shoe."

Brock patted Clay's knee, ruffled his hair when his befuddled expression turned from proud to confused at the burst of laughter from Trent who had been angling for; three, four.

"Yeah, okay." Trent said with a chuckle.

The door opened and Clay roused to the smell of food that Sonny carried through the door.

"Turn around, sit still." He was told. "You can eat right there."

Back against the wall, pillow on his lap, he inhaled the wonderful aroma of soup. He might not be able to breathe through his nose, but he sure as hell could smell and nothing ever smelled as good as that soup, right then, right now. He cupped the cardboard container, 'aahed' over the welcoming warmth, raised it to his lips.

"Good." He sighed in contentment then winced as the salty, hot liquid stung his lips. "Ow."

"Dip."

Clay stared into the disposable bowl, knitted his brow. Dip? Dip what?

"Hey," someone tapped his knee, diverted his attention to his lap. "Eat this while it's hot."

His vision was fine, but his coordination remained a bit off so it took him three tries to pick up the triangle sitting in a white Styrofoam container on his lap.

Had he had that problem picking up the soup? He didn't think so, but he couldn't remember. Maybe it had been handled to him, hell he didn't know and it wasn't worth trying to figure it out.

His wrist was held, guided until the triangle of light brown bread between his finger and thumb touched the soup, then raised it to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste.

Butter. Cheese. Toast.

"Just eat." Brock said quietly when Clay started to ask a question. He didn't know whether it was about the food or where the team had been or what they'd found out. "Finish what you can, go back to sleep, 'k."

Clay finished the first triangle of bread, picked up a second. His mind was fuzzy, but he welcomed the attention.

"You..." He chewed, swallowed. "We..." He took another bite, drank some soup. "Guys staying in?"

"I'm taking a shower, but Sonny will be here." Brock said. "Trent's not far away, okay? Now, finish eating."

***000***

Jason rose to his feet when his Lt. Commander beckoned with a slight nod of his head. He crossed the room, stopped next to Eric who reached for the knob on a side door.

"I need a minute." Eric mouthed, glanced across the assorted personnel in the room, opened the door and stepped through.

Jason shrugged, followed Eric into a small, windowless room lacking electronics. What now?

Eric pulled an envelope from a pocket, held it out to Jason who didn't take it.

"Not gonna like this, am I?"

Eric was quiet, didn't duck from Jason's direct gaze. "I don't like this." He admitted.

"Just spit it out." Jason said tersely. "From who?"

"The Captain of Clay's Seal Team 3."

"No."

"I'm stalling, seeking more information."

"About what? What does he want?"

"Clay."