I don't hate Ray.…but I gotta pick someone to speak out – up – against and it's never, ever, going to be Jason (or Blackburn) in any story of mine….so…..it's gonna be Ray or Mandy.

Eric paced his living room; cell phone at one ear, land line at the other. Jason stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest; waiting.

"I never….I didn't….no." Eric was saying, carrying on two conversations. "How? He better not be…..you just made a serious mistake." He looked at the wall clock, his watch. "….call him back…..No…no…you heard me…get him back."

Jason stiffened. Eric didn't mean 'call' via phone.

"You fucked up, that's what you did." Eric threw the cell phone, talked into the other receiver. "Then get Bravo airborne…!"

"I want our support team." Jason spoke up, Eric nodded in agreement. "Full team Blackburn."

"Full team, that's right." Eric's cell rang, he picked it up. "It's a 15-hour flight…we're wheels up in 90 and God help you Crawford, you'd better have him back on base by the time we get there or it won't be rubber bullets Quinn shoots at you."

Jason was on the phone, calling Ray. "We're green, call up Dutch, we're rolling."

"You. Will. Be. On. That. Plane." Eric growled, taking the duffel his wife handed him. "And. You. Will. Read. Us. In. And Phil, you'll be on a plane full of men who know how to throw someone out of it."

()()()

"Enough." Brock pushed to his feet to pace in the limited space available. "I don't believe for one second, Clay disobeyed direct orders, resulting in this shit show you're trying to convince us happened."

"Three dead, two injured, one missing." Phil Crawford, of some higher rank or another, repeated.

"And that's Clay's fault, how?"

"He disobeyed orders."

"Oh, right, right." Brock nodded, hands on hips. "Because he didn't poison the well of a peaceful village. Right?"

Crawford gawped, glared.

"The peaceful village you ordered burned to the ground."

"And was done."

"The team was led into a trap…." Phil tried, was cut off.

"Twice, wasn't it?"

"And why was that? There was no proven intel that village was anything more than poor farmers. Someone decided it could possibly sustain a fighting force, so it was destroyed. You picked the wrong village to make an example of, didn't you?"

"We weren't wrong." Phil said through clenched jaw. "The events that followed proved that."

"There was no sign of weapons or illegal activity. No drugs. No sex trade. You found nothing."

"And yet the next day, the next day, the warehouse the team was sent to….." Again, Phil was interrupted.

"The warehouse." Trent spat sarcastically. "In the nearest city over an hour away and not previously singled out as suspicious. Where'd the intel come from again, that sent the team over an hour away to investigate a warehouse no one cared about? Even knew about?"

"Where'd that intel come from again?" Brock echoed.

"….blew sky-high and Spenser was conveniently 'knocked out' and came to no harm." Phil continued.

"Conveniently?" Trent sputtered. "Conven…..the HELL, you dick? You think he ran away, smashed his own head against a wall until he knocked himself out?"

"No one on his team ever suspected him of being involved." Brock growled. "And if you investigated that path, you found nothing, right?"

"We lost good men." Phil said heatedly. "And Spenser gets a bump on his head? Because he didn't poison a well?" He snorted his disdain, his disbelief. "I'll never buy that."

"You're an asshole." Trent spat.

"Trent." Ray warned when neither Jason nor Eric spoke up. "Watch it."

"OH Come ON! Ray!" Trent exploded. "Nothing this prick can say will ever make me believe Clay turned on his team! Set them up! CLAY SPENSER?! You do remember him, right? We talking about the same guy?"

"No one said that." Ray said calmly, nudged Jason who stepped away in annoyance.

"Let them talk." Jason said harshly.

"A trap, twice?" Sonny spoke up.

"Your boy," Phil shot a look at Trent, sneered. "Led the rescue. Wouldn't wait for the rescue team being spun up. Oh no, not Spenser. Had to go haring off on his own."

"He found Watkins."

"He didn't go alone."

"Watkins was held hostage, how long? Weeks? Months? Or was it just days? It was days, right Crawford?"

"Where's he now? Not dead, right? Why's that again? What'd they have planned for him? You remember, don't you Crawford?"

Eric caught Jason's eye, mouthed Barry Watkins.

"He shot a superior officer!" Phil shouted heatedly. "And why? For who?"

"To save a teammate from unspeakable torture!"

"Don't even suggest it was for any other reason."

"And he just waltzed away, nary a bruise!"

"So, Cap led the team to run surveillance on a suspicious warehouse and three were dead, two injured, one missing. Clay leads a rescue attempt, everyone comes home."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there!"

"Were you?"

"Fuck you!" Phil was red-faced with barely controlled anger.

"There's footage though, isn't there? Blackburn can get access, you really want us to see what's on that video?"

"Blackburn, control your men!" bellowed Phil.

"Never could before, don't see how now's gonna be any different." Eric replied calmly. "And I already have the video, and we're all going to watch it."

"It is classified." Phil snapped. "There's no way you were granted access to it."

"Yeah, well, it's been 'declassified' and you can't prevent us from seeing it." Eric smirked. "Sucks, huh?"

"Anything happens to that kid, and you'll find out what a real shit-show is." Jason promised. "Read. Us. In."

Phil Crawford fumed, turned to Blackburn, expected the Lieutenant Commander of Bravo to control his men, but received no help. Eric was busy typing on a laptop.

"Wasiqa Jaber." An image of a woman appeared on a laptop screen that sat on cargo boxes. "Was the wife of a U.S. targeted ISIS leader leading a conflict against the Taliban. On a mission to eliminate his network, a village in Korgenal Valley was targeted. Orders were issued to burn it to the ground, destroy crops, blow the power grid, kill livestock, poison the well."

"Nothing was found." Someone else took up the story as everyone crowded around the laptop. "No weapons. No evidence of armed forces or supplies, of any kind, to aid male-aged fighters. Not even a connection to the network we were after."

"There were no outside communications. No phones, no wi-fi, no walkie-talkie's, not even a radio."

"It was mostly women and children, a few infirm males that only tried to protect the village."

"Farmers."

"Cap led the assault. Spenser shot and killed a male who had approached Cap with a knife. He drove off the livestock, didn't kill it, prevented the poisoning of the well."

"They could rebuild houses, recapture goats and chickens, could live without power but water is essential for sustaining life."

"These people had nothing."

"Or so it was thought." Phil interjected hostilely.

"No, they had nothing," was stressed. "Jaber had settled in the village with her sister and her children. We didn't know who she was or that she had resources she could rely upon."

"She had contacts within her dead husbands' organization."

"She didn't care about the dead man."

"And she led the attacks on Cap and his unit for the destruction of the village."

"Senseless destruction."

"What does she want now?"

"There's been chatter of unrest. We suspect, but have no evidence, she's involved with the network her husband ran."

"She's running it." Phil groused.

"We put the word out for a meeting, she responded, she would only talk to us if the 'blonde soldier from the destruction of her village who spoke her language', met her."

"Not a chance in hell." Jason said flatly. "Not without us. No."

An hour or so later, the read-in over, questions asked and answered, Bravo had gone their separate ways to do whatever it was Tier One teams did to prepare for a mission while airborne on a C17. It was more crowded than usual, the full 15-member support team flying with them.

Usually, when Jason insisted on taking the support team that was divided into Tier Two and Tier Three teams, they flew on their own transport flown by their own pilots, but not this time. Not knowing what they were walking into, Jason wanted – and got – everyone flying together.

"So, it's important this woman is apprehended?" Ray took a seat next to Crawford.

"She shouldn't even be walking around free."

"Mmmm." Ray nodded. "So, knowing where she's been for the last seven years, hasn't aided you in capturing her?"

"She's elusive."

"Must be, since she's remained in the Valley."

"Near it."

Ray was quiet, relaxed and at ease. "What kind of soup do you like?"

Phil Crawford blinked, caught a bit off-guard. Ray Perry was the most approachable, level-headed member of Bravo and perhaps, had a way of luring his target into a false sense of security. His team was livid. Even the support team regarded Phil as slime, kept their distance with glares and snorts and growls. But Ray had been calm throughout the read-in, spoke out against outbursts from his team, had told everyone to calm down and think clearly.

"There won't be a meal served on this flight." Phil replied with slight confusion. Ray Perry should know that. A C17 was his usual means of transportation on a mission. "Maybe a sandwich." He paused. "Why?"

"Because," Ray sat forward, clasped his fingers between his thighs before giving Phil a knuckle-nudge on one knee. "If anything happens to that kid, there won't be an oral surgeon capable of putting teeth back in your mouth."

Ray pushed to his feet, was gone.

"Not even dentures." Brock was slouched against a support pillar, arms crossed over his chest.

"Cause your mouth ain't never going back together again." Sonny drawled.

"Enjoy that soup." Trent mock saluted Phil. "Cause it's all you'll ever eat again."

Phil stood up, turned to Eric who sat three seats away. "You're going to let them get away with threatening me?"

"I didn't hear anything." Eric turned the page of the report on his lap. "You hear anything Jason?"

"Think I heard the boys saying they're in the mood for soup."

"So, that's how this is going to go?" Phil demanded. "Battle axes drawn at each other's throats? What the hell is your problem? This is a sanctioned mission to negotiate a cease fire and possibly save lives of U.S. soldiers and local civilians….."

Eric handed the report off to Jason, rose to his feet to stand face-to-face with Phil. "My problem isn't with the mission. MY. PROBLEM. IS. WITH. YOU." He poked a finger against Phil's chest with each word. "My problem is you sending my man without his team."

"He is the lowest ranked member on your team, a rookie…"

"There. That." Eric had a finger in Phil's face but didn't touch him. "That right there is the problem."

"His rank?" Phil snorted derisively. "You don't run this Navy Blackburn, you're a part of it. Bravo's a part of it. Hell, you don't even run the platoon your team…."

"That word." Eric said furiously. "The word 'your'. You hear that? He's on my team. MINE! Not yours. He's not yours! He's mine!"

"It's not a Tier One job. And you were notified." Phil had heard rumors, seen firsthand, how possessive Blackburn and Hayes were of anyone on Bravo, but he never thought Blackburn would take it this far – get in his face, far. "It's a fucking meeting."

"Then you didn't need a Tier One operator."

"We didn't. We needed Spenser because he is the only person she is willing to negotiate with."

"You don't get him without his team."

"You don't have the authority….." Phil began.

"I don't? Where are we Phil? Where are we going? IF you hadn't ignored me, gone around McCall and over Harrington, we wouldn't be here and Spenser sure as hell wouldn't be in Korengal Valley alone!" Eric paused. "But you had to go inside the beltway, to get what you want, didn't you?"

"You were told that his prior unit…."

"I was not told he was flying on his own to Korengal Valley."

"He didn't fly alone." Phil seethed. "JESUS CHRIST! What's this really about Blackburn? Spenser? Or Bravo getting their own way?"

"It's about you don't split up my team to satisfy your personnel vendetta."

"This wouldn't be happening, if Spenser would have put a bullet through her skull seven years ago."

"He wasn't ordered to."

"No one understood what their conversation was about. The drone surveillance didn't have sound. NO ONE knows what they talked about."

"His job wasn't to eliminate innocent villagers."

"She wasn't so innocent, now was she?"

Eric grabbed folders and papers off a nearby makeshift table, threw them in the air, let them scatter where they landed. "AND WHERE IN THE HELL, IN ALL THESE REPORTS, IN ALL THIS INTEL, DOES IT SAY 'SHOOT ANY WOMAN ON SIGHT BECAUSE SHE MIGHT NOT BE AN INNOCENT VILLAGER?"

"You are out of line Blackburn! Back Off!"

"I have every file, every AAR, every debrief. I've seen the video, the surveillance footage. I've read the op package as it was being put together. Nowhere, NOWHERE does it ever say, Cap's unit was seeking a female. There were no orders to find, capture or kill. YOU didn't even know about her until she showed up when they rescued Watkins!"

"He disobeyed orders and his team was targeted."

"That's bullshit and you damn well know it. If he hadn't been there, the well would have been poisoned, the livestock killed and she wouldn't have stopped after targeting that unit. She would have waged full-out war. But she didn't. You know what kind of hell she could have raised, the destruction she could have wrought? She targeted only the men who destroyed her village, let them walk when Clay promised her the troops would withdraw and leave her be if she went underground."

"He had no right to do that."

"How many more men were you willing to lose to her vendetta?"

"And look where we are."

"And that begs the question: what did you do, to make her come after you again? She was quiet for seven years, had disappeared, caused no trouble and now? Now? You son-of-a-bitch."

"She apparently didn't stay underground. The chatter….."

"If anything happens to him…"

"She won't hurt him." Phil snapped viciously. "She's already proven that – TWICE!"

"She won't kill him." Eric corrected. "You still don't get it. I have no problem with Spenser going back there. I have no problem involving him in whatever mission you have green-lit. I have no problem sending him to meet her and negotiate. My. Problem. Is. You going behind my back and sending him without telling me."

"And if I had? Say I did Blackburn. What then? What difference does it make?" Phil wisely calculated he had made a serious error in judgement when he'd assumed, he could have Spenser simply re-assigned. He'd never expected Blackburn to get personally involved or to raise such a stink. "I was still going to get him."

He sure as hell had never thought Bravo would insist on flying to the Valley, not to take over the mission or join it, but to get their man back.

Eric sneered, spread his hands wide in a 'wtf, come and get me' gesture. "If you had, he never would have gone alone."

"He didn't go alone." Phil howled, outraged and sick of hearing that. "I told you he was wanted by his old unit! I FUCKING told you!"

Eric jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the wall of twenty men dressed all in black, standing in the same position: legs planted firmly apart, arms crossed over their chests, glaring.

"He would have gone with them."

"That'd be us." Sonny said unnecessarily.

Someone handed Eric a satellite phone, Phil curled a lip in disgust.

"Excuse me." Eric quipped with condescension. "Got to take this. There's a doctor that needs re-assignment."

***000***

"I still don't know what you want from me." Clay said, elbows on the table, palms pressed against his temples to support his head. Maybe they'd already told him. They probably had. He didn't know. He was having a hard time remembering his own name right now. If asked, he'd only be able to say he thought maybe it rhymed with play, pay, way.

His flight into Korengal Valley – aka, The. Flight. From. Hell. – had been miserable. He didn't know the men he traveled with. If there had been a medic or doctor on the plane, Clay hadn't been told and no one had paid him any attention or approached him. If Trent had been on board with a strange team and cake-eaters, it wouldn't have mattered if the person who needed help or assistance was one of his own – he would have intervened, given aid.

Without uncovering his face, he spared a hand to snag the bottle of water, someone offered him, gratefully took small sips.

He'd thought the flight was never going to end. He'd paced, sat, laid down, paced. He'd tried Advil – all he had with him – cold towels, self-massage, buried his head under several pillows but the pressure in his head had only built, resulting in pulsating thumping that kept him on the edge of nausea.

It had been the longest hour of his life.

Trent had told him to not to go, to plead injury, ask to see a different doctor, have more tests before flying out; Clay hadn't listened.

Trent then told him to drink plenty of fluids, lay flat, elevate his feet, keep his head still; Clay had listened, but nothing he'd done had provided any relief.

He'd finally found lying on the plastic seats with his head slightly hanging off the edge towards the floor, one foot on the back of the seats, the other elevated into the orange plastic netting, had made the pain bearable enough, he hadn't embarrassed himself by whining.

They'd landed, he'd grabbed his duffel, staggered down the ramp and was met by Cap. He'd shaken the man's hand, stifled the urge to wipe his palm on his shirt and walked with him and the three men who accompanied him. They were leading to him to the command center when all he wanted was to lie down with an ice pack in a quiet, dark room.

He hadn't complained though. Just kept his head down, his eyes shielded and walked. They'd still been crossing the base from the air strip when they'd been greeted by a man accompanied by two MP's and whatever orders they gave the men with Cap had overrode theirs, and he'd been escorted to his quarters where he was told he would remain on orders of his CO until why he was there had been straightened out.

Aah, God Bless Blackburn.

Some hours ago, he'd been approached in his quarters while Trent had gone to get something to eat. He'd been told Cap from his old unit required him on a matter that went back to the last mission he did with that unit. He'd agreed to go, thinking he'd have time to talk to Trent, call Jason, but the doctor from the infirmary was there and said he was cleared to fly.

He'd thought he'd have days when he'd had minutes.

Trent had argued with the doctor and the ass who had approached Clay but he was ordered home and Clay had flown here by himself. He'd never again question Trent's knowledge or his ability to understand Clay better than Clay understood himself. He'd been pissed when he'd been told he'd be staying behind when the team flew home, then felt bad that Trent had chosen to stay with him. He hadn't understood why he couldn't fly home if the doctor on base said he was fine.

Well, now he knew.

His head was fucking killing him. It was all he could do to hold it together on the flight and had it been much longer, or if the elevation had been higher, he very much believed he would be in the hospital.

So, yeah, he'd made it to Korengal Valley, but home? He'd've had Trent, but still, he wouldn't have completed the trip conscious.

"Wasiqa Jaber. She was…."

"I know who she is." Clay groused, eyes closed, head lowered. Light was not his friend. His belly was on a boat; bobbing and weaving, rushing up, crashing down, rolling back and forth. His head was on the tilt-a-whirl; spinning first one way, then careening another. The world needed to stop and let him off.

"We sent a team…"

"How's that my problem?" He sipped more water, set the bottle down. It helped. He didn't know how or why, but somehow, the flush of warmth throughout his body subsided and the shimmering images around him settled to a mild, single, stationary shimmer.

"You agreed to come here and hear us out." Cap reminded him. He was quiet, contemplated the man who once served under his command. Spenser was still young, hadn't yet turned 30, was probably still a couple years away from it but he was no longer the young, brash hot-head who had been impossible to command. Oh, he still had a mouth, but he kept his temper, was choosing his battles, and reacted with maturity and knowledge that could only be gained from experience.

Under different circumstances, he might like to sit and have a drink with the man responsible for pulling Spenser into line, making him the elite sniper he was capable of being. But that would be Jason Hayes and he had no intentions whatsoever of ever sitting down with the man he labeled a 'fucking prick'.

Hell, he hoped to never even meet the man.

That was before you let lose the herd of elephants to tromp on my head.

"I can't do this." Clay said thickly. "Not right now. Let me get some sleep." Seriously, he felt like his aunt's cat was kneading his tender-to-touch belly with two, small front paws. Only this time, with each beat of his heart, the cat was a tiger who palpated his belly, and every now and again, just for the hell of it, took a swipe at his head.

And you know what? Tigers weighed a hell of a lot more than his aunt's 8-pound cat.

Ow.

He'd finally fallen asleep on his bunk in the room he'd been shown to, a room he had to himself when someone had come knocking, telling him he was needed at the command center. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep since landing, but it hadn't been long enough. He wanted his quiet, dark room and needed a few more hours of sleep before he felt he could begin to think coherently and function with any acceptable level of performance.

"Are you alright?" Someone asked.

Do I look alright?

Clay scowled, bit his tongue. Instead of speaking, he lowered his hands, raised his swollen, puffy bruised faced with blood-shot, red-rimmed eyes and blinked.

He heard whistles, gasps, curses, oohs and aahs over and about his appearance. Huh, didn't everyone know he'd attempted and failed to break a sink away from a wall with his head? Oh, he'd cracked it loose, but….

"The hell's this?"

"Look at him!"

"What the hell happened to him?"

"Cap?"

"He was medically cleared." Cap replied peevishly. "No concussion." Honestly, it didn't bother him Spenser was uncomfortable and in pain. If he had his way, he'd keep Spenser up and in command, and then send him out with no rest, no sleep, nothing to eat.

"Has he seen a doctor since he landed?"

"Someone take him to the infirmary, get him looked at. We'll take this up in the morning."

"He can't leave base yet anyway."

"Yeah, about that, Hayes is making noise."

"Blackburn's kicking in doors."

"Be prepared." Someone warned.

"For what?"

"Their arrival."

"Whose?"

"Bravo's."

"Won't be coming here."

"Not their mission."

"Not even a Tier One mission."

"You do know who you took him from, right?"

"So what?"

"They're coming after him, trust me. Mark my words. Hear me now."

"That's bullshit."

"They can't just snap their fingers and spin up on their own demand."

The door opened, and a head popped around the door. "Bravo's wheels-up. Orders are to take Spenser to see a doctor, get his head scanned, keep him here, wait for their arrival."

"You were saying?"

Someone sighed, papers were shuffled, phones rang, chimed, buzzed. Chairs scraped against the floor, monitors were turned off, computers were shut down, lights dimmed.

Cap waited for the Spenser-customary-smug-smirk but Clay was too tired, too miserable to do anything more than cross his arms on the table, lower his head to hide his face in the crook of his arm. His team was coming to get him and he'd just wait right here until they arrived. Yeah, he was okay with that.

Others in the room, however, weren't.

"Spenser?"

"Huh? What?" He rolled his face against his arm, pulled back with a hiss. Yeah, he was still sore.

"Come with me." A hand was laid on his back, patted gently. "Let's get you looked at."

"I'm okay." Clay sighed, pushed up from the table by planting both palms on its surface. "Jet lag's all. I'll sleep it off."

"Yuh-huh." The man didn't remove his hand. Jet leg? From an hour or so flight? Not likely. "So, Hayes and Blackburn, eh?"

Clay blinked, rubbed his forehead above his right eye with the heel of his hand, pushed his bangs back. "Uh?"

"Sawyer's your medic then."

"Um." He reached for the water, finished the bottle, was handed another.

"Name's Jimmy." He laughed. "Let's go and don't be giving me a hard time. Next time I see Sawyer, I'd like him to buy me a beer, not blacken my eye."

He should be happy that, despite the time and expense involved, his team was coming to get him. Why then, did he feel that sick pit in his stomach?