MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Bravo didn't go.

Jason had a fist full of Cap's shirt before anyone could intervene. No one on Bravo even bothered. Blackburn just stood, hands on his hips, rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

"Hey! Here now Hayes!"

Hands reached for him as orders were shouted, commands given but Jason hauled Cap, who at some point had resumed his seat, from his chair, sending it skittering on its wheels into a far table, threw him against a wall. In his face, Jason easily wrangled the towel of ice away from him, threw it aside.

"You don't order him to do anything? That clear? He's not yours to command." Jason breathed heavily, struggling for control. "We'd better find that kid on this base or I'll bury you in sub beneath the Arctic ocean."

"You don't have the authority…" Cap began with a sneer.

Jason jerked a thumb at Blackburn. "Wipe that sneer off your face, you might think you outrank him, but don't go betting on it."

Cap growled, slapped at Jason's wrist. "He hasn't left the base. No way he could have." He was ineffective gaining his freedom and it pissed him off, pushed him to say things he probably shouldn't have, because he was even pissing off Ray. "No reason to, right? He's so loyal and dedicated, he wouldn't leave before you got here, eh? He knew you were on your way and yet…." Cap curled a lip. "How's that for obedience?"

"You don't know him very well, do you?" Ray was collecting papers and putting them in a file.

"If you think his loyalty is to you, then you don't either." Cap's head bounced off the wall with such a thud, people again moved to break him and Jason apart. "Chew on that, you prick. How's it feel? Huh?" He pegged Jason with a glare that could only be interpreted as hatred. "Guess he don't toe the line, even for you, Hayes."

"Shut the fuck up." Sonny had a hand in Cap's hair, craned his neck back to an awkward angle, Jason between them. "Cerb here, will respond and obey any of us, unless Brock gives him a counter command. Kid's the same way, doesn't matter where his orders came from, Jason overrides it, you bet your life, Spenser will obey."

"I'm going to be sitting right here when you find out that didn't happen." Cap shot back. "See how smug you are then, now get your hands off me."

"He was a kid. You had the opportunity to help him become a man, mold him into a Tier One Operator." Eric glared, he was too far way to get between any of his men and Cap, and he had no intentions of moving closer. "But he was smarter than you, ain't that right? Faster with more talent and his teammates looked to him over your leadership when he disagreed with you. Ego take a hit, Cap?"

"Fuck you Blackburn." Cap snarled. "Flew your entire team over here for a mission you aren't authorized to run. What does that say about your great team?"

"Says we're cleaning up your mess." Eric replied mildly, face in a file folder. "And they're on their way to find the man you brought over here, and lost."

Sonny submitted to Ray's hand on his chest, let go of Cap, stepped back but his hands remained fisted, his shoulders tense. It pissed him off Ray hadn't even tried to make Jason let go of the asshole.

"You flew all the way here, for what? Some sense of misguided loyalty to a man who will turn his back on his team and aide the enemy?" Cap fumed, continued. "Don't be thinking the oh-so-great Bravo will be any different to him."

"Watch your tongue." Sonny growled, taking a step forward and being pushed two steps back by Ray. "I'll be happy to curb it for you."

"He stood toe to toe, in my face, defending those…." He caught himself before he uttered the ethnic slur on the tip of his tongue. "He argued with me in front of my men, those…" again, he bit his tongue. "…the locals. Took their side against me! That bitch put her hands on me…."

"Aanndd….meet the reason the kid gets his ass kicked by women." Brock reminded Trent, pointed directly at Cap so no one could possibly miss his meaning.

The room went silent, still. Trent fought a grin. Brock never said much, but when he did, he could halt all activity in a room, grind it to a silent stop…even a Navy command center in freaking Afghanistan.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Cap demanded, forgetting Sonny, Ray, Eric and turning to face Brock.

"Means you punched a woman and she blew your team to hell."

"She attacked me! Tried to prevent my men from carrying out their orders!"

"You were in no danger." Brock scoffed. "You brutally put her in the sand over a damn well. That make you a man? Make you tough? Go ahead, pound your fists on your chest."

"He disobeyed direct orders! Then! That time! Every god-damn time! Always bucked authority, questioned leadership. If he had done what he was told, what I taught him…"

"Taught him? He saw you blow a simple mission to hell." Jason took back the conversation. "Watched you mishandle the entire situation and as a result; three teammates dead, two injured, one of which, was maimed for life, one kidnapped and tortured. Yeah, you taught him enough."

"You're gonna stand there and tell me, you trust that smart-mouthed punk, even though you can't understand a damn word he's saying when he talks to these people?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna say that." Jason replied, oh-so-softly. He was seconds away from seeing if he could punch Cap hard enough, he knocked his teeth down his throat. He knew he could knock teeth loose with one punch, just didn't know whether or not he could make the prick choke on them. "There's not a man on Bravo who wouldn't."

"Got a signal." They were interrupted by Randy. "Davis?"

"Right here. On it." Came the reply. She and Mandy had remained on the C17 where they would be able to run their own surveillance. "Eyes will come on line in 20."

"You can track…." Randy had multiple maps in front of him, both paper and digital. "….we get air clearance, Chuck can fly in, 'til then, you're on foot." He pointed, typed, enlarged, adjusted, focused. "Can drive to here….take this path, we'll guide you from there."

"Up hill." Sonny sighed over-dramatically. "Has to be up hill. Can't he ever just be found smelling daisies in a meadow reached by a flat path?"

"Daises aren't known for their pleasant scent." Said someone and someone else responded with. "What scent? They don't have a scent, do they?"

"What are you talking about? Who's Chuck? Fly what, where?" Cap jerked free of Jason, stomped over to stand behind Randy. "What is that? Drive? That's a mountain, you can't drive…..why there?"

"How'd he get that far out on foot?" Trent mused, taping the screen. "He's still moving."

"He's on foot." Randy agreed. "Signal is strong, but the satellite will change position in 30 minutes, might wink in and out when it does."

"Signal? Satellite?" Cap asked. "What the hell is going on?"

"Come now Cap," Ray said easily. "Surely you know how hard it is to keep track of that kid. We lost him one too many times, so he carries a GPS tracker, a beacon, a strobe."

"And his phone." Brock added. "Where're his quarters? Let Cerb get a fresh scent."

"That dog is trained to detect explosives. It's not a bloodhound."

Brock pointed to himself. "Meet me. Dog trainer. That dog can track any scent, 'cause yeah, I'm that good."

Phil fumed, Cap gaped and Blackburn laughed.

"Only one active is the GPS in his watch." Randy was telling Jason. "He's not kitted up." He typed and tapped. "Phone is on, appears to be here on base."

"He was in bed, last anyone knew." Jimmy spoke up. "Took him there myself. I'll show you."

"What's that you were saying, no way he could have left the base?" Sonny asked Cap sarcastically.

"He couldn't have." Cap insisted. "Cameras would have caught him."

"I'm tracking him." Randy snarked.

"This is bullshit!" Cap exclaimed. "Why are you saying, have already decided, he's gone? I'm telling you, he didn't get off this base without me knowing it. It's not possible."

"You do know who we're taking about, right?" Ray questioned. "Didn't you help train him? His team under you was his first platoon, right?" He shook his head, baffled over the other man's attitude. "He doesn't want to be found; he won't be."

"Trained him how to do everything wrong." Sonny muttered.

"He shouldn't have." Blackburn corrected, held Jason's eyes. Had Clay left voluntarily, and if so, why? What would have tempted him to leave knowing Bravo was en route? And if he hadn't, who had gotten close enough to remove him from a heavily armed military base?

"All I'm saying is," Sonny poked Cap in the chest with a finger. "When get him back, he'd sure as hell better be okay or he won't be the only one needing a hospital."

"If…" Cap slapped Sonny's hand away. "...you get him back." Man, it galled him to no end these Bravo's pissants had the audacity to lay their hands on him and no one in the room did a damn thing about it. This southern accented lout had punched him and no one had even verbally reprimanded him. He would be filing a complaint! He outranked them all and laying hand on a superior was certainly punishable. "Didn't it occur to you, he might not want to be found?" He ignored the chorus of voices that sputtered in outrage, uttered vows of; bodily harm, death threats, phrases and words, such as: No. Fuck you. Shut your mouth. Can I hit him? You're never gonna walk right again. That's it, I'm killing him. Sic 'im Cerb. You're an asshole. "And IF you do, and I find out he risked the lives of anyone who went after his ass, I'll have him up on charges and not even the mighty duo of Hayes and Blackburn will be able to save his career," he paused, added with a sneer, "or his freedom."

"That's enough out of you." Blackburn snapped. "I'm done with him. Someone remove him, get him outta here."

"Remove me? You can't do that! This is my op!"

"The only op being run out of this command center is the one where Spenser is found and we get him back." Eric said. "And that's my op."

"Blackburn, you don't…."

"Whatever this op is, was, it doesn't include Bravo." Eric told Phil who watched Bravo ooze fluidly from the room, slide out in a line like a snake disappearing under a rock, shook his head. Man, they could move silently and quickly, disappear right in front of your eyes. "He can run his op from somewhere else. He's not ever getting Spenser…" and the door closed behind Ray, the last to leave the room.

Crawford was defeated and he knew it. He'd lost control of this mission, the op, everything. Somehow, it had become Blackburn's baby and Bravo was running it.

"Jason." Eric caught up with his team leader in the hallway just outside the command room door. "A minute."

"Make it fast. I've got somewhere to be."

"Called a few people, reached out," he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't trust Cap."

"Neither do I."

"No, Jason…I don't…look I don't put it past him to stage Spenser being taken, to try and draw her out." Eric nodded when Jason caught on. "She knows he's here. She knows everything Jason. If she believes some affiliate of local insurgents or militant group has taken him…"

"You think she'd come try and get him?"

"Rescue him? Yeah, I do and Cap thinks the same way."

Jason cursed, kicked at the wall. "What the hell is it about Spenser that he always finds this kind of trouble? If it isn't one thing, it's another. I let him out of my sight to wash his hands, he gets jumped in the jon. Leave him behind and where are we?"

Eric laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. "You don't know what you're going after. If he was taken, and it's looking like he was, we don't know if whoever took him has orders to kill."

Jason nodded. "We'll go in like we do." He sighed. "You think he wants Spenser dead?"

"He wants Wasiqa Jabber and he'll use Clay to get her."

"Bury him." Jason ordered.

Eric nodded, oh, he was already working on it.

***000***

Clay woke up, came to, greeted consciousness, became aware – call it whatever – hot, sweaty and in no small amount of pain. He ached from the back of his neck down to the back of his thighs. His back, shoulders and hips throbbed with every beat of his heart….what the hell had caused that?

His head didn't feel any worse, he supposed he could be thankful for that, but it certainly didn't feel any better either. As he became more awake, he realized he was sitting on a wood chair, his arms stretched painfully behind him in an awkward position and after a few fruitless tugs on his wrists, admitted he was tied to it and he wouldn't be freeing himself. He slowly raised his chin off his chest…his head protested the move…aah, that explained the sore neck.

Great. Just fucking great.

All he'd wanted was a god-damn popsicle for a fucking aching head and, where was he? Off base, missing, tied to a chair, and injured. Jesus Christ. Felled by a desire for flavored ice.

It was all Trent's fault, he thought irritably, waiting for his head to stop trying to kill him. He knew it was sitting still atop his shoulders, right where it belonged, but it sure as hell felt like it was bopping around like a balloon tugging against the string it was tethered to in a bad wind. If the medic hadn't told him eating something cold helped ease headaches, he would have never left his quarters.

But that was how bad his head had hurt, he'd been willing to try anything, so yeah, not really Trent's fault. It was his own but he wasn't ready to admit that flying when Trent had advised him against it, had been wrong.

Rolling his head to crack the stiffness out of his neck, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light, focus on his surroundings. He didn't feel any pain from broken bones, but he was numb and couldn't feel all that much anyway. Even if he were suddenly released, his hands and feet would be too numb to fight or to get up and walk away.

He licked his dry lips with a dry tongue. His mouth, devoid of any moisture, made him wonder how long he'd been sitting in such an awkward position, unconscious. Long enough to be in pain and desperately thirsty.

With a sigh, he relaxed his muscles as much as he could, willed the tense set of his shoulders away, but his position and the tight pull of the ropes didn't allow for any comfort. He could wiggle two fingers on his left hand, but both hands were puffy from restricted circulation. Did dehydration cause that?

He had no idea what time it was, or how much time had passed, but if Bravo wasn't already on the ground, they soon would be, so it wouldn't be long before they came looking for him. His eyes strayed to his left wrist, focused on his watch. Shouldn't be too hard to track the GPS signal. Right?

Who had taken him? And why? Hell, he'd been on base! He'd gone to the mess tent where the line cook had given him an orange creamsicle, and since he wasn't wearing shoes or pants, decided to return to his quarters and forgo the command center. He'd been walking past the rec center when he'd been struck from behind across the base of his neck. With his head already giving him fits from having been banged up just days ago, the blow had knocked him out and he'd just woken up….here.

"Shit." He croaked, throat so dry, he couldn't even speak correctly. He tugged on the ropes binding him to the chair, but there was no give. Yup, nope, he wouldn't be freeing himself.

If Bravo hadn't already landed, would the base send someone out after him? Or would they wait for Bravo? He was trying to ignore his thirst and think, when a ruckus erupted outside the room. He couldn't see anything, but it sounded very much like a fight.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to tip forward and shuffle his feet with the chair tied to his back but either he lacked the coordination to accomplish the feat or the chair was nailed to the floor because he couldn't move. He tried hopping the chair but met with no success. Rocking didn't get him anywhere either.

He was going nowhere. He couldn't even crash to the floor by falling over onto his side.

He heard shouting, arguing, shouts of anger, cries of pain, someone warned someone 'the man tied to the chair' understood their language. No one spoke English and with a sinking feeling that turned his gut to jelly, he knew whoever had crashed his kidnapping was neither Bravo nor anyone from the base.

Christ alive, how many people wanted him? The door clanged opened, a bright light was flashed in his eyes and someone shouted. "HERE!"

He was rushed, hands petted and patted. Someone drew a knife, in the dim light and to his muddled mind, it was large and sharp enough to separate his head from his shoulders. Before he could do more than tense and flinch in preparation of intimate death, the blade sliced the ropes , freed first his hands, then his feet and he was hauled of out the chair.

The combined light, noise, and pain from moving was too much. He didn't feel instant pain from circulation returning, that would take time, but his head was jarred and the constant – bang, pop, thud, bam – was too much. The noise was all consuming, the air was thick and smoke-filled and he knew no more.

()()()

Voices; Female. Speaking a foreign language.
Sounds; Birds. No music. No TV. A goat, something squawked.
Smells; Spices. Food. Barn yard.

"How is he?"

"Could be better."

"Will he be okay?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Him. Time. Events."

"So, he needs medical attention?"

"He does."

"Can you help him?"

"I can keep him alive."

"Meaning?"

***000***

Cap slipped into the bathroom of his private quarters. He shut the door, turned on the shower, the spigot in the sink, a radio. Why, he didn't know. Habit he supposed. It made him feel better, so he did it. He sat down at on the toilet, flipped open a burner phone, dialed.

"Do you have him?" He was sweating, wiped his palm on his pants, switched hands holding the phone, wiped the other palm. "No? What do you mean, no, you don't have him? Where the hell is he? What?" He soaked a washcloth, dabbed his forehead, back of his neck. "How can you not know? You were supposed to hold him until Jaber…..she what? Who took him?"

He got up to pace but could only turn in circles, sat back down.

"How could you lose him?" He pounded the sink with the heel of his fist. "You were supposed to just hold him! How could you fuck this up? What do you mean….you think he was shot? How can you not know? Who shot him? What are you saying? He wasn't supposed to be hurt! Is he alive?" Cap swallowed. "Get out of the country. You hear me? No one can find you. I see you again, I'll put a bullet in your head." He flipped the phone closed, said a prayer.

God-damn fucking Spenser! His kidnapping couldn't even go as planned. It was supposed to look like he had been taken by a local insurgent group, Jaber would hear of it, come to his rescue and since Cap would know exactly where Spenser was being held, would storm in and finally see that bitch dead.

But no.

He pushed, annoyed to find his legs shaky. He splashed cold water on his face, patted his cheeks dry and wandered out to find a way to permanently dispose of the burner phone.

***000***

Clay floated, wandered, bobbed, drifted, held just under what served as lucidness, by pain, fear of the unknown, trauma. His eyes, when opened, couldn't focus and the image of two heads wearing hijabs, swam sickeningly until his stomach roiled and he smacked his lips in an attempt to keep from heaving.

He could be seeing double, but he didn't think so. The images would be the same, if that were the case, and one wore blue, the other gold and one was smooth faced, the other bore the lines and wrinkles of the aged.

"You're okay." Someone said in English. "Just relax, we're going to hurt you, but you're in no danger."

That was not at all comforting.

"You've been hurt," she continued. "But it's not life threatening."

Clay struggled to top the overwhelming darkness, it was an effort that he fought through with grit and determination. If he was going to die, so be it, but he wouldn't be responsible for letting his team walk into their own deaths because they were looking for him. Not while he still drew breath.

"Tea." His head was lifted, supported while a cup was pressed to his mouth. He parted his lips, allowed the liquid to touch his tongue. He didn't like the taste, it was bitter and room temperature, but it was wet and he drank greedily, even though it was mere sips, until the cup was removed and his head was returned to the mattress. "More in a bit."

He wanted more now but couldn't voice the demand or move his hand, so he fidgeted, head rolling until the cup was offered again. This time he was allowed more at a time and though some dribbled down his chin, it was wiped away with a cool cloth and damn, that felt good.

"Clay?" The voice had the impatient tone of one who had repeatedly called his name for a period of time and was frustrated not to have received a response. "Clay?"

They knew his name and he couldn't decide if that was good or bad. So far, he hadn't felt pain or any discomfort and he sensed no immediate threat. His face and neck and chest were bathed in cool water and he was offered tea and allowed to drink as much as he wanted even if it wasn't with the speed he wanted.

"That's it. Are you with me?"

His eyes finally opened, remained opened and focused. He was staring up into the face of Wasiqa Jaber and he might not know where he was or how he got there, but he damn well knew, she hadn't been the one to remove him from the base.

"You." He tested his hands, found them free, raised his left to push at his hair. It was damp, but that was from the heat. The ropes were gone from his wrists and ankles, but the marks they'd made, stung from salty sweat.

"You are well." She replied.

He didn't feel well. He felt awful and what was worse, as he remembered what had happened and where he most likely was, his stomach turned and the tea in his belly boiled as he became aware, his team was out there somewhere looking for him.

"My team?" He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but the bed was soft, offered no support and his elbows sank and he was forced to give up with a curse. Why was he so weak?

"You are here alone." She offered him more tea, he shook her off.

"How long?" He rasped. Oh, pain was making itself known now. It was flaring up everywhere. God damn. Ow.

"We brought you here 12 hours ago."

His mind raced. He tried to add time and subtract hours and estimate how long and where his team might be, but he couldn't connect the dots. He thought Bravo should be on the ground by now, but he couldn't come up with a time line. Even so, troops from the base should be looking for him, but there was no guarantee Cap would have sent someone out and they didn't know about his GPS tracker. His phone was in his room, so all anyone would have to track him with, would be his watch.

Would they have called Bravo and told them Clay was missing?

Lost in his scattered thoughts, he wasn't paying attention to what either woman was doing. He knew one thing was going to happen: Though he was relatively sure he was safe with Wasiqa, when Bravo came through that door - and they would - he'd welcome the hug of whoever reached him first, 'cause collapsing in the arms of someone he knew and trusted who would hold him and offer comfort was the only think he could think of wanting to do.

"They're gonna come after me…." Clay panted, hissed as the old woman poured liquid over this belly. God's tits, that stung like a motherf'r! "They aren't like….AAUGGH!" He yelped, jerking. He was wide awake now! "Jesus woman! The hell's that shit?" His stomach muscles contracted, heaved, rippled as he fought to lie still. "No more!" He commanded breathlessly. The old woman paused, waited a mere two seconds, poured more. His closed fist pounded the mattress by his hip, bare heels digging into the straw beneath the sheet, but the cry of pain escaped anyway. "AAAAHH!"

"Come after you? Or me?" Wasiqa asked calmly, they spoke English, she enjoyed conversing in the language. She leaned over the shoulder of the woman torturing Clay in the guise of helping him. "Shush down, it's just an antiseptic."

"Made from what?" He muttered, slowly relaxing. His arched back released and he sank into the mattress, stretched his feet out. "Spit from Satan?"

"In some countries, they would call this ale, and drink it." Wasiqa smiled, asked again, "Are they coming for me?"

Clay panted through a late wave of pain, rubbed his hair. Ale? Whiskey then. He snorted, not even Sonny would drink that shit. "They won't hurt anyone, and they don't want you, they just want me back."

She stared him down, didn't blink. "I will allow it, should they come, but if they threaten me, the village or you…."

Clay winced. Jason would want to put him through a wall. Sonny would want to put him on the floor. Ray would be all cold and disciplined. Only the dog would be happy to see him. The coil in his gut had yet to ease. Once again, his team was in potential danger because they had to find and rescue his ass.

"They're uh, rough. Might yell, five men, a dog…" he paused, his team had had to come after him, they would have their support team with them. "Maybe a few more…." Aw, shit. "They're coming." He said quietly with conviction. Bravo had all kinds of way to track him. Experience had taught them to be over-cautious and to ridiculously over compensate just in case he went missing.

Wasiqa nodded. "You were grazed by a bullet. Lost enough blood to make you feel dizzy, woozy, but not enough to endanger you. Our fear, is infection. Get some sleep, you need strength. We have water, so when you wake, you can have a shower. I'm aware of America's addiction to daily cleansing."

()()()

"Eh, so you come." The woman said, turned her back on the men who had just removed her door. "Bah." She shuffled away as Bravo forced their way into her home. Cerberus, off leash, prowled around the small room.

"Where is he?"

She went to the stove, stirred a pot, tapped the wooden spoon on the edge, made to set it aside.

"Where is he….." Sonny began, ducked the spoon, took a step back with a curse. "Watch it, you old bat."

"So, he's here?" Ray asked. They could easily take the house, search the rooms, look for hidden doors or walls, but for some reason, the five of them all stood, waiting – for what he didn't know. The four men from support were outside, patrolling the grounds, searching the nearby woods, they would respond to a call for help within seconds.

"We know he is, Sherlock." Sonny said scornfully. "His GPS tracker says so. So does the mutt."

"Woof!"

They were like little boys, called in front of the class by the nun with the metal-edged ruler. Bigger, stronger than the woman, but unable to bring themselves to disobey her.

She picked up a different spoon, tasted whatever she was boiling, which did not smell at all appetizing, picked up a jar, added its contents to the pot.

"Look lady," Sonny began. "I haven't had a shower in two," he waggled two fingers, "whole days. Now. Where. Is. He?"

"There is no need to raise your voice." Another woman appeared out of nowhere. It was like she'd blended into the wall and just stepped forward. Brock glared at Cerberus who lowered his head with a dog shrug, sniffed the floor. He wasn't for harmless females. "He came to no harm at our hands."

"You can tell me where to find him," Jason paused. "Wasiqa Jaber," she didn't flinch, but he knew he'd guessed right. "Or we can tear this place apart until we do."

"There is no need for threats." She replied calmly. "Or violence. I do not keep him from you."

Jason waited, but when neither woman moved nor spoke, he told his team to spread out and search. "You and I, are going to have a chat." He told Wasiqa. "Convince me I should leave you alone."

So, this man was the leader, the boss, the man in charge. Very different indeed from the man who had ordered her village destroyed for no reason other than he could. She sensed a bond with these men that hadn't existed before between Clay and his prior team.

Jason stepped aside with Wasiqa, leaving Ray to be the sole recipient of glares and muttered voodoo from the old woman who undoubtedly cursed all future generations of Perry offspring in a language he didn't think even Clay would understand.

"Ma'am," Ray raised his hands, smiled. "We come in peace, mean you no harm."

"Harrumph." She sniffed, turned away.

()()()

Fresh out of what served as a shower over here – the cottage didn't have running water so his 'shower' had been swaying unsteadily under an elevated barrel that fed water heated by the sun through a hose with a homemade shower head with absolutely no pressure – Clay was as hot as he'd been before but at least he no longer smelled like sweat. His t-shirt and boxer briefs had been laundered and were hanging in the sun to dry, so it wouldn't be long before he could dress. The sun was high and hot, the cotton items would dry within 30 minutes.

A pair of men's silk-type pants had been left on the bed but despite drying off with a length of some type of cloth – man oh man, he missed linen, terrycloth, cotton – he still felt damp, because it hadn't absorbed water, so he decided to just sprawl on his back on the bed under the ceiling fan that moved a bit of air, though not much. No need to worry, no one would enter the room without first knocking and waiting for permission to enter to be granted. Maybe Wasiqa, but only if he failed to respond.

Finally feeling like his armpit hair had dried, still naked without so much as a sheet, he rolled over to let the air from the ceiling fan hit his back. He yawned, eyelids lazily fluttering until he just gave up and decided to doze off. He'd just extended his arms off either side of the bed, when:

Crash, bang, boom! Thud, thud, thump! The walls shook, the floor heaved, the bed shuddered, the windows rattled. A dog barked.

Clay nuzzled his cheek against the rough sheets, the disturbance not yet fully penetrating his fuzzy, almost-asleep-muddled mind.

Heavy boots, clink, clank, clang, shuffling feet, wood scraping on tile, furniture being moved, voices, threats, demands.

Clay stirred, these noises were familiar to him. SEALS sure did make a lot of noise when fully kitted and bearing weapons capable of leveling the entire hillside, in such a small area. Before he could lift his head from the mattress, a blanket was tossed over him, tucking and rubbing and all he could think was, he was already hot, he didn't want or need a blanket. He'd need another shower and water wasn't plentiful over here. So, he fought to free himself from the unwelcome warmth.

He was picked up, held, hugged. The blanket was snug around his shoulders and his head was cupped by two huge hands and his face was against a neck, held there by a hunched shoulder as a Texan accented voice, made husky by emotion and anger, bellowed:

"TRENT!" Sonny wasn't used to Clay struggling to get away from him. Whenever the kid was hurt or sick or medicated or in some other way incapacitated, he was clingy and well, cuddly. "TRENT!"

"Right here. Put him down. Clay?" Trent tangled a hand in damp, blonde curls. "Hey, you with me?" Clay was on his belly, Trent eyed his bruised back, ran his hands from shoulders to calves, fingers searching for lumps and bumps, ghosted over the rope burns, dismissed them as minor.

Sonny hovered and Trent elbowed him back.

"…..all you guys?…." Clay murmured. "When'd you get 'ere?"

"Must be the blow to the head, getting kidnapped and lost fucked you up, 'cause you seemed to have forgotten just who Jason Hayes is." Trent tutted-tutted. "Yeah, Clay, we're all here."

"Oh." He yawned. "...'K."