Our show will be back soon in their new time slot...10 o'clock...don't know how I feel about that. Boo...or...Woot?
Now, in the meantime, how about it CBS? Give me my renewal!
I've had David Boreanaz on my TV since my husband girl-crushed Willow on Buffy...not ready to give him up yet.
The activity within the walls of the clinic was loud, noisy and chaotic. Bravo and Support, along with the interpreter, totaled a troop of twelve men tromping and pushing their way through the crowded halls of shoulder to shoulder people with little regard to who it was they moved out of their way.
Their goal? Find Clay Spenser.
Their tech whiz kept yakking in their ears that he was there, they were close, they'd have him in their sights any second now.
Davis reported Dutch and his team would soon make it safely to transport, Chuck would pick them up, return them to the Air Base, refuel and then return for Bravo.
The uproar over the Air Base's missing chopper had been resolved when Blackburn promised that once Chuck returned Bravo to the Air Base, he and Greg would continue rescue efforts with the chopper with all of Support as her crew.
Sonny promised the Good Lord a week - no, a month - of sobriety and good deeds to old people if Bravo walked into the room and found their youngest chatting up some young lady or entertaining a child with card tricks. Promised him a week of drunken slothfulness irritating every public retail worker he encountered if they didn't.
He was planning what booze to buy; the cheapest to give him the desired numbness.
Jason barked at the interpreter who was not accustomed to field work. He was used to sitting with Mandy in the comfort and safety of an interrogation room. He did his best to translate and keep up with the orders and commands coming at him from every direction by everyone, but yeah, he floundered.
And that pissed Jason off and a pissed off Jason made everyone teeter on the edge.
"Randy?" Ray keyed in. "How accurate is this tracker? Is it to the block? The building? The room? Clay?"
"It will take you straight to exactly where the trackers are." Randy replied evasively. Lisa gave him a patient smile.
Meaning, it would only take them to Clay if Clay still had the tracking devices with him.
Brock pushed ahead of Jason who trailed behind Sonny who led the way. He understood technology and he was grateful they had it, but Cerberus was barking just ahead…..and he was in a frenzy.
Jason stood sideways, let Brock pass him, slightly annoyed with the man. He agreed with Sonny. They were all going to have one hell of a conversation with Brock over what Clay had confided to him.
And soon. Like on the flight home, soon.
"Here." Brock pointed just as Sonny pointed and said, "There."
Same doorway.
"Bravo, you're there." Randy was saying. HAVOC didn't have eyes in the clinic, but he was able to trace and track any cell or satellite phone anyone on Bravo carried with them. "He's right in front of you."
Finally!
The team parted, took opposite sides of the door, waited while Ray counted to three then rushed the open doorway.
They were not met with resistance.
Nor the much desired sight of Clay.
The room was empty except for a barking, tail-wagging Cerberus standing guard over a pile of rags on the floor. They all filed in, milled around. The room was small and with twelve large men crowding the space, there was little room to move about.
The table in the middle of the room did not hold who they were looking for. It didn't hold anyone. Or anything.
Jason raised a fist, and Support, along with the interpreter stepped from the room into the hallway, where they either stood guard, began an inspection of nearby rooms or searched the hallway.
After a quick visual survey of the room, they focused their attention on a sheet-covered pile in the corner. Ray yanked the sheet free: Clay's clothes, equipment and gear sat neatly on a chair. Even his weapons.
"Woof!" no humans, not over there. Over here!
Trent reached for the helmet, Sonny searched the pants for the beacon, found it. Jason took the vest and weapons and handed all into the secure hands of Kenny.
"Okay, so where the fuck is he?" Sonny asked frustrated. "Dammit!"
"Woof!" me, see me? He's here. Right here!
"He's there." Randy said over comm's. "GPS says he's in the same room you are."
"Well, he ain't." Sonny growled.
"We're not blind Randy." Ray said more calmly than Sonny, yet irritated just the same. "Can't miss him. He's not here."
"Woof!" over here.
"Then his watch is." Randy insisted. "I'm telling you, it is in that room."
"Find it." Jason ordered.
"And I'm telling you we don't see him." Ray replied.
"WOOF!" pay me attention.
Every article of clothing was searched, every piece of equipment was searched, every pocket, flap, zipper on any and all packs was searched. No watch. Jason sent Support to search nearby rooms, ordered them, if necessary, to search people.
Randy insisted the watch was in the room where Bravo was.
Ray insisted the watch wasn't.
"WOOF!" listen to me.
"It's not here, I'm telling you!" Ray yakked. "We've tossed this room!"
If anyone were to ask how long they'd been searching, every man on Bravo would snap back; 10 to 15 minutes.
It'd been less than two.
Cerberus went up on his hind legs, pawed the air, dropped to all four. Danced. Bounced like a Pogo-stick, all four paws leaving the floor. But he did not move from his spot.
Brock pushed a hand through his hair, his helmet dangled from his fingers. Yeah, yeah, he was momentarily disconnected from comm's, so fucking what?
"Cerb!" He called the dog off the muddy pile of rags he just would not leave alone. "Cease!"
The dog whined, sat. He didn't want to obey, but he did.
"Come." Brock ordered. He didn't need the dog getting sick off slime and muck. "Do not touch those rags."
Cerberus inched his butt towards Brock but didn't really move. He placed a paw on the muddy pile. "WOOF!"
"What's his problem?" Trent asked, standing next to Brock. "He never acts like this."
"Dunno." Brock was tired. Exhausted and drained, for some reason, he just could not pull it together and understand what his dog was trying to make him understand. "Guessing the watch is in that pile. Don't want to touch it."
"Gotta be something we can find to poke through it without touching it."
Brock nodded and they left the room in search of sticks or poles. Cerberus whined, didn't budge.
Jason was already in the hallway and once Brock and Trent left the room, Ray joined Jason.
That left Sonny alone in the room, packing up Clay's clothes and gear.
"WOOF!" Cerberus stood, but his tail didn't wag and his ears went back. "WOOF!"
"Good boy." Sonny said absently. He slipped the beacon into one of his pockets. "You thirsty? Get you some water in a minute."
Facing the corner, his back to the door, he never saw the small, robed girl enter the room. Never saw her approach the 'pile of muddy rags' on the floor. Never knew she saw him and ignored him, intent on completing her job and leaving.
It was Cerberus who first alerted Sonny that something was wrong. His whining and occasional bark became a threatening growl, causing Sonny to look over his shoulder.
"Whoa there boy!" Sonny zipped Clay's backpack closed, set it aside. The dog's hackles were up and though he sat on his haunches, he was tense, muscles poised to attack. "Cerb, cease." Sonny still didn't see the girl. "No." He still didn't turn around. "What's with you?"
How sad was it, that a team of the most highly trained, elite soldiers in the world did not recognize their own teammate when he was a muddy mess in the same room as them, but they all recognized his screams of pain when walls were between them?
Sonny came right out of his skin.
Ten soldiers all bolted at the exact same time, for the exact same location.
One interpreter quaked where he stood.
Cerberus ignored commands to sit and cease, attacked.
The girl shrieked, clutched a bottle to her chest, tried to flee.
Later, Sonny would drink himself stupid for a week because had he simply paid Cerberus attention, he would have seen the girl and been able to stop her from torturing Clay yet again.
Later, Brock would wrestle with guilt because he'd told Cerberus to find Clay and the dog had and Brock had been too discouraged and frustrated to pay him the attention he deserved.
Later, Jason would kick himself for not searching the entire room because he was mad Clay wasn't where he was supposed to be and he'd wanted the kid in his hands, not a pile of dirty rags.
Later, Trent would join Sonny for a round of drown-my-issues-with booze because had he not left the room over his distaste of pawing through what he thought had been muddy rags, he would have seen the girl enter the room, been able to stop her and known what'd she done to make Clay scream like he was being tortured.
Later, Ray would pray for forgiveness for doubting Randy and losing patience with the tech's insistence that Clay was right there in the room with them even though Bravo could see and Randy couldn't.
Later, Eric would join the team for whatever punishment they chose for themselves because, well, they were his team and this had all happened on his watch.
Later, Cerberus would get a much deserved spa visit, complete with home-made-safe-for-dogs ice cream.
But now? Right now?
Sonny whirled, grabbed for the dog with one hand, the girl's robes with the other. He managed to knock her aside, then felt like shit for knocking her to the floor when he realized she was barely more than a child. He needed both hands to restrain Cerberus by his collar which gave the girl the opportunity to gain her feet and flee with the bottle.
Trent skidded in his haste, muddy feet giving way on a slippery floor when he tried to navigate the corner into the room. His hip caught and he landed on his hands and knees. Yeah, he was gonna have one hell of a bruise. Jason nimbly jumped right over him, bursting into the room, expecting to see Clay...well, somewhere, doing something.
"SONOFABITCH!" Sonny bellowed, barreling out the door everyone else was trying to barrel in through.
The dirty, wet, burlap-looking rag pile of what they'd thought was trash bucked and heaved. Someone, at some point, had decided Clay should not be 'naked' and covered him with what they probably called a sheet but what Bravo called - a pile of dirty rags.
"Fuck me." Jason snatched at the rags, came away with one, then two, then a handful...maybe a sheet, maybe not. No hesitation or curled lip of disgust this time. He grabbed, bunched, tossed and flung until he finally exposed a wet, muddy, dirty, filth covered...body.
"Is…is…that's….is that Clay?" Ray stuttered. "The hell, man?"
"Jesus Jason." Trent was next to him, still on his knees.
They'd wanted to bring Doc but Eric had decided stealing a chopper with an un-cleared, not-officially-there, pilot was pushing their luck enough. Doc was not cleared to be in the field and though they hadn't been able to raise Clay on comm's or via either phone, they'd blamed the weather. No one had thought Clay would be in need of Doc's services, so Jason hadn't pushed.
That was a mistake they would never make again.
Clay wasn't on the floor, wasn't on a table, it was barely a pallet and Jason had to squat down to search for Clay's face. His hair - kinda dry, partially wet, dirty, and matted with mud and no one wanted to know what else, hung in clumps across his forehead, covered his eyes.
"The hell they do? Drag him out of the mud and drop him? Someone muttered.
"What do you need?" Jason asked, his stomach in his throat. "Why's he screaming?"
Well, he wasn't screaming any longer. He was flat on his back, left arm flung wide, his right tight to his side - panting, heaving, choking, gasping...
"So, what do we do?" Ray asked calmly.
"Need to know what the hell she was doing to him." Trent muttered, holding Clay's head still between his palms. "Jesus."
"She had a bottle." Sonny said, but when asked what she'd been doing with it, he couldn't answer.
Jason rubbed his forehead, thumb between his eyebrows, stood up. "Find that girl." He ordered. "Sonny, track her down. Ray, take the interpreter, find whoever is in charge here. Drag his fucking ass back here."
Suddenly, Sonny wasn't feeling so bad about knocking a little girl down anymore.
"Water." Trent replied. "Soap and water." Everyone on Bravo knew soap and water alone, for starters, did wonders against infection, but...here? Now?
"You want to wash him here?" Ray asked. Trent would do what Trent wanted to do, no matter what was reasonable or safe or whether or not it made sense.
And the one person who could stop him, wasn't likely to do so, if the look on his face was anything to go by.
"I can't see where he's hurt or how badly with all this...uh, dirt, mud." Trent paused, looked up. "People over here use outhouses, cesspools. Chuck's a good 45 mikes out, right?"
"Brock," Jason began but Brock was nodding, moving to the door.
"Right." Brock shuddered. "Seth!" He stepped out of the room, taking Cerberus with him.
"Jesus." Trent breathed, attention back on Clay. "Shit Clay, what the hell did they do to you?"
Trent pulled rubber gloves from the med kit that Davis had sent on the chopper, handed a pair to Jason. Clay visibly flinched at the sound of the snap. Tensed when Trent ghosted his thumb over the wet, splotchy, wound near his hip. Went rigid when Trent applied slight pressure. Yelped when Trent felt the tell-tale bumps under his skin.
"Shit. Okay, ok." Trent muttered, let the wound go for the moment and pulled out his stethoscope.
"Easy kid." Jason said, put a palm on Clay's shoulder. "What else do you need?" He asked Trent soon as the medic pulled the stethoscope from his ears.
"Pulse rapid, irregular heartbeat, breathing constricted, labored." Trent related. "Oxygen."
It was doubtful any would be found until Chuck returned because while they had taken med kits and supplies from the chopper when they'd landed, they hadn't brought portable O2.
"On it." Karl said before Jason could issue an order. "Chris." Matt had gone with Sonny, Jeff with Ray.
"Tell me he's okay." Jason asked, gently feeling for broken bones in Clay's feet, ankles, shins.
"Too soon to tell." Trent uncapped a bottle of water, upended it over Clay's head, let it run rivulets down his forehead and cheeks. Dabbed his eyes, gently wiped off the loose, dried, caked mud with a clean cloth from his face.
They'd really have to scrub with harsh soap to get off the worst of the grime and mud.
"His eyes..." Jason paused. "His cheeks...look...cleaner."
"Tears." Trent shrugged. "Don't guess he's been screaming dry-eyed."
Jason cursed.
Clay pulled out of his touch, ducked his chin to avoid the cloth. Trent paused, not expecting that reaction at all. Clay never drew away from him.
"Hey." Trent scolded gently. "Just me, you're good."
But Clay wasn't trying to duck the attempt to wash the mud off his face; he was trying to catch the water with his tongue. He didn't care that it was muddy and tasted awful, it was wet, he wanted it and he was going to get it.
His left hand didn't obey and move like he wanted it to until Jason felt him tug and let it go, curious why he didn't move his right hand…..after all, Clay was right-handed.
His hand free, Clay raised his hand to rub his cheek, his nose, licked his fingers.
"Don't do that." Jason scowled, disgusted. He reached to stop Clay, wondered why Trent didn't. "Trent?" He saw his medic's face. His stone-set expression of murder. "What?"
"Fuck this whole god-damn country." Trent huffed. "They never even gave him water Jace."
Jason's expression soon matched Trent's. He reached for his backpack, pulled out a bottle of water, waited while Trent pried Clay's fingers from his mouth, then forced his teeth apart.
"Shine your light." Trent ordered. Jason obeyed. Watched Trent maneuver Clay's tongue with a finger.
"What can you see other than mud?" Jason asked. Damned if he could see anything but mud. Mud-caked teeth. Mud-coated tongue. Mud-smeared lips and gums. "Jesus."
"Throat's red, inflamed."
"Meaning?" It never ceased to amaze Jason what Trent saw or knew or guessed that was oblivious to him and the rest of the team.
"Meaning he's been screaming awhile." Trent wet a rag, let Clay chew on it, wiped as much mud from Clay's mouth as Clay would allow. "I know, you're thirsty….hang on a sec."
Jason took the packets Trent handed him, opened them, removed the swabs.
"Nose first." Trent directed. "Then his ears. Give him small sips." He stayed Jason's hand when his boss picked up the water bottle. "Small sips Jason." He stared his boss down another few seconds, let his hand go. Clay would want to gulp the water and Jason would want to let him, but Trent didn't want him doing that.
Clay, occupied with Jason poking sticks of cotton swabs up his nose and in his ears between allowing him drips of water, didn't react when Trent pressed and prodded and palpated his sides, belly, sternum, chest, avoiding the obvious inflamed, swollen mud-caked injury on his right side.
"He good?" Jason asked. Clay was finally able to breathe through his nose but it didn't ease his struggle to breathe or ease his heavy panting.
"Mmmm. No signs of internal bleeding. Gonna try and sit him up, let him drink. You okay to hold him?"
Jason's look was all 'can't believe you have to ask'.
Trent shrugged. "Take your vest off."
Jason obeyed, contacted HAVOC, asked for status on Chuck's return, was told to stand-by.
Oh, how well they knew how to comfort Clay, keep him calm, make him feel safe, secure.
Seth popped in with several wet towels. "No tub, found a sink with running water though. Has a hose. No hot water, but clean."
"Gimme your water."
Seth nodded, handed Trent his two unopened bottles as well as a bottle of purple Gatorade and resumed the search for any of the four things they were searching for: girl, man in charge, tub, oxygen.
Trent took a towel, draped it over Clay's head, patted his hair, rubbed his forehead and temples with a corner; used the opposite corner to soak his crusty eyes until the caked, hardened mud and muck softened and Jason could wipe it away with another wet towel.
"There you go, better?" Trent could finally see Clay's eyes. The whites were bloodshot, the pupils uneven and roaming. "Wanna sit up? Easy…..rest against Jason, okay?"
Clay groaned, reluctant to move his head. Trent had to support it with a firm hand, guide his ascent but even with both Jason and Trent supporting him, he couldn't sit up on his own.
"Your head hurts, I know. Sorry." There wasn't much he could do about that right now, but he could flush Clay's eyes with a soothing saline and add drops for moisture. "He's got a concussion. Try not to let him roll his head too much. No broken bones, nothing dislocated."
Jason carefully juggled Clay into his arms, bit his lip against his whine and whimper, winced when he cried out.
"Shit. The reason he's out of it, you think?" He settled the kid's weight against his chest, let Trent lay his head against his shoulder. "His side?" He let Clay sip the Gatorade. "Trent? Is it serious?"
"Dunno yet." He was scared to look at it. Clay didn't like moving and wasn't moving his right arm at all. Couldn't be good. "Hold his head."
Clay blinked, shrank back against Jason, expected searing flame to light up his side, but instead, more water washed his face and his eyes were held open and repeatedly squirted with a liquid that eased the burning and reduced the reddish-brown haze he'd been seeing through.
He didn't feel panic, not like before. This was different. His hearing was clearing, he could breathe through his nose, even his eyesight was improving. But his head still hurt and he was still being toasted and he really didn't feel very good at all.
"Taste good? No, don't lick it." Jason wiped Clay's face, this time, offered him water. "Okay, yeah, I know…..still doesn't taste all that good, huh?"
"We get him cleaned up a bit, I have oral swabs." Trent said. "Stay still. Few more drops."
Clay wasn't following his words and Trent knew it, but he hoped the sound of his voice would be enough to keep Clay calm.
"Trent," Brock came in. "No tub, just the sink with running water. The floor has a drain. You ready? Seth is keeping everyone out."
"Good enough." Trent said. "Kenny around?"
"I'm right here." The only team member not off in search of someone or something, he'd been guarding the door.
Matt and Jeff were back, collected Jason's vest and gear, Trent's med kits and backpack. Clay's clothes and gear had already been collected, would eventually be returned to Davis.
"Watch his head, his right side. He's touchy." Trent instructed. "Is it far?"
"Couple halls over."
Kenny and Brock each took a foot. Jason got to his feet, lifted Clay's weight with him, let Trent take his left arm, carefully bore the kid's weight on his right side. As gentle and careful as they were, Clay still balked. Groaned with a cry or whimper, but at least, he wasn't screaming in pain.
It took the four of them to take hold, lift, and awkwardly carry him without causing him too much pain. He wouldn't move his right arm from his side, so Jason didn't have a firm or comfortable hold.
Matt, Jeff and Cerberus cleared a path in the hallways so the men carrying Clay didn't have to worry about their burden being jostled.
Jason, Brock, Kenny and Matt held Clay off the floor.
Seth manned the hose with the nozzle removed.
Trent rubbed and scrubbed with Lava soap.
Chris patted and wiped and rinsed.
Until finally, mud didn't run from his hair and skin emerged.
Karl returned, no oxygen. Led them to a nearby room with a pallet and clean mat. Jason then ordered everyone out. He held Clay down while Trent swabbed his mouth with the oral swabs coated with mouthwash, but he didn't resist, so really, other than Jason just wanting contact, there was no need to hold him.
Finally, Trent put balm on his lips to sooth the sting and pulled on new gloves. He took a breath, ready to tackle the wound on Clay's side.
"Good enough." Trent decided. Clay was nowhere as clean as Trent wanted him but the majority of the muck and slime and mud had been removed. Behind his ears and between his toes and under his nails could wait until they were back on Base with a proper tub, where if possible with his side, they could submerge him.
The numerous bruises and scrapes and cuts and abrasions while irritating, were superficial.
"Trent?" Jason looked at his watch. Fuck. It felt like hours had passed but it had been just over thirty minutes since they'd found Clay. Trent was used to working frantically in tense conditions where every second mattered. What made him so good at it, was he rarely missed anything. But now, now he was hesitant, unsure and Jason didn't like that. "Talk to me."
"I don't like he's having a hard time breathing. I don't know what's causing it. I don't hear congestion, he isn't puking, yet it's like...his lungs are irritated. I don't dare give him anything until I know what, if anything, they gave him." He'd let his boss see his doubt, know his uncertainty, but only his boss. Knew it would never go any further than the two of them.
"He does okay with morphine."
"Yeah, long as we know he hasn't taken anything else."
Jason nodded. He would never second guess or override Trent when it came to the care of anyone on the team.
"Chuck should be airborne any minute." Jason said. "Want to wait?"
"I want the asshole that did this to him." Trent said. "I need to talk to him before I kill him."
"Working on it." Jason promised. "Ray will find him."
He nodded. Just that bit of conversation reaffirming his boss's complete and utter trust in him, grounded him once more. "Might want to hold him down." He set aside a metal pick and a pair of straight hemostats. "He's not going to like this."
Jason looked away, paled, but held steady.
Trent used his teeth to open a packet of Chlorhexidine swab sticks. His touch light, he generously swabbed the skin all around the wound in Clay's side; up, down, around, on, over. Clay tensed, his stomach rippled, goose bumps popped on his skin, but he held still.
Trent tossed the third and final swab, picked up the pick. "Got him?" He waited for his boss to nod. "Don't worry about his right arm," Trent waved with the pick. "His whole side is swollen up to his armpit, down to his knee. He ain't gonna be swinging at you."
Jason whistled. "The fuck?" He didn't expect an answer, didn't get one. "The hell would do that?"
Trent used his thumb and forefinger to push apart the skin that had crusted together into a lumpy scab. Clay stirred, head rolling when Trent applied slight pressure and broke the wound open.
"Hey, I'm right here." Jason put a hand on Clay's left shoulder to hold him still when his back arched from the mat. "Sssh...hey, listen to me." He held Clay's head still by holding his chin, but no amount of talking or gentle shaking or hand squeezing or chin cuddling called Clay's attention to him.
Trent saw the gauze packing he was looking for, picked it loose, began to tug the first wad from the wound with the hemostats. Clay went from tense to rigid to completely stiff...the whimper became a whine, the whine a guttural cry, the cry a scream when Trent pulled the wad out.
Jason wondered how Trent knew what to pick loose and pull out. How he even knew it was there. To him, it all looked the same. Huh, he made a mental note to have Trent and Doc show him and the rest of the team, Clay included, how to tell muscle and tissue and layers of skin from, you know, what shouldn't be there.
"BROCK!" Jason shouted over Clay. "Keep everyone out." He knew how they would react hearing their teammate cry out - make that, scream.
The wound began to ooze blood, puss and mud and mucus. The more wads of gauze Trent pulled out, the heavier the bleeding got.
Jason wanted to tell Trent to stop. To wait and do what he was doing when they were back at the infirmary on the Air Base where Doc could give Clay something for the pain. But yeah, that wouldn't do any good. Doc wouldn't be able to give Clay anything that Trent couldn't.
"BROCK!" Trent called. Clay was beginning to move too much, the plastic mat now wet and slippery. Clay would soon be thrashing and Trent needed him still and he needed someone to flush the wound with a cleansing solution and staunch the bleeding.
"Hey kid." Brock greeted. "What'd you go and do this time? Huh?"
"Almost done." Trent was saying as Brock reached to pick up a white cloth. "Can you..."
But Clay took hold of Brock's wrist with his left hand, held tight with a surprisingly strong grip so Jason took the cloth, switched places with Brock.
He understood why Trent had insisted on washing Clay as best as they could here. Even understood why Trent was removing the gauze from the wound...germs, bacteria, infection...the dirt and grime and mud packed in that wound could easily kill the kid. Still might. But no. Clay was healthy and strong, would fight off the infection and be fine.
Eventually.
Fuck. Why did the kid always have to be the one to go through something like this? Dammit, he spoke the fucking language. If he hadn't hit his head; if he'd been awake when he'd been brought into the clinic; if the 'doctor' hadn't treated him; if, if, if.
At most, the kid should be going home with a concussion. Not any of this. Clay wouldn't have to decide whether or not to take med leave, Jason was going to make him take it.
"How bad is it?" Brock was asking Trent.
Jason glanced over. He'd missed it, but Clay was on his left hip, right arm still against his side, mostly in the comfort and security of Brock's arms. His eyes narrowed, Clay hadn't responded to him like that.
Shrugging it off, he helped Trent control the bleeding, flush the wound by squirting saline from a bottle while Trent poked and prodded through muscle and tissue in Clay's exposed side until he was satisfied no more gauze or foreign debris remained.
"Stitching him up?" Jason asked, ignored Clay's shaking, his groans, his cries, pulled his skin as close together as he could, applied firm pressure with the cloth and held tight.
"Not here." Trent said. "Gonna need internal stitches, let Doc get a good look first. Will go with liquid adhesive and tape. Trust me, he's not gonna feel it itch."
Jason nodded, removed what was needed from the med kit, handed it to Trent. By the time he was done, Sonny returned empty handed.
"Trent, dammit man, why didn't you give him something?!" Sonny paced the small room. "The hell's with you? Where's the damn doctor?"
"You don't want that man anywhere near him." Trent ran a hand through his hair "Quack doesn't hold a medical license."
Clay was a wet, shivering, panting, struggling-to-breathe mess in Brock's lap who flinched and tensed and hiccupped at every movement.
"You have your med pack. Davis sent it. I know there's something in there you can give him." Sonny stared him down. "Help him."
"I can't!"
Sonny stepped towards him, Trent held his ground.
"You don't see that? See him? How can you stand there and watch him? Let him go through that?"
"I see him! Do you?" Trent didn't back down. "Do you, Sonny? LOOK AT HIM! His breathing is compromised. I don't know what, if anything, they've given him. I don't know why his breathing is labored! Maybe it's pain. Maybe it's panic. Maybe it's head trauma, brain injury. Maybe it's just a concussion. Maybe it's a reaction to something they gave him. I DON'T KNOW SONNY!"
Sonny stared at Trent another few seconds, turned to look at Clay. Okay, yeah, maybe Trent had a point.
"YOU WANT ME TO DO SOMETHING? WHY DON'T YOU? How about you do that Sonny?" He looked at his hands, the latex gloves covered in dried blood, wet blood, mud, dirt. "I don't dare give him anything until I know what they did to him."
A commotion in the hallway erupted and Ray barged in, dragging Dr. Omar by his ear, the interpreter on their heels, babbling for Ray to let the good doctor go, he had many patients to see. Support blocked the doorway.
"ENOUGH!" Jason roared.
The room fell silent.
Dr. Omar ceased his struggles, was held still by Ray who was not going to let go until Trent had the answers he was looking for.
"You!" Jason grabbed the interpreter by his collar, dragged him over and around until he stood in front of Ray. "Ask the good Doc what he used to treat Clay." He held the interpreter still when he tried to tug free. "Nuh-ah. No one is going anywhere until he gives me an answer."
Finally Dr. Omar scowled, waved his hands and erupted into a dialog no one understood.
"Pinus solvent." The interpreter said helplessly. "Does that mean...?"
Trent threw one punch and Dr. Omar sagged to the floor. Caught by surprise, Ray let him go. Trent wrapped his hands around Dr. Omar's throat, dragged him to his feet, threw him against the wall, pressed with this thumbs until Sonny helped Jason pull him off.
"Trent! Hey man, come on! Murder is frowned upon even over here!" Ray yelled.
"You know what that is?" Brock asked.
"Turpentine."