FYI, yeah, I know nothing about mathematical word problems or where and how a large-size vehicle can be driven.

Climbing out of the deep, dark hole he'd been comfortably sleeping in had been hard enough; resisting the urge to return to it was monumental. Clay didn't want to stay awake. Didn't want to sit up. Didn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want to do anything. But Cerberus was in his face, whining, licking, nudging….was something wrong with Brock?

A furry head rested on his lap, waited patiently for him to fight the pull of the medication….he did, it wasn't easy…..

He put the palm of one hand against his forehead – the world spun.
He put both palms against his forehead – the world spun faster.
He held his head between his hands – still spinning.
His ears roared – picking up speed.
He covered his ears – spinning wildly.
He crossed his arms over his head, pressed his elbows against his ears – the world came to such an abrupt halt – it forced the contents of his stomach to appear.

No vomiting, no retching, just one hiccup and he spewed water into the dirt between his thighs, muscles quivering, spasming. He wanted to lie down, tried to, but multiple hands stopped him, kept him upright.

Seth quickly kicked dirt over the mess and Sonny dragged Clay around the corner of the truck.

"Brock?" Clay struggled to get away, to stand, was pushed firmly down. "Bra…."

"Right here. Some water? Swish and spit." Brock offered quietly. Clay grabbed the wrist that was attached to the hand holding a bottle, squeezed. "Take a minute." He didn't try to pull his hand back or break Clay's desperate hold. "I'm right here Clay, right here. I'm good. Cerb's just happy to see you."

Clay went limp, stopped trying to stand up, let someone give him a drink, swallowed, refused more.

"Hey, look, I know you feel like crap, but I need you to focus, talk to Chris? Can you do that? He needs to ask you something."

Sonny or Brock or Ray, and Clay would have slipped unconscious without a guilty thought. But Chris? Clay opened his eyes, peered up. It was a Herculean feat. His toes curled with the effort. His knees locked, his legs shook, his hands grabbed at the air before fisting and going to his head. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes until pain flared from the swelling and bruise that hadn't yet completely subsided.

Chris? Who the hell was Chris?

"I need your help."

Whoever Chris was, he must have a question that Jason couldn't answer and it must be important, because everyone was just standing around, waiting.

That he could figure out, but why he felt like he'd been hung upside down, dangled off the back of a truck and shaken awake was beyond him.

"GAH!" Tears sprang to his eyes when a vial of ammonia was waved under his nose. Christ, he hated that shit…the smell, the fumes always made his eyes sting, his nose run and 9 times out of 10, he cried.

He cried.

Wiping his eyes with balled fists, he glared at Trent with a heavy-lidded stare who smirked right back at him.

"Need you." Chris said, handed him a rag to wipe his nose. "You good?"

"Gimme minute." Eyes wide and tearing, he wiped and dried his face, drank some water, attempted, and failed, to rise to his feet. "Gimme a hand?"

Multiple hands reached for him, but it was Sonny's he accepted, Sonny he allowed to hold him while he wavered and weaved unsteadily on his feet, tried and failed to find his balance.

"Give him a minute." Trent told Chris. "He's coming around."

"What the…..? The hell you doin'?" Sonny whined as Clay sluggishly, without coordination patted and petted him, dug a shaky hand into one pocket after another. "The hell Clay, get your touchy, feely paws outta my pants." He rolled his eyes when Clay found what he wanted – Chap-stick. "Okay Einstein…careful….hip hurt? Don't put your full weight on it. You were shot, you know that, right? Let Brock take your weight….right, okay, yeah, now…here, gimme….you can have it, just want to take the top off for you, okay with that? Not gonna put it on for you though, you're on your own."

Clay allowed both Brock's support and Sonny's steadying hand, tested his weight on his bum hip, grimaced at the flare of pain, hobbled a step, took another. Though it hurt, the pain was welcome, cut through his fuzzy-head and made him a bit more aware. The sun though, was doing its best to defeat any progress he was making.

He'd been shot, huh? When'd that happen?

He raised a hand to shield his eyes, ducked, tried to step back so the truck blocked the sun. When that didn't work, he tried to sink to his knees but wasn't allowed. He was shifted and guided so the sun was behind him.

"You good?" Jason asked, gave him a pair of sunglasses. "Can see outta both eyes, right? Swelling's down, bruising's faded. Put those on, sun's bright, gonna be up a while yet."

Clay shrugged, didn't matter if he was or wasn't. They wanted something from him and though they were patient now, they wouldn't be for long. If only he could defeat the damn sun….he needed help guiding the glasses to his face, hook them behind his ears. The dark lenses immediately cut the glare of the sun and the relief to his head was instant.

"I'm…" He took a deep breath, winced, tried again. "I'm…..uh…ow." His shoulder bumped against the truck, he let it hold his weight, tried a third time to take a deep breath. Failed. "No."

Trent coaxed him around, teased him into responding, goaded him into anger, asked him several questions: name, age, date, year, president, country, date of the week, how many batteries did a Mag-lite take.

That question earned him the signature 'Clay Spenser look of disgust', curled lip, scrunched nose, because Trent hadn't specified what size battery.

"Hey," Chris stepped forward. "Ready to talk to me?" Everyone had been stealing glances at their watch, shifted their weight impatiently, looked down the hill, kept an eye on the sky. "Need your help here."

His team needed him. Didn't matter how he felt or what he was going through. His team came first. "If I gotta, yeah….what do…you want?" He doubled over, hands clasped between his thighs, hip screaming, head hollering. "Fuck me."

"Walk over here." Chris said. "Take me down it."

Clay hesitated, loathe to leave the meager shade offered by the truck but neither Sonny nor Brock tried to stop him, so he limped away, crossed the road, Chris on his heels, chattering away. He looked over the guardrail, pushed a hand through his hair, engaged in a conversation with Chris no one else could follow. He stepped left, then right, hobbled across the road, accepted Chris's arm to hobble back. Gimped around the truck, went back to the guardrail, shook his head, nodded.

"Can be done." Seth told Jason when he approached. Both Chris and Clay were under the truck.

"You sure?"

Seth nodded. He knew Chris. It was a go.

"Maintain….." Clay was saying as he emerged from under the rear axle, slithering on his belly, "Any faster, lose control." He sat up, hands waving, demonstrating something only Chris understood. "Any slower, get stuck or slide sideways." He was lifted to his feet, stood still while numerous hands brushed dirt and sand from his chest and belly. He flicked a glance at his boss, ignored him. "Don't brake, will go ass over end. Don't gain speed." Forgetting his hip, his aching head, he moved to jump over the guardrail, was stopped by those same hands that grabbed any part of him they could reach.

"Nuh-nuh." Jason scolded. "No, you don't."

"I want to see how loose…." He was breathing too fast, Trent warned him to slow it down. He tried, gulped, held his breath, erupted into a coughing fit. "Need to..." His nose ran, his eyes leaked, saliva bubbled on his lips. "I'M TRYING!" he snapped, wiped his chin, when Trent again said his breaths were too quick.

"Not you." Jason reiterated. "Seth can do whatever stupid idea you have in your head. Get in the back. Chris has any questions, he can key in."

"But I'd be….." He was panting and Trent was moving in. He extended a hand to ward him off. "Need to..."

"No."

"See how far you sink in the gravel." Clay told Seth who effortlessly vaulted over the guardrail, slid down the hill a bit, stood up. "Over your boots?"

"No."

Clay tugged loose, stumbled, caught his weight on the guardrail, swallowed hard as he fought not to go head over heels. His palms were sweaty and his grip on the top rail slipped. He would have pitched forward had Kenny not circled an arm around him from behind, held tight, picked him up and swung him back into the shade of the truck before letting him go.

"Go over there." Clay breathless, voice thick, pointed to a section of guardrail. "Can back up, hit 30, and go over at speed."

No one questioned him, jumped into action when Jason ordered the guardrail taken down.

"Gonna hafta pick up speed when you're about down, run the guardrail. Get back on the road there." Clay pointed in the distance, Chris nodded. "You don't bust through it, no backing up for a second try, likely to bust the radiator and we're belly up."

"Keep it steady." Seth added. "Skid out, doubt you'll be able to regain control."

Chris kept his face expressionless. Nope, no pressure here. But hell, he'd watched Trent force Clay awake and if Spenser could fight through what it took to come out of a drug induced sleep, he could damn well drive a truck down a hill. You weren't a member of Bravo if you weren't cocky, arrogant and confident of the abilities that you'd been selected for.

"Load up." Jason called. "Brock up front, Ken, ride up top, Karl take the passenger door step, Sonny and I have the tailgate. Anything moves, take it out."

"Guess that leaves us," Ray paused, pointed, then reached out to snag a wandering Clay and halt his progress. He didn't agree that it took to people to watch Clay, but Jason obviously did, so whatever. "With him." He watched Trent shake his head as the guardrail was dismantled. "Where you going? Do something with him."

"I did, you made me wake him up."

"Yeah, and we had a choice?" Ray let Clay lean against the truck, his weight balanced unsteadily on his good leg. "You said his issues and reactions to medications wouldn't be a problem." He was impressed Trent had known what to do to wake Clay up. "Good job waking him up."

"They aren't." Trent swung up into the truck, reached for Clay. "We're too comfortable relying on his talents to bail our asses out of deep shit." Kenny and Karl easily lifted Clay off his feet, handed him up, moved off to collect their gear and load up. "Just say a prayer he woke up okay."

Before Ray could question that comment, Chris turned the engine over. Ray made one last sweep of the area, joined Clay and Trent in the back of the truck as Chris shifted into reverse.

"Anything to say?" Ray asked as Trent man-handled a hand-slapping Clay onto a bench near the cab of the truck, wedged him towards the corner.

"Who? Me?" Clay stared at the strap Trent tried to hand him. He finally took it because Trent picked his hand up and wrapped his fingers around it. When he couldn't move it, he blinked up in confusion. "About what?" Chris out of his sight, what he'd been needed for was fast fading and his barely-there grip on reality was fading even faster.

Trent removed his helmet, plopped it on Clay's head, didn't care if it sat straight, buckled the strap beneath his chin. Clay simply sat still, didn't try to help Trent or push him away.

"Hold tight." He warned, moved to the back of the truck to poke his head out next to Karl. "Don't let go." He called back. "Ray, watch him," and he turned his attention back outside the truck.

"Walking off the base!" Ray slapped a palm against his leg. Clay bit his tongue, held steady, didn't flinch. "The hell did you think you were doing?" Trent poking his bare, unprotected head out the back of the truck pissed him off. "Really Spenser?"

Clay blinked.

"Why? Why Spenser? Why would you do that? Why would you go? You knew we were on our way. All you had to do was wait! Just wait for us."

Clay blinked. Wait? The hell did that mean, wait? Hadn't he done what was asked of him? Woke up, stayed awake, fought his stomach; ignored his head, the pull on his muscles to just relax and close his eyes; dealt with the heat and unrelenting sun; fought his way out of welcoming blackness and dug through disorienting fog to add and calculate, judge distance and weight and speed? What more did they want from him? Had he guessed inaccurately? Misculated?

"You just couldn't help yourself, right? Decided to go find Jaber? Or did you just want to flick your fingers in Cap's face?"

Clay stared, eyes dry and turning red from the intense effort of keeping them open…God, they burned, he'd lost the sunglasses somewhere. Befuddled, fuzzy-headed, medicated, over-heated and in pain, he couldn't think straight or follow Ray's rant.

"…..you ever think about anyone other than yourself? What you want? About us? What you put us through?"

Clay stared, no longer able to even blink. He just sat and let Ray ream him out, took the dressing down with a stoic face, licked dry lips with a swollen tongue. He really had no idea what Ray was yelling at him for, but his 2IC's raised voice brought Trent back and Clay reached for him, for some reason, needing comfort.

"…we get back to base…" Ray finished. "I don't want to see you."

Trent elbowed him in the gut, gave him a look with a curled lip, let Clay hold his wrist.

"What?" Ray grunted defensively. "He had it coming."

"He was shot."

"He was grazed."

"He's dehydrated, weak from blood loss, has an infection."

"He's upright and walking."

"He's shaky and unsteady." Trent sat down next to Clay on the bench, wedged him firmly into the corner so he was braced, trapped between the side of the truck and himself. "Just, when you asked him how he was doing, how he felt, did you ask if his wrists hurt?" He snapped his fingers, smacked his palm against his forehead. "Oh, right, you forgot to ask him how he got those rope burns, right?"

It was Ray's turn to stare. Rope burns?

"Or hey, how he got shot?" He planted his feet, told Clay, who was breathing heavily, to do the same. Trent didn't like that, felt if he were to listen to Clay's lungs, he'd find the kid wheezing. "You think she shot him? Kinda doubtful, don't ya think?"

"You said he was okay."

"I won't feel right until he's in Doc's hands." He twisted, pushed, shoved until Clay's thigh was wedged firmly against his. "Deep breaths, Spense, slow your breathing down and hang tight, gonna be a rough ride."

With a: Lurch, jerk. Thump. Bump. Bumpity-bump. Thumpity-bum-bump. They were on their way.

Chris had stopped backing up, and was now driving forward, picking up speed until he hit 30 mph, then headed straight for the break in the guardrail. The jolt of the front tires dropping off the road caused Clay to bounce on the bench. His bandaged hip rode hard against Trent, rubbed friction until fire sparked and pain spiked.

He hissed, bit his lip, tried to breathe.

The front tires finding purchase tipped him forward and dealing with pain, he forgot to hold tight and only Trent's arm hastily thrown out in front of him kept him on the bench.

He gulped, bit his tongue.

The back tires bumped down. His feet kicked out and up while Trent's remained firmly planted on the floor. His ass lifted up, hit back down on the bench so hard, his teeth rattled. Trent was prepared and able to control himself on the rough, wild ride while Clay wasn't able to comprehend he was in a moving vehicle.

He bit his cheek, drew blood, swallowed hard at the taste, choked, leaned forward much as the arm across his chest allowed, spat on the floor.

"Easy, breath through it." Trent coached. "Almost over."

Ray checked to make sure everyone hanging on to a bumper, door handle, tailgate, rooftop was still along for the ride, turned his head to check on Trent and Clay, was knocked off his feet.

"DAMMIT CHRIS! HAVE A CARE!"

Chris paid no attention to anyone, his concentration on maintaining speed and accuracy on their downward, reckless plunge. There nothing he could do about the bouncing and jouncing as the tires slid and spun for purchase. He kept the truck as steady as he possibly could, eyes straight ahead and prayed.

Clay slid right, then left, bounced up, plummeted down, fell right. His dry eyes made his vision work intermittently and he didn't see the hand reach out to protect his head. He was tugged sideways, he smelled dirt, sweat….Old Spice. It was familiar, it meant safety and he didn't fight the firm hold, let his head fall to Trent's shoulder.

Trent couldn't keep both himself and Clay still and on the bench, so he sacrificed his hips and back to numerous bruises in favor of preventing Clay from whacking his head again. He scooted backwards until he was wedged into the corner opposite Clay, then tugged him close, maneuvering him until he was on his back. Ray lifted Clay's feet unto the bench and he instinctively braced his feet, toes splayed, against the steel wall of the truck beneath the canvas.

"You got him? You okay?" Ray asked from his knees, palms bracing his weight against a bench. "He good?"

A shout, a sound of gun fire and Ray was belly-walking towards the rear of the truck, the steep pitch of the truck adding resistance to his progress. With Clay secure in Trent's lap, Ray felt no need to give either of them his attention, instead, he focused on lending any assistance he could to those outside the truck.

"All good?" Trent called, doubling forward so his head wouldn't whack the wall.

"Good!'' Ray shouted back. "Almost down!"

Chris didn't breathe again until all four tires of the truck were on firm, even ground. Ken was thrown from the top of the truck, retrieved by Sonny and Karl, and they were on their way towards Dutch and the rest of Bravo support.

Distant gun fire alerted them that their mad plunge down the hill had been spotted, but no rockets were launched at them and they were too far away for whatever was being shot at them to matter. Chris waited until all of Bravo were within the safety of the truck, gunned it and sped away. He was on a road now – his turf, his comfort zone and nothing was in his way to prohibit his speedy return to safety.

All he wanted to see was the armored, armed vehicle coming at them carrying Dutch and the rest of their team with Matt manning a .50 cal automatic machine gun.

Once they'd reached safety, Trent released Clay so he could sit up, but the kid didn't move. Trent bounced his knee – no reaction. Gave him a shake – no response. Pushed – nothing.

"Yeah?" Sonny responded to Trent's motion, knelt down. "Want me to take him?"

"He pass out?"

Sonny spread his knees, sat his ass on the floor, reached out to thumb open an eye, flashed a light – saw blue eyes staring at him, waggled a gloved hand.

"Weeelll…..lookee there! Two eyes!" Sonny cackled. "Swelling's worse."

"The heat, probably."

"Sit him up."

Sonny pulled while Trent pushed and Karl swung Clay's feet to the floor. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands loose between thighs and just sat.

Kenny offered him water, Jason offered him a bottle of Gatorade, he took neither. Sonny soaked a rag from the ice water in the Yeti cooler, wrapped it dripping wet around Clay's neck who sat without moving for several seconds, then lifted the ends of the towel and buried his face in it.

Trent was pawing at his side, pushing his shirt up, thumbing his briefs out of his way to apply another bandage that he simply slapped over the one that was now blood stained.

"He good?" Jason asked, passed bottles of cold water and Gatorade through the rear window of the cab to Seth, asked the same question, received an affirmative answer. "Tell me he's good."

"Not gonna bleed out on me." Trent tore tape with his teeth. "Should hurt though, and he ain't complaining." And he didn't like that.

"No more waking him up when you give him….well, whatever shit you gave him." Sonny stated. "Don't like it."

"Didn't expect to have to come find him." Trent retorted snappishly. "Or find him hurt. Had no reason to think I'd need a med bag. I gave him what I had to ease his pain. Never thought I'd have to wake him out of a stupor to save our asses."

Ray sighed. He hadn't meant to lay any guilt on the medic or make him feel any of this was his fault. "Thing is Trent, we never should have had to come after him. He knew we were on our way, his ass should have stayed put and waited for us. But no. He's Spenser. He had to go find her and he found trouble. When is enough, enough? This lone ranger behavior is going to….."

"Hold up." Jason gained his feet, balanced his weight by spreading his feet and holding a steel post. "Ray, I get it, I do, but the kid didn't leave the base, he was taken from it."

Clay stirred, raised a hand to cup the back of his head, pushed at the helmet, had his hand slapped down.

"How do you know that?" Ray demanded. "Jaber? Really Jay? You're gonna believe everything that comes out of her mouth? Seriously?"

"She said she and her men took him from a group they are known to feud with, it was made to look like he'd left base on his own to meet her."

"Cap."

"An attempt to draw her out."

"That sure backfired."

"What, she have eyes and ears everywhere?"

"Would explain the rope burns, the gun shot."

"Wait, just wait!" Ray exclaimed. "Hold up, wait…."

"I did." Clay twisted. "Wait…waited….I did. I waited."

"Sssh-shush." Sonny gave him a friendly punch in the arm. It knocked him sideways into the wall. "Let the grown-ups talk." He set Clay right again, kept a hand on his shoulder. "No falling over on the job, here dude."

"You're saying someone kidnapped him from base, held him and Jaber rescued him? Took him to a mountain hideaway? Why?"

"Keep him safe?"

"But she let us come after him, let us have him…..she let us see her!"

"Ray, come on."

"You let her go!"

"She didn't hurt him."

"She hurt…."

"Enough!" Jason barked. "She doesn't matter Ray. She's gone. We don't know what Cap had planned. Far as I'm concerned, she saved his life and for that, I never laid eyes on her."

"Can't be like that Jay."

"This isn't on us. It's on Cap and he's going to pay."

"You truly believe he had Clay kidnapped off base, held as bait to draw her out, but she took him to a mountain hideaway instead? You're going to lay that on Cap? Kinda far fetched."

"Would explain why he doesn't have any clothes on."

"My head hurt." Clay cut in. "Had a headache, wanted a Popsicle. Went to the...uh...mess...cafeteria, got an orange one...no, a creamsicle, was walking back to quarters...woke up tied to a chair...then...bang and smoke...woke up...uh, not there...somewhere else."

"With no clothes?"

"Was...hot."

"Spenser? Hey, just wanna says thanks." Kenny squeezed his shoulder. "Did good man, so, yeah, thanks. Thanks for that. Lookin' like we got around the ambush, and are well on our way back to base. Couldn't have done it without you."

Clay flicked a hand in Kenny's direction, nodded, had no idea what he was talking about.

"Jay..."

Talk, arguing, swirled around him but Clay could no longer follow what was being said or who was saying it. He'd never felt so disoriented and discombobulated in his entire life. He was floating, drifting away, the voices became distant, he reached out for an anchor, held tight. His hair itched. Something heavy was on his head and no amount of bobbing dislodged it.

"Whoa there, what'cha tryin' to do?" Sonny bumped shoulders, unprepared for a hot, sweaty body to pitch forward, but caught it anyway. "We get back, you are so going straight to the infirmary dude."

He didn't.