Been a while, ya'll! Had a bit of an upheaval in life for a time, but all extended family members have returned home and I have resumed my usual, normal activities.

Have I ever pointed out - medical inconsistencies? I have? Carry on, then.

"You're just going to let her go?" Ray asked incredulously. "Jay, man, come on!"

"We only have Cap's version of what happened seven years ago."

"She's responsible for the death of American soldiers!"

"There's no proof."

"There's Spenser."

"You're not putting that on him."

"Maybe she didn't plant the bomb, but she ordered it detonated and she ordered the shots fired when they rescued Watkins. Jason, think this through!"

Wasiqa was quiet, stood patiently. Her escape was well planned, and she had no doubt both she and Hasti would easily get away, but she was curious to see which action this man Clay trusted so much would take. She hadn't missed the way Clay responded to the team's medic or his boss, and she'd observed the way he'd sought comfort from the man with the odd accent, who complained but didn't push him away.

He knew these men and he both trusted and felt safe with them.

"Blackburn didn't order her capture." Jason shut down any further argument from Ray. "Get Brock, find the path she told us about." He keyed his comm's, called Karl to bring the collapsible litter in.

Ray didn't move, trying to decide if it was worth the effort to argue further - didn't matter because Jason left him. He shook his head, moved towards the door. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to protect his teammate, find him when he was missing, but…walking off base when he knew his team was on their way to get him? Yeah, Ray has having a hard time moving past that.

"Jace?" Trent was behind him. "I'd rather not make him travel yet."

"Will it hurt him, we do?" Jason was wondering if maybe he should have pushed Wasiqa for more information; like how she'd been able to rescue Clay from whoever had removed him from a friggin' American occupied military base without being caught. How she'd even known. Apparently, 'keeping watch' meant many things.

"He's not ready." I'm not ready! "Just….dunno how he got shot." Trent pushed a hand through his hair. "It's risky in his condition. Loss of blood, possible infection, dehydration….he's been hours without medical treatment."

Hasti let loose in her native language, waggling a spoon in the air as she charged out of the bedroom. Wasiqa smoothly stepped in front of her.

"Proper medical care." Trent corrected, ducked a wide arc of waving spoon. "Have a care woman!"

Wasiqa spoke quietly and Hasti disappeared out the back door in a flourish of skirts, still muttering and waving her spoon behind her.

"Will it hurt him?" Jason repeated.

Trent blew his breath out, wanted to argue. "No."

Jason rolled his neck. "But?"

"He hurts." Prying him away from Sonny was going to make him whine because the kid finally felt safe and didn't want to move. "Gimme 30 minutes? Let the medication kick in? It'll knock him out."

"You have 20." Jason bartered. "We roll…."

"Bravo One, status?" Davis crackled in his ear. "Update, the storm…"

Jason waved Trent off, nodded to Wasiqa, stepped outside to talk to HAVOC. Next time he looked back, she was gone.

"How's he doing?" Sonny asked quietly when Trent returned, dabbed and wiped, cleaned and painted, rubbed and bandaged, taped, ignored Clay's squirming and muttering. "He's uh, hot."

"Yeah." Trent palmed Clay's sweaty forehead. "Antibiotic will bring his fever down. Not dangerously high."

"Thought that shot was a pain med."

"Uh-huh."

"Not normal for an infection to set in so fast, is it?"

"With him? Yeah. The way he leaks blood, yeah."

Karl breezed in. His loud stomping and jangling made Clay stir. He managed to force his eyes half-open, blink repeatedly and squint blearily at shapes and colors.

"N….ow…..ow…nuh." Clay hissed, sucking his breath in. "…ow…ow…"

"What's the matter now?" Trent asked absently, helping Karl untie and open the litter.

"Head," pause, gasp, pant, "hurts."

"Now? It hurts now? Not when we got here, but now?" Sonny teased, juggling Clay off his lap and into his arms, got ready to rise with most of his weight.

"Hot."

"Hey…." Trent held his chin. "Stop fighting the meds, just let go."

"Hmmm?"

"I gave you a shot…go with it. We're getting ready to head out."

"Oh." He licked his lips. He really didn't feel like walking and there was something about his boots he should remember and didn't, but right….he went where his team did. "Kay…" He held his hand out, expected help sitting up, but his hand was held, squeezed and returned to his side. "Huh?"

"We got you." Karl said easily. "Don't worry about Sonny's scrawny ass dropping you, me and Karl got you."

"Oh." Clay blinked, forced his eyes wide, lost the battle to keep them open, turned his head, let his cheek fall into the crook of Sonny's arm, muffled; "K, then."

"You suck." Sonny retorted. "Meet me in the ring, see how scrawny my ass is." He jounced Clay until he roused again. "And you, I ain't never dropped your ass yet and you've given me plenty of reason to."

Trent and Karl attempted to move Clay off Sonny's lap, but he stirred in protest, head coming off Sonny's shoulder and Trent motioned for Karl to step back. They waited five minutes, tried again. This time, though Clay tensed, tightened his grip, he didn't open his eyes or try to sit up or pull away and Sonny gently broke his hold and offered him to Karl.

By the time he and Trent had Clay covered with a light blanket and secured on the litter, Clay was o-u-t, out. Karl tweaked his nose with a grin.

"Jesus Trent, when you put him out, you put him out."

Trent sighed, shrugged, finally grinned. "Yeah, he finally stops fighting it. Don't have a lot of meds with me, anyone else, it wouldn't have made them, you know, comatose."

"Good thing then," Karl pinched Clay's toes, no response. "We won't have to wake him up."

Trent's grin faded. Oh, when someone went and said something like that, the universe took it as a dare.

"Let's go." Karl breezed in. "Front for me?" He asked Karl who nodded, so he turned around, backed up to the litter, grabbed the handles. "New path down, cut the time in half."

()

Randy sipped lukewarm coffee-flavored-water from a mug. This was the worst tasting, sorriest excuse for coffee he'd ever tasted but holding the mug kept his hands occupied while he sat and waited to hear from Bravo. Leave it to Clay Spenser to get lost in a mountain range where satellite coverage was limited to certain times of the day and no cell phone signals transmitted.

Only Spenser. And what the hell was he doing clear out there, anyway? How'd he get there? Where was there? He sure as hell hadn't gone on foot.

"How's the coffee?" Eric asked, grinned at the face Randy made. "That bad?"

"Could use a fresh pot." He tilted his head. "Any update from Davis?"

She had texted Eric on a burner phone reporting what looked like several armed vehicles blocking the only road down the mountain Bravo had to descend. Yes, they'd be in the truck, but would be driving straight into an ambush.

"Waiting on Bravo One." Eric's set mouth confirmed he didn't like his options. "There's only one road down, no other route to take."

"Cap?" Randy questioned. "You think he has the pull over here, an in with the local fighting groups? Would send them after Bravo? Make it look like they'd laid an ambush?"

"I don't put anything past him."

"Dutch?"

Eric hesitated. Dutch and his men had searched for Spenser on, around and close to the base. They'd stayed behind when Bravo had set out to follow Clay's GPS signal, working on finding a connection between Clay's disappearance and Cap.

"Send them." Eric decided. "Anyone in wait to ambush Bravo, will be trapped between."

"Roger that." Randy set the mug down. "Got anything yet?"

"Not enough, but I will."

Eric pivoted to stare out the window: would Dutch and his men get there in time? Could Bravo hold out that long? He reached for his phone, stepped out of the room. He had faith in his men. They would find a way out of the ambush and return to base and by the time they got back, he intended to have Cap in cuffs.

()

The path, though steep, didn't require the agility of a mountain goat, was easily traversed by the men of Bravo and they were at the truck within an hour, the time passing quickly despite Sonny's constant complaints about foul smelling mud and medieval medicine.

Kenny and Karl had carried a sleeping Clay the entire way, joking that even dumping him on his head wouldn't wake him up. They'd tried to keep the litter as even and steady as possible, but it wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't. No amount of juggling, jostling and jouncing had disturbed Clay's slumber in any way.

They'd loaded up, and well ahead of the storm, had reported to HAVOC they were motorized and mobile only to have Davis report an hour or so later, to pull over and hold up while 'activity' further down the road was investigated.

"Any ideas?" Ray asked. They'd disembarked, paced, scouted the area, sought relief from the heat in the shade. They were forced to rely on Davis for information about their current predicament. If armed men waited to catch them in an ambush, they were either well hidden or in a blind spot on the road from Bravo's current location, because even with binoculars and powerful scopes, they wouldn't spot anyone.

"One way down," Seth said, standing outside the truck. Chris was pacing, muttering, making designs in the air with a finger. "Can send an advance, try and shoot it out, hang someone back to stay with Spenser."

"Don't know what we're walking in to."

"Low on ammo." Karl pointed out. "No heavy artillery, no explosives, no mounted machine gun, one sniper."

"Two." Ray corrected, gun slung over his shoulder and cradled in his arm, he waggled two fingers. "Two."

"Spenser?" Trent jumped out of the truck, stood beside Kenny, snorted. "Not happening." He cast a glance around to see what everyone was doing. "Even if I could get him awake, he won't see straight."

"He doesn't have his rifle anyway." Sonny pointed out. "Anyone bring an extra sniper rifle? No? Then Ray, dude, you're it."

Jason wandered away from the truck, had a foot on the rickety guardrail, tested its give. He peered over, paced down the road, then up the road, splayed his palms on top of the rail, pushed up. "Chris?"

"Yeah boss? What's up?" He joined his boss at the guardrail.

"What do you think?" Jason studied the terrain – a steep hill, not a cliff. No rock formations, mostly loose gravel, sand, small stones. "Doable?"

Chris was quiet, stared down the hill, looked back at the truck. "Trying to decide the same thing boss." He hesitated. "Incline? Degree? Descent? Slant? Speed? Wheel base? Axle? Width? Weight? Who's good at math? Anyone good at word problems? Anyone?"

Silence.

"One of us is." Seth finally spoke up. "And it ain't me."

"Hey now, he-who-be-the-mathematician-is-imitating-Rip Van Winkle." Sonny objected. "Ain't the weight of the vehicle on the inside of the door frame?"

"Yeah…yeah, it is. In America!"

"What does that do for us?"

"Not trusting him to wake up right."

"Or see straight."

"Don't need him to shoot, just calculate."

"Chance he might not even know where he is, who we are."

"Ain't the truck American? It is, right? It's made in America."

"Tire tread is shot." Seth pointed out to Chris who grimaced, nodded, held a palm over his face.

"Wait…what? You're thinking of going down that hill?" Ray exclaimed. "Jay, that's suicide."

"And going forward isn't?" Brock shot back, earned a glare from his 2IC. "Options Ray, gotta consider them all."

"Blackburn is sending Dutch with the guys to engage from below." Ray said calmly. "I say we sit and wait." Matt and Jeff would come with heavy artillery. He wasn't sure how Blackburn would arrange it, but he knew he would.

"And if they come up the mountain?"

"You're a sniper every bit as good as he is, can't you calculate in your head what Chris needs to go down that hill?"

"Not too many places to hide."

"They will, we don't go down."

"The storm will hinder them as well."

"They likely have wipers on their truck."

"And you know, a mounted .50 cal machine gun."

"With a rocket launcher."

"They don't know we have back-up inbound."

"Gonna be a fire fight either up here or down there."

"So, it's a game of; does Dutch arrive before they grow impatient and come after us."

"They're gonna see us."

"We'll be too far away by then."

"Not for an RPG!"

"They'll be behind us, will give chase."

The bickering continued. Jason let them go at it, paced as he warred to come to a decision.

"Trent?"

They had options and the best one was finding out if they could drive down the hill to the road below and avoid the armed group lying in wait for them. Odds were against them that all ten men of Bravo would make it out alive, they drove into an ambush. He simply couldn't do that, send his men to their deaths or life-altering injuries, without weighing all his choices. Not if there was another way.

His medic was not among his bickering men.

"Hey!" Jason said sharply, trailing Trent to the rear of the truck where he lounged with a foot on the bumper, staring without seeing into the distant trees. "Wake him up."

"Not that simple."

"The lives of every man on this truck is at stake, yeah, it's that simple."

"He's not asleep Jace, I knocked his ass out."

Jason glanced around, pushed a hand through his hair, drank some water. "Handle it."

Trent was silent, then grabbed the frame of the truck, swung up onto the bumper. "I can handle Clay…you handle the next dick that comes gunning for him better than you did this one."

Jason wanted to object, but he let it go. He had not taken Cap's obsession with Jaber as seriously as he should have and Clay had paid a price that could have ended his life. Yeah, he was gonna wrestle with that for a while.

He stomped off.

Trent was pissed, mad, annoyed. Guilt and resentment warred with pride and acceptance. Clay was his teammate, friend, brother and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to keep the kid happy, healthy, and alive, but that didn't mean he didn't sometimes find Clay's issues and responses to medications tiresome.

He hadn't expected to find the kid missing. Hadn't expected to have to track him down, hike after his ass. Hadn't expected to find him hurt or shot, suffering from loss of blood and too-quick onset of infection. He'd kinda thought, hoped, they'd find their wayward pain in the ass, sitting at a table, sipping tea. But yeah, this was Clay, so...pffft.. he'd known that outcome hadn't been likely.

He was edgy and hot and he wanted to let the kid just sleep. Waking him up, if he could do it, wasn't going to be easy – could even be dangerous. Doc had warned him that some people woke with transient global amnesia, which, while not dangerous would be mighty inconvenient right now. And sometimes, if a medically, medicated induced sleep was disrupted, the patient could suffer a seizure and modern medicine had no idea why.

And this was Clay, so…stroke anyone?

"Dunno what I ever did to deserve you." Trent muttered. "You're a pain in my ass." And yet, the thought of someone else being Clay's medic, soured his stomach. "Okay, a challenge." He amended, palmed Clay's forehead, caressed the bruising around his eye with the pad of his thumb. "A challenge I willingly took on and Doc is geeking out over, but kid, I swear..."

Just wait until he got the kid in his hands when he was hale and hearty! Leave the base knowing his team was coming to get him? No way was the kid going to get away with that!

He snagged a bottle of water from the cooler, took a drink, dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. Clay looked young - too young to be the man he was - face flushed from the heat, bangs damply curled on his sweaty forehead...despite bruising and a swollen eye, his eyelashes were impossibly long. He was feeling no pain or discomfort from the weather or any injury and the very last thing Trent wanted to do, was wake him up.

No.

No, that wasn't true. The very last thing Trent wanted to do, was die.

"Wake up Clay."

"Sonny!" Jason yelled, stomped off.

()

Waking Clay up from his medication induced sleep was the hardest thing Trent had ever had to do. He didn't wake easily and for a moment, Trent didn't think anything he tried, was going to succeed.

He called – no response, not even a change in breathing.
He shook – no muscle control, Clay flopped about like Holly Hobby.
He slapped – not even a flutter of an eyelash.
He tickled, pinched, flicked, tugged an ear, plugged his nose, splashed cold water from melting in his face – no response.
No reaction to pain.
Smelling salts – useless.

"Come on kid, you're not doing this to me." It had been Trent's, and his alone, decision to give the kid the pain med even knowing the outcome. No one would blame him and no one had expected shit to go sideways or their evacuation route to be compromised but that didn't stop Trent from feeling failure would be all his fault.

How the hell had anyone known where they were anyway?

For a second, he considered the two women they'd found Clay with, but immediately dismissed the thought. They'd done nothing but help and take care of Clay, hadn't attempted to keep Bravo from him and their offered shortcut down the hill to the truck had occurred without issue.

No, it wasn't Wasiqa Jaber.

"SONNY!" He bellowed, pushed to his feet, nudged Clay in the shoulder, hip, thigh, calf. He remained limp and wiggled like a bowl of Jell-O. No resistance whatsoever. "HEY! Need you a sec." He didn't get Clay awake and coherent soon, it wouldn't matter. They guessed Dutch and the guys were over an hour out and the men down the hill would be mobile within 30 minutes, so he had maybe 15 to get Clay in a state he could comprehend what they needed from him.

Sonny left Brock and Ray, returned to the truck, Jason on his heels. "S'up?"

"Grab an ankle."

"Wait…what?"

"Grab an ankle, hang him upside down."

"Uh, no." Sonny shook his head. "Makes him puke."

"Oh, well then, okay…hey guys! Sonny doesn't want to make the kid puke, so how about we pool our ammo, take a stand, fight it out."

"Asshole." Unbuckling the straps that secured Clay to the litter, Sonny flipped his smirking teammate off, grabbed a foot, dragged Clay towards him. Trent reached for the other foot, but Jason waved him off, took a firm hold, lifted in tandem with Sonny, each supporting an arm and a leg.

"Dangle him over the tailgate, jounce him a bit, watch his head." Trent directed. "For Christ Sake Sonny! Watch. His. HEAD!" He yelped when he felt Sonny let Clay drop too close to the ground. "Give him here."

"Don't be such a ninny. He's nowhere near the ground, Mother Hen." Sonny complained but he obeyed, raised his arms higher. "Damn, he's heavy…this gonna work? This better work."

"You have his bad leg, have a care." Trent retorted. "You make him bleed, sleep on your belly with one eye open."

The Texan's eyes narrowed as he adjusted his hold on Clay's ankle. He hadn't forgotten the time he'd pushed Trent too far and woken up to find that he'd had an unfortunate encounter with a bottle of Nair.

Clay swinging by his ankles, arms dangling as he was dipped and dropped and raised and gently jounced, Trent crouched down, broke open another packet of smelling salts, waved them under Clay's nose, slapped at his cheek.

"That's it….come on…." Trent held Clay's face between his palms, called his name repeatedly, ordered him to wake up, open his eyes. "Hey there….hey….okay, okay, you're ok….whoa…easy….put him down." He told the others when Clay coughed and sputtered. They immediately lowered him to the ground outside the truck. His hands reached the dirt but he didn't attempt to hold or support his weight…and they all knew he was capable of hand-stands. Trent braced his head, supported his neck, eased his shoulders flat in the dirt as Sonny and Jason continued to hold him by his feet, letting him down slowly, jumping one at a time out of the truck when his ass hit the ground. "Easy, just stay still….that's it…breathe…no, keep your eyes open….hey."

Sonny jumped to the ground last, grabbed an arm, helped drag Clay into a sitting position, his back supported against a tire. He slumped like Cerberus gone boneless when he didn't want to get up. "Hey there, you blue-eyed bitch." He greeted with a grin. "Looking a bit confused there boy-toy. Open your eyes Clay, lemme see those purdy blues."

"Baffled." Someone offered.

"Perplexed."

Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok, chanted Trent silently.

"Bewildered."

"Befuddled."

Don't have a seizure, no seizures, seizures are not allowed.

"Muddleheaded."

Every set of eyes swiveled to Sonny.

"What?" Sonny said defensively.

"Where'd you hear a big word like that?"

God, please, no strokes. Don't let him throw a stroke. I'll pet a camel, milk a goat, just please…let him wake up okay. Let him know who we are.

"Is it wrong?"

"No, just not you."

Sonny stood his ground, but wilted under the intense, amused, waiting stares. "I read a book." He muttered a confession, hung his head, kicked a toe in the dirt. "What? I can read, you know."

Trent's hands went to his hips, eyes on Clay who shifted in the dirt, blinking and squinting as he tried to wake up and make sense of what was going on. He was puffy-faced, red-eyed, tousled headed and completely clueless, heels digging in the dirt. Unable to keep his eyes open, his hands fisted, hit the ground. His head bobbed, his breath came in heaving, heavy pants. He reached over his head, found the wheel well, took hold, tugged, lifted his ass off the ground.

"Gonna hurl?" Brock asked quietly. He didn't move quickly or speak loudly, waited patiently for Clay to gain control, top the pull of the medication, react knowingly. "Where you going? Huh? Need you to stay put. Let go. Can you let go for me?" Brock pried his fingers from the truck, held his hands for a minute, squeezed his fingers, returned them to his lap.

Clay licked dry lips, tasted blood, made a face, swallowed repeatedly, rapidly – the taste remained. He felt gritty. And sweaty. And hot. And the world just would not stop spinning.

"Only kinds of books those words are found in, are romance novels."

"And you know that, how?" Ray teased. "Sonny, that true?"

"Janine's been known to bring one or two home from the library." Trent reached out, tilted Clay right when he went left. "Focus your eyes on one thing Spense."

"You read medical books."

"Was laid up on the couch, closest book to me….whoa!" He tilted Clay left when he fell too far right. "Focus."

"Want me to splash him with water?" Sonny joked but when Trent nodded, didn't hesitate to uncap a bottle of water and squeeze it as he flung his hand back and forth.

Clay spluttered, tongue darting out to lick at the moisture. "Uh." He hunched a shoulder to wipe his face on his t-shirt, nearly slid right off the tire but Brock had him, protected his head from the hard metal of the truck bumper. "Nugh."

"That's it. Wake up." Trent said. "Hey, need you with me. You've got to focus, pay attention."

He didn't want to. He was hot and itchy and tired. His hip hurt, his head hurt, his neck hurt. Combined, it was all enough to convince him, he didn't have to focus on or pay attention to, anything or anyone. Both Jason and Ray were here, they could handle whatever situation came their way, whatever problem they faced.

He let his eyes roll, his head droop and this time, he didn't go with the gentle push when Trent tried to make him sit upright, sagged into Brock who let him settle against his chest.

"Hey Clay." Chris squatted down next to Trent in front of him. "You awake buddy? Need to ask you something."

Who are you? Trent, who is he? Do I know him? Am I supposed to? Trent? TRENT!

He wanted Trent. The medic always made him feel better when he felt like shit. He pulled his knees up, dug his heels in, tightened his thigh and butt muscles, tried to push up…failed, went limp, stretched his legs out restlessly.

"Clay, hey, it's me, Chris."

Chris? Chris? Chris? He knew a Chris. Their driver was named Chris. Chris and..and..and…uh….Chris.

Clay frowned, turned his head to wipe more water from his face on Brock's sleeve, but didn't pull away or open his eyes. If someone wanted something from him, they could damn well make the world stop spinning first.

"Can I slap him? Let me slap him!" Sonny asked eagerly, deflated when several stern voices told him no. "Never let me have no fun."

A nose, cold despite the temperature, nudged his cheek, wormed its way under his chin…a tongue, bad breath. He was licked. Once, twice…repeatedly.

"Woof!"

A dog. Cerberus.

And this chapter became so long...I had to divide it into two! And I still have an ending to do...next chapter will be up later today...I have to proof-read and miss all the mistakes I should fix.