My usual...medical blah, blah, blah.

Trent returned with a wet, warm hand towel, handed it to Clay who just stared at the offering, didn't reach to take it.

"Wipe your face." Trent instructed. "Got blood on your lip. You hit your nose? Bleeding a bit."

Clay sighed, took the rag, wiped his face, held it against his nose, pinched. "Think so. I dunno." He touched the skin beneath his nose. "Maybe." He cast a dubious gaze at the mattress. "Wait, yeah?" His forehead wrinkled. "No."

"Still hungry?" Brock asked, the soup was gone and only one triangle of four remained.

Clay shook his head, handed off the empty carboard bowl to Trent, let Brock take the Styrofoam container, pushed the pillow off his lap.

Trent waited but when Clay didn't move to get up, said; "Want a shower?"

Clay was quiet. No, he didn't want a shower. He didn't feel up to balancing on a slippery floor wondering where the water was coming from, trying to decide if it were too hot or too cold. His head strongly advised him to forget about standing up and getting out of bed to appease his bladder and to satisfy his desire – that he didn't have a second ago – for hot water and soap, and to keep his sore, aching body with its bloody nose right where it was – in bed.

But of course, he didn't.

"Don't need security." Clay groused, sliding to the edge of the bed and putting both ankles off the mattress. "Can piss by myself." He didn't try to stand. "Just….which, uh, way'm I goin'?"

"Say what?" Trent looked at Brock for an explanation.

"Told him we weren't letting him out of our sights." Brock finished the last of the grilled cheese. "Every time we do, we lose him or he gets attacked by some random fraction fighting for a cause, so yeah, he has a security detail"

Clay huffed. "Christ." He spread his knees and peered between them, looking for the floor. Were his feet touching it? Could he see it? Was that it? What color was it anyway?

"Not slurring his words as much. Swelling's down. I can actually see his blue eyes." Brock noted to Trent, tapped Clay atop his head. "What's 144 divided by 4?"

"36." Clay replied without thought, waggled a foot, rotated his ankle. Where was the fucking floor? How high was this damn bed anyway? Was he on the top bunk? He tilted his head back, quickly brought it even again. Yeah, don't look up. Ceiling wasn't right above him anyway.

"Math?" Trent demanded, hands on hips. "You give him a math question?"

"Hey, you did." Brock shot back.

"And he came up with a nursery rhyme." Trent argued. "I wanted him to count!"

"And I wanted him to divide!"

Clay sat, listened to them bicker good-naturally. Tension only seemed to seep between them when Ray took a side. Or maybe Clay was just irritated with Ray. He hadn't completely understood the brief argument between Trent and Ray, but he had registered Trent's tone and knew he was at the center of whatever they disagreed about.

So yeah, he was gonna be mad at Ray for pissing off Trent.

Not bothering to interrupt them, after more wiggling and scooting, he finally touched the floor, pushed to his feet. He expected to be lightheaded or dizzy but amazingly, his head remained clear though he did find that he tended to tilt left.

"Head hurt?" Trent asked, chucking the empty food containers into a trash can. "Going somewhere?" He watched Clay pinwheel slightly with his hands to gain his balance.

"Bit, yeah." He hunched a shoulder, rubbed his temple against the hoodie. "Uh, aches some still. Not as bad though." He paused. "Gonna take…..." He took a step, then another. "…a leak and you said…shower."

"Should be feeling better." Brock commented. "Been sleeping all day."

"Gonna sleep for a couple of days before he starts to feel more himself." Trent advised.

"Yeah?" Clay moved towards the door. The room was dim and quiet and though it was difficult to concentrate, he could force his thoughts into focus if he really wanted to. "Couple aspirin, I'll be good."

"Careful opening that door." Trent warned. "Lights in the hallway." Aspirin! Pfftt! What he was giving Clay for his headache was a bit stronger than aspirin. It was meds for a migraine because, Trent had learned that for whatever reason, Clay responded to such meds even though he had no history of ever suffering a migraine.

Clay waved him off. Brock caught Trent's eye who shrugged.

"Might want to shield your….." Trent began as Clay flung open the door, got a face full of bright lights, and went to his knees with a howl. "….eyes." He finished with a sigh. What happened is what he'd expected. By morning, Clay would be able to tolerate light, but right now? No, not right now. "And this is why we don't want you doing anything by yourself."

Brock moved forward to help Clay to his feet, close the door. He had a hand on the door when it swung open, knocking his hand aside and smacking Clay, still on his knees, right in the face, the edge of the door catching his nose.

"Dammit Ray!" Brock cursed as Clay yelped, doubling forward and clutching his face with cupped hands, nose bleeding between his fingers. "The hell you doing!?"

Trent crouched beside Clay, laid a hand on his back, let him rock, elbows tucked in. Waited to see if he would succumb to the pain and pass out. As it was, he was pleased Clay hadn't been knocked out cold by the door.

"Entering my quarters."

"Have you learned nothing living with him?" Trent accepted the earlier discarded towel from Brock. "Someone get some ice."

Sonny, on Ray's heels, spun around in the hallway, went off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ray demanded.

"It means, you don't go barging into his room when he's hurt or sick or medicated." Brock said, disappointed with Ray's attitude. "You want to go home, you blame him you aren't already there, we get it. Leave in the morning, just be gone."

"The doctor said he could fly." Ray returned calmly. "And I wanted who tried to take him just as badly as you did. I want to know why he was targeted."

"The doctor doesn't know him. You have any idea how hard it is to keep him hydrated? You should by now. Flying with him is too great a risk, he dehydrates too fast."

Brock shot Trent a dark look, he hadn't said anything before about dehydration being a risk. Where had that come from? And what the hell did it mean?

"He's not vomiting or showing any signs of complications." Ray continued to remain calm. "And it's my room as well."

"Yeah well, maybe we should go back to you and Jason having separate quarters." Trent muttered, trying and failing to make Clay straighten up. "Lemme see dumb ass. Let go."

Clay moaned, fought against the attempt to remove his hands. Sitting on his knees, he let his ankles splay and his ass hit the floor between them, seeking stability.

"I didn't barge in anywhere. The door was open, I pushed it further, that's all I did." He wasn't any too happy with the recent attitude he'd been receiving from Bravo's normally quiet duo. "Why was he on the floor?"

"Use a little care, you know?" Brock stood opposite Trent, Clay between them. "Enter quietly, slowly. Remember this morning?" He caught Trent's eye, took hold of Clay's elbow. "One, two…." On three, he and Trent lifted Clay off his knees, each holding an elbow. "Put your feet down…" They gave him a shimmy-shake, lifted him higher. "….your foot….no, you can't sit. Stand on your feet….both of them….no…hey, no. Come on. Stand up."

Clay uncurled slowly, tried to straighten up as he found the floor with his feet, slumped left towards Brock only to be shoved back towards Trent who put a palm on his chest. He allowed the hold, accepted the support. His head too heavy to hold up, his ear found Brock's shoulder.

"Sit for a minute." Trent encouraged gently when Clay resisted their efforts to back him up to his bunk so he could sit down. "Hey, come on." He bucked a knee into the back of Clay's thigh, kicked his foot forward. Brock easily held Clay's weight when he buckled. "Sit."

The hell! They'd just told him to stand up. He tried to think, tried to breathe, was forced to pant through his mouth. His head hurt. His nose…ow. He tried to grasp what was going on, but failed. Nothing came to him; not where he was or why or who was with him. He heard voices, not words. He could see, but couldn't identify what he saw.

He sat with a hard thwump that clacked his teeth and jounced his hands against his nose.

"Mmmm." Clay groaned, shuddering restlessly. Something cold and wet was laid across the back of his neck and he muttered nonsense in protest, becoming more aggressive in his attempts to shrug free from a secure hold that only seconds ago had been comforting but was now constricting.

"Leave off."

He hunched his shoulders as he broke out in goosebumps, tried to dislodge it by shaking and twisting, even spared a hand from his nose, was stopped. A hand tangled in his hair, gently brought his head up, both hands once again holding his face.

"You're good," his fingers were pried apart and something heavy, wet and colder than he liked was held against the back of his hands over his nose. Sonny was back and Trent applied the tied towel of ice. "Yeah, you don't like it, I know. Tuff shit. Now, keep your eyes closed."

They are closed. Aren't they? Must be, 'cause I can't see.

"…..pain will ease." Trent went on. "Ray whacked you with a door….."

Right, my head. It hurts. So does my nose. Who did what to me?

"…the room's as dark as I can make it….."

Aah, that's why I can't see.

"….soon as the bleeding stops….."

Yeah, my hands are warm and wet…so, blood, eh?

"…..and I make sure you aren't exhibiting any of the symptoms that would identify a brain injury…"

Brain injury? Who has a brain injury? ME? I DO?! Since when?

"…..'less the whack gave you a concussion…"

Concussion? Pfft, my headache's from getting whacked with a door. You just said so.

"….I'll check for signs…"

Signs? Signs of what? The ten drummers drumming on my skull? Yeah, hey, I can show you were to find them. He twitched a couple fingers. Right the fuck here.

"…..from what I can see, even eyes….that's good." Trent tipped Clay's head up further, left his hands holding his nose. "Look at me."

I have two! What the hell else are they supposed to be?

"How's he supposed to look at you, his eyes all swollen like that?" Sonny complained.

"Shut it Sonny." Trent barked. "Clay, hey….I need you to look at me. Okay? Can you do that?"

"He's confused." Sonny went on. "Why isn't he with it?"

Clay moaned, moved his hands to cover either ear in an attempt to hold his skull together.

"Don't swallow, spit." Trent coached. "Look. At. Me."

Clay didn't want to, so he didn't.

"Not asking you to open your eyes," Trent was saying, "Just want you to look at me."

Clay frowned, swollen cheeks ballooning up like a hamster stowing a carrot to carry back to its nest. Hands still over his ears, elbows coming together in front of his chest, he carefully turned his head to face Trent.

"That's it." Trent said encouragingly. "Tell me what's wrong with your ears."

Clay licked cracked, split lips with a tongue coated with in white film. Trent cursed, told Sonny to find some water.

"My….'ead." Clay muttered thickly. "Split…in…two…just…" He winced, bit his lip when his breath hitched. "…holdin' it 'gether."

"What'd he say?" Brock asked, watched Trent try and see why Clay was now holding his ears. He tried to press a towel against Clay's nose but the kid wasn't having it, pushed Brock's hand away. "Hold his head together?" It was his turn to frown, pause. "Any of that blood from his ears?"

Trent took the towel from him, shook his head. "Don't think so. Grab his wrists, hold his hands, I'm trying to check."

At first, Clay resisted the pull on his hands, but the hold wasn't abusive and thumbs rubbed soothing circles against his wrists until he relaxed, so he let his hands be guided to his lap.

"Need a light?" Brock asked as Trent took the towel he'd just dropped, used it to wipe the blood from Clay's ear, inserted a knuckle into his canal and rubbed gently.

"I don't wanna put him back on his knees." Satisfied Clay wasn't bleeding from his right ear, Trent moved around him to repeat the process on his left ear. "Don't think he'll tolerate it."

"He's already sitting down." Ray couldn't help but point out the obvious.

"Ow." Clay flinched, when Trent, who now had access to his bloody nose, took hold gently and gave it a waggle. "OW!" He ass lifted off the mattress. "AAH!" His hands left his lap, went for his nose, but Trent caught them, gave them back to Brock to hold. "Owowowowowo….OW!"

"I know." Trent pushed him back onto the mattress, ignored the fresh gush of blood, the others in the room. He checked Clay's nose, his eyes, his teeth, his ability to breathe – felt Sonny's breath on the back of his neck. "Sonny, back off."

"Lot o' blood there, Quincy." Sonny drawled, moved back so Trent could haul Clay to his feet. "Need help?"

"I've got him." Brock said. "Come on Spense. Keep your eyes closed, we're going for a walk."

"Leaving?" Ray taunted. "Gonna take your pillow and sleep somewhere else? Bit childish, don't you think?"

"Right, right. Not gonna clean him up or nothing. Gonna just leave him in bed, looking like this." Trent nodded, shooting daggers with his gaze narrowed. "Still gotta piss Clay? Pee on the floor, Ray here will clean it up." He took the bottle of water from Sonny, put it in a pocket.

"Yeah, 'cause you know, he wasn't up and trying to walk out the door before you smashed his face with it." Brock added.

"You two are out of line." Ray crossed his arms. "I had no way of knowing he'd be out of bed." He took a step forward. "And he was already on the floor. Why's that again?"

"Bugger off." Trent sniped.

"Hey." Jason pushed Ray aside, entered the room. "Something I gotta get in the middle of?"

"All's good." Sonny said with a fake chuckle. "Taking homeboy here for a walk, is all."

Jason focused on Clay, blood past his wrists to his elbows, Brock holding the towel of ice over his still bleeding nose. "Clean him up, bring him back."

"Yeah, don't think so." Trent shot back. "Grill him in the morning Boss, he's no good to you right now."

Jason eyed his rookie, asked with a tired sigh. "He need the infirmary?"

"I'll let you know."

"W'at?" Clay moaned nasally, coughed, groaned. "I…."

"Spit." Trent ordered, held a towel to Clay's mouth when he parted his hands and coughed, spat. He hiccupped. "Come on."

Trent and Brock led Clay from the room and Sonny knelt to wipe the blood off the floor with a towel.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Jason asked. He so didn't need this right now. Didn't need strife and tension among his own team. "You were, like, five minutes ahead of me Ray. The hell?"

"Ray whacked him in the face with the door." Sonny said. "Trent didn't say it broke his nose, so…" He moved to Clay's bed, returned the extra blankets back to their original bed, fixed the sheets on Clay's mattress, tucked in the blankets, fluffed the pillow. "Guessin' the kid's okay, seein' they took him to clean up rather than the infirmary."

"This how it's gonna go?" Jason asked finally.

"Anything from Blackburn?" Sonny changed the subject.

Jason sighed, considering everyone's current moods, he was surprised it was going as well as it was. "Letting Echo handle it." He paced. "We're flying out in the morning. Trent can stay with Clay."

"I'll stay." Sonny offered. "Let Trent go home to his wife."

"I'll feel better, it's Trent." Jason held a hand up. "Moving on," he paused, "Blackburn got a call….Clay's last unit has requested him for…"

"Requested? What does that mean?"

"Why?"

"Blackburn's digging. I don't know anything more. The Captain on his unit asked for, and was granted, Clay."

"No."

"Not our choice Sonny."

"When?" Sonny asked. "He's not in any condition to go on a mission Jay."

"I know."

"They can't just take him back."

"I know."

"This is bullshit."

"I know."

"Tell us what you know." Ray said calmly, all thoughts of being home to see his daughter perform gone. "When do they want him? Why? For what?"

"Blackburn's stalling, waiting for further information." Jason pushed a hand through his hair. "Thing is, doctors here, cleared him. We don't have much to argue with."

"Sonny, where are you going?" Ray asked when he headed for the door.

"To wait with Blackburn." Sonny was in the hallway. "Someone's gonna tell me what the hell's going on, and then someone's gonna tell me how to stop it."

Ray looked at Jason who stared back. They pivoted and followed.

()()()

Trent led Clay back to bed, face washed, bleeding stopped. He was surprised to find everyone gone but assumed Mandy had called with information and they'd gone to see what she had learned. Echo would be taking up the fight, but that didn't mean Bravo wouldn't want to know why Clay had been targeted and by who.

Brock offered to go find out what was going on, if Trent was good with Clay. Trent nodded, waved him on. He was tired. It'd been a long, emotionally hectic and mentally frustrating day. All he planned to do was; settle Clay, call the wife, take a hot shower, go to bed.

Didn't. Go. As. Planned.

Clay was in bed, but he didn't settle down and he didn't go to sleep. He flinched at even the littlest noise, stirred whenever Trent moved, winced when Trent turned on a light or the TV. He was uneasy, uncooperative, and either unable or unwilling to settle down. He refused to keep ice on his face, even with towels and a pillow. Slapped irritably at Trent when he attempted to check Clay's pupils. Cried at the flashlight in his eyes, cursed when Trent forced him to obey or submit.

Trent got it. He did. Clay's whole face hurt. His cheeks were swollen into eyes which were swollen closed and when Trent forced his eyelids up with his thumb – which he barely managed to do – it caused pain down to his jaw and back to his ears. His nose was twice its normal size, clogged with blood and he was still unable to breathe through it.

Not once, in the bathroom, had Trent let Clay out of his sight. He'd watched him closely for any signs the whack to his face with the door might have caused, but there hadn't been any. Though unsteady, Clay had been able to maintain his balance. Though confused, Clay had been able to correctly answer easy questions. Though in pain, Clay's mobility and agility had passed Trent's motor-function skills: he'd been able to slap Trent's extended palms, though not with much strength. He'd been able to stand on one foot, touch his nose with his middle fingertip, raise both arms at the same time and speed over his head and duck Trent's light punch.

Bending over though, or trying to touch his toes, had ended with an undignified collapse in Brock's arms. Neither the head-heavy forward pitch or drinking water had produced vomiting and he hadn't had any trouble swallowing the water either.

Trent had been satisfied with Clay's responses, they'd returned to their room and here they were; Trent bleary-eyed with exhaustion and Clay unsettled.

Trent knew the drill when Clay was hurt, recovering and uneasy. He pulled up a chair, sat down near Clay's bed, commenced in a silent text conversation with his wife, because noise now bothered Clay more than light did. Trent tested the theory by taking photos of Clay's bruised, swollen face and sending them to Janine and Clay didn't even flutter an eyelid over the camera flash.

Huh.

Sitting near him had the effect Trent assumed it would and he was soon asleep, breathing labored with snorts and snores every time he tried to breathe through his nose. Eh, Trent shrugged it off, he'd soon learn – even asleep – to breathe through his mouth.

Still though, the possibilities of what could be or what could go wrong, made his stomach clench. The whack from the door hadn't caused a concussion but a brain bleed or blood clot were Trent's silent fears after the whack. He'd been watching and listening for a change in breathing, choking, gagging or vomiting, but so far, there hadn't been any. Still though, he checked the kid's eyes, called his name periodically, roused him to swallow water, offered him melting ice cubes, pinched his arm, to see if he could get a response.

And he did each time:

A rolling of the head, licking of the lips, a stop in his breathing.
Once or twice, Clay opened his eyes.
Once he reached for Trent's hand.
There were no signs of a burst vessel or floating blood clot.
His eyes weren't blood shot or shot through with red from blown veins.
Neither had sunken into their sockets and both pupils remained even, though they did skitter and roll.
He flinched when Trent forced his eyes open, but that was due to the extensive swelling.
He didn't complain of a headache or hold his head in pain.
When Trent persisted for a response to a question, he got one.
Clay didn't startle easily, hadn't had a seizure.
There was no vomiting, no difficulty swallowing, and there hadn't been a time Trent hadn't been able to wake him.
He woke groggy and irritable, but hadn't lapsed into confusion, displayed lucidity and awareness, knew who Trent was.

Trent kept these worries and concerns to himself. It was merely a suspicion of a slim possibility anyway and to say anything out loud would only rile his team. Nothing to do but wait and see and keep a close eye on him.

Clay somehow had the ability to avoid serious injury, heal in a short amount of time, fight through pain and discomfort. If Trent, at any time, saw signs Clay's condition had deteriorated or he acted or behaved in a way Trent was uncomfortable with, to the infirmary they would go.

"Hey," Brock stepped into the room after carefully opening the door. "You still up? He's he doing?"

"About time you got back. Christ….the hell's going…" Everyone followed him into the room, Blackburn, Davis and Mandy with them. Trent pushed to his feet to argue about the invasion but Brock held up a hand and shook his head.

Trent sat back down.

They filled Trent in on the request from the Captain of Clay's prior team.

"Don't like it."

"Any idea how strong his connection is to that team?"

"Nope. He ever talk about it to you?"

"Me? Hell, no."

"Thing is, we know what he'll push through for us. You think he'd do that for anyone else?"

"Think we're about to find out."

"How's he doing?"

"Nose isn't broken, but the swelling is extensive. I don't think he can see, his cheeks meet his eyebrows." Trent grinned tiredly. "He's keeping ice on it whether he wants to or not."

They all looked over at Clay who was sprawled on his back, a towel of ice over his eyes and nose. He appeared to be sleeping, but yeah, they knew Clay!

"So, you didn't take him to the infirmary, why?" Eric asked.

"No need."

"Maybe you do, the doctor will ground him." Mandy spoke up.

"I already did that." Trent's hands went to his hips.

"Just from flying. Not for whatever he's wanted for." Mandy argued. "From his old unit."

Trent gave it some thought, shook his head. But Jason was looking at Ray, a silent conversation was held between them with their eyes.

"Take him in." Jason ordered.

Trent didn't bother to protest, just pushed to his feet. "Just gonna make him uncomfortable, keep him awake, deny him rest. The doc's gonna say he's fine, nothing broken, no damage, stop wasting his time."

"You don't know that." Ray said.

"I do. I know him." He juggled Clay awake, coaxed him into sitting up. "I get back, you ALL had better still be awake. I don't get to go to bed, no one does."

"Need a hand?" Sonny beat Brock this time, sent the dog-handler a smug smirk. "Hey Blondie,"

Sitting up in bed, Clay slumped against the solid warmth that was Sonny. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go anywhere. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want anyone to do anything to him except tuck the blankets back up to his shoulders because he was cold.

Sonny didn't need Trent's help getting Clay to his feet and once Clay managed to put one foot in front of the other, his head hanging to his left shoulder towards Sonny, they made it out the door.

"I'm telling you, he's fine. This is a waste of time."

Trent was right.

And from here, we move on….there will be a jump.