Hey all!
Spring is on the way! Snow storm coming first though...you know us Marylander's - a possible 5 inches will grind this state to a complete and utter halt!
My usual disclaimer - medical inconsistencies...but you all know that by now. I Google, truly I do, but I get bored.
"TRENT! Hey, hey, hey!" Jason bear-hugged him from behind. "Back off." He pulled Trent off Dr. Omar who slithered down the wall into a heap on the floor.
Seething, Sonny searched for an acceptable way to vent. Yelling at Trent made him feel better, but didn't help the situation. Pummeling Dr. Omar sounded like a mighty fine idea…..
"What's the matter with you?" Ray added. He didn't lend a hand to Dr. Omar or help him gain his feet, but stood between him and Trent to prevent another attack. "We don't attack people..." He went silent at the twin looks from Trent and Jason. "What?"
Trent, still held by his boss, pointed at Clay, who hadn't moved from Brock's lap.
"Oh." Ray turned away. Right, the uh, doctor...damn, was he responsible for Clay's condition? He'd had a devil of a time finding the man and then, it had taken both him and Jeff to force the man to come with them. "How bad is he?"
Trent shrugged. "I don't like it."
That wasn't an answer but when Ray tried to push, Jason waved him off.
Trent in the capable control of Jason, Sonny moved off, opened a bottle of water. He was pissed off he hadn't been able to find the girl, pissed he hadn't known she'd entered the room and annoyed with Trent for the kid being the mess he was.
"Turpentine's bad, why?" Seth asked.
"It's a paint thinner, isn't it? Matt questioned. "What's it supposed to do?"
"A hundred years or so ago, it was used for medicinal purposes. Dunno why." Jeff supplied, he'd followed the interpreter into the room. "Burns like a bitch, you get it in an open cut."
Jason winced. He'd helped Trent treat the kid. The others had no idea how badly the kid might be hurt.
"Wait...what?" Ray looked around, looked at Clay, turned to Jason. "What did I miss?" He raised an eyebrow when he realized Jason wasn't restraining Trent, just holding him. Trent, feeling Ray's eyes on him, moved away from his boss.
Jason let him go with a reassuring pat on the back.
Huh.
"It's an irritant Ray. He's Clay. Do the math." Trent snapped, ignored the look of reprimand from Ray.
Clay stirred, head rolling along Brock's arm. He didn't care about Trent or Dr. Omar or the ruckus around him. He wanted Sonny's water. He tried to sit up, didn't make it. Tried to pull away, came up short. His left hand was trapped beneath him against Brock, and he went limp after a failed attempt to free it.
Moving hurt.
He groaned, choking, his throat dry so he ended up coughing, leaving him panting, gasping for air. If he laid still, breathing was easier, so why didn't he? He shifted with a whimper, his head was held, soft ssshs were in his ear. Brock massaged his neck. Right, stay still.
"Can you give him something now?" Sonny asked. "Trent, man, come on, don't be a dick. You can be a bastard sometimes, but come on here. Help him." He raised the bottle to take a drink but it was swiped right out of his hand before it even touched his lips. "HEY!"
Oh now, that's just taking things too far, Trent ole buddy, ole pal.
Sonny had patience, he really did. And these men standing with him were the only people in the world he wouldn't go after for fucking with him, but not now. Now, the mood was too tense, emotions too heightened and if Trent wanted a drink, he could damn well drink his own fucking bottle of water.
"Now see here Trent, I'm been wandering around this place, pushing my way through hordes of people covered in mud and shit, looking for a girl dressed like every other damn female over here. You want a drink, get you own damn..."
"Used it all." Trent snapped tersely. "So'd Jason. So'd Brock. We took what Seth had." He squatted down next to Brock, who held Clay's head still. "Hey, here...easy." He tipped the bottle against Clay's lips, let him swallow some, took the bottle away, waited a bit, then offered him some more. "Sonny's an ass, you can have his water."
And Sonny felt like shit.
Clay wanted the water but when he swallowed, he spit most of it up. Trent and Brock were patient.
Sonny wanted to hit something - someone.
Clay reached timidly – and didn't that just piss off everyone! – with his right hand to hold the bottle, felt Trent's wrist, paused. Trent waited. Clay's aim was off, Trent knew he was after the bottle but the kid didn't remove his hand.
Trent was just relieved Clay was moving his right hand….he'd yet to do so and that worried Trent.
Clay hesitated, something was different. There was a lot of activity around him. Voices that while yelling, were familiar and comforting…..the blurry, floating, faces would briefly merge into focus...he saw dirt, mud, grime and beards...Trent. Brock.
...there is no order we won't disobey, no authority we won't buck, to come get you.
The hands that cupped his chin, held his head still were rough, hard, callused but the touch was gentle...
….trust that knife wound in your side...take it as the proof it is, that there is no reason we would ever leave you on your own.
Shivering, he pressed his right elbow closer to his side, immediately felt the twinge. As long as he felt that pain…..he had something to hold on to….a reason to believe…in 'we'.
...we'll never not come get you.
"Spenser? Hey?"
Spenser? Clay frowned, blinking. His head hurt and trying to bring his vision into focus left him disoriented but he was only ever called by his last name when he was in trouble or when everyone was mad at him.
"Clay." Brock gave him a slight jounce. "Hey there, you're okay."
Clay blinked, let his eyes remained closed, tilted his head towards that voice. Clay. That was better.
"You're not feeling so good, I know." Brock continued. "Your head hurts, everything's fuzzy, but we're here, we got you."
We.
A wet, cold cloth was held against the thumping, thudding bump on his head, quelling its frequent attempts to kill him. It felt so good, he pressed against it – willing to accept anything that eased the pain in his head, even if it made him cold.
"Concussion anything to worry about?" Someone asked. Clay knew that voice. When it spoke, people listened. The presence of that voice meant no one would be lighting him on fire anymore. He didn't hear the answer.
His side still hurt, was painful, but no longer-scream-is-the-only-relief-I-can-get agony. He could hear normally and his vision, though blurry and all over the place, was no longer seeing everything through a red-colored haze.
He licked his lips, wanted more water. Brock obliged.
Sonny wanted to kick something. He eyed Dr. Omar, who sat rubbing his throat, staring at the door that was blocked by several large, armed men. Oh no, the good doc would not be leaving this room until they were done with him. Sonny cast a glance at Trent. Or ever, their medic had a say.
The room was too small to pace and with everyone crowded in, all Sonny could do was turn and face a wall. Trent always put the needs and comfort of his teammates before his own. Even if Trent had taken the water for himself, Sonny couldn't get mad over it. But Trent wouldn't have, not like that, he would have asked.
FUCK!
Feet shuffled and bottles of water appeared for Jason and Trent. Jason muttered his thanks. The one or two bottles of Gatorade that someone or another produced were set aside for Clay.
"You." Jason snapped his fingers at the interpreter who cringed. "Over here."
Soon as Tabibi saw Amanda Ellis, he was quitting. He was not cut out for field work or working anywhere with these men. They were violent, brutal, loud and rude and crude and he did not like them.
"Tabibi." He stuttered. "My name is..."
"Whatever." Jason blew him off. "Sonny, find out Chuck's status. Guys, clear out." He grabbed Dr. Omar by the collar, hauled him off the floor, dragged him close. "Ask him what they gave Clay. Words I understand. I'm done fucking around. I want answers."
Tabibi translated to Dr. Omar, who again ranted in his native language, hands flapping, fingers pointing. Oh yeah, he was not happy.
"ENOUGH!" Jason yelled. "What did he give him? Or so help me, I'm breaking bones." He would too, he knew how to do it quickly and efficiently and painfully.
"Orally." Trent added. He gave Brock a bottle of Gatorade, stood up. "He's too out of it Boss. Yeah, he has a concussion, and his side is bad but he should have been able to fight through it. They gave him something."
"What's wrong with his side?" Ray asked. "Just how hurt is he?" He was getting mighty sick of being ignored.
Tabibi again translated. Dr. Omar glowered, then cowered when Jason gave him a good shaking, finally answered.
"He resisted their attempts to aid him." Tabibi said. "They used a liquid sedative to keep him calm."
"Liquid sedative?" Ray repeated. "What does...?"
"Ether." Trent dug deep for patience, watched Brock handle Clay. "Over here, it's still used as an anesthetic." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ. We know he can fight through its effects, he wants to. He did before. I dunno Jace. They..."
"They what?" Ray pushed. "Tell me he's okay Trent."
"Does he look okay Ray?" Trent blew up. "LOOK at HIM! Tell me he looks okay!?"
"Don't yell at me." Ray warned. "Calm down." He wondered why Jason didn't have anything to say. "I understand things are tense, we're not in a good place, but we aren't the only people affected."
Yeah, Trent didn't care. "He would have been better off if they'd left him in the damn mud." He ignored the startled gasps around the room. "These people don't listen Ray. Turpentine doesn't make anything better. They've been told time and again not to use it. See what happens when they do?"
Ray was slow to anger, but Trent's attitude was pissing him off. He looked at Clay who squirmed uneasily in Brock's lap. Kid didn't look good at all - pale, panting, sweating, flushed, shaking - and Brock was having a hard time holding him still, keeping the cloth on his head and holding a bottle of Gatorade steady so he could drink.
"They do what they can," Ray began. "Use what is available..."
"Bullshit." Trent cut in. "Calling bullshit Ray. Doctors without Borders, humanitarian aid workers, The Red Cross, the Peace Corps...any of those ringing bells? You listening? These people are taught better, help is available and they go and do THAT!" He stabbed a finger in the air in Clay's direction for emphasis. "They don't listen!"
That would be Clay who either unwilling or unable to lie still, bit his lip, panted to breathe, held onto Brock, shook and shivered, licked his lips because he wanted more to drink.
"Trent, we're in an unfortunate situation. I get that." Ray began but Trent wasn't having it.
Jason finally let go of Dr. Omar to kneel next to Brock to give him a hand juggling an uneasy Clay who wanted to sit up until he did, then wanted to lay against Brock. He wasn't content, wouldn't stop moving. He took the bottle of Gatorade, held it so Clay could drink, caught Brock's eye who shrugged one shoulder with a sad smile.
"You remember, don't you? The infected knife wound that wouldn't stop bleeding? Yeah, that one. Torn open again and the asshat packed it with rolls of gauze. Never cleaned it. Just shoved cotton in deep, taking whatever in with it. Let it bleed and crust over. You shudda seen what I picked out of him...you wudda puked. No soap, no water, just turpentine. God knows how often or for how long. To keep him quiet, they smothered him with ether. Yeah, Ray, I'm pissed. The kid is hurt, he's in pain, he can't breathe, he's filthy, there's no oxygen and Sonny's all up in my face because I can't give him anything for the pain!"
Trent bit his tongue before he said anything more. Like: the kid pulls away from me and I don't know why and he's never done that before and I don't like it!
And Clay was in pain. Trent knew it. They all knew the signs. The way the kid bit his lip, the furrowed brow, the tight skin around his eyes, the white lips, his inability to lie still, his clutching hold on Brock.
Ray was quiet, warred over whether or not to dress Trent down. Thought maybe Jason would rein in the fired-up medic but no, that wasn't going to happen.
"Don't you dare stand there and defend what they did to him." Trent finished. "I don't what condition he was in when he was brought here. I don't know why he let them treat him. They left him alone, didn't even give him water. He speaks their language Ray. Yeah, he has a concussion, maybe it made him weak and woozy. Maybe the ether rendered him compliant. Whatever, it's obvious he couldn't get up and walk away but I'm pretty damn sure he was, at some point, able to tell them no."
"If the..." Brock paused, "...uh doctor here says he didn't give Clay any medication, isn't it safe to at least give him some morphine?"
"Do you trust him?" Trent asked, opening a bottle of water.
"I want to." Brock admitted. "I swear I can feel his heart racing Trent."
"Probably can."
Sonny popped his head in. "Chuck's mobile. Minutes out. How close do you want him to come? He said he doesn't need to land, just have space to hover. Do you want him to find somewhere to land, have Dutch come with a basket?"
"Have him pick us up where he dropped us off." Jason replied. "Bird that big this close will cause chaos."
"He's not walking." Brock said. "Go find a blanket."
"What, steal it off a kid? A woman?" Karl teased, but everyone knew he would if he couldn't find any anywhere else. He sobered. "Right, will do."
"Stretcher?" Jason questioned. "Or make one. Bring back something."
Within seconds, Support had moved off, Sonny and Ray guarded the door but their attention was in the room, not out in the hallway, so yeah, they weren't doing too much 'guarding'.
Dr. Omar made to leave.
"Nope." Jason, on his knees, reached with one hand, pulled him back. "Not yet. Tell him Tabby, he's not going anywhere until we're outta here."
"Tabibi." The interpreter corrected with a sigh. It was useless, correcting these men, they would just do what they wanted to anyway.
Trent finished the water, looked down at Clay whose chattering teeth and goose-bumped flesh told him the kid was cold. Clay caught Trent's gaze, blue eyes wide and hazed, pupils still unequal and Trent didn't know whether or not Clay even knew who he was, but that bleary gaze combined with the way he bit his bottom lip in an attempt to stop his teeth from clacking but only made his jaw quiver harder, kicked Trent in the belly.
"Grey backpack." Trent told Tabibi. "Bottles with blue lids." He went down on his knees next to Brock. "Spenser? Hey, you with me?" He took hold of Clay's jaw, thumb under his chin to hold his head still.
Jason took the bottle of Gatorade away, Clay protested with a muffled whine.
"Look at me." Trent ordered. Clay could, when he wanted to, hold his eyes still. Trent knew they were dry and sore and irritated and the kid was affected by a concussion but he wanted to know whether or not Clay could hear him. "You with me? Clay? Hey, I'll give you something to ease the pain, but I need you to look at me? Okay?"
Clay blinked, looked for the bottle of Gatorade. Brock took it from Jason, gave it to him to hold, but kept hold of his wrist, didn't let him drink.
"Spenser?" Trent snapped his fingers in Clay's face, he winced, tried to duck away. "Yeah, sounds really loud to you and you don't like it, I know." But the snap proved effective, he was able to pull Clay's attention from the Gatorade Brock wouldn't let him drink. "Can you hold your breath? Breathe with me. Do you feel sick? Like you want to puke?"
Clay shook his head, the first indication he might understand what Trent was saying.
"Who am I?" Trent waited.
Clay licked his lips, closed his eyes, scrunched his nose. His forehead furrowed but he couldn't come up with Trent's name. His wrist twisted but he didn't break Brock's gentle hold.
"Do you know where you are?" Trent asked. "Who's holding you?"
Clay looked stricken, close to panic.
"You're okay, breathe." Trent patted his knee, softened his hold on Clay's jaw, rubbed soothing circles with the pad of his thumb under his chin. "Okay? Calm down."
"No one's holding you hostage Clay. It's just me." Brock assured him. "See, you're free. You can get up, you want to."
He didn't want to.
Jason hovered over Trent's shoulder. "Not with it, huh?"
Trent shook his head.
Tabibi looked for the backpack, saw several that were obviously med kits, selected the grey one Trent wanted. It contained nothing but bottles of pills. How the hell did Trent keep track of shit? He had medications and supplies that other medics didn't even have access to.
No, Tabibi was not any kind of expert on what medic's carried or had access to. Still, he had some idea and wow.
"Blue lids special or something?" He asked, passing Trent the bag. Matt was back with a dry, somewhat clean, coarse blanket.
"Safe for Spenser." Trent replied. He held the bag on his knees, dug through it, impatiently searched for the bottle he wanted that continued to elude him. And just wasn't that just always the case.
"So, the red? Not safe for Spenser?" Tabibi teased, Trent nodded. "The green?"
"Green, he hasn't had it before. Yellow, proceed with caution, monitor closely. White, safe for everyone."
Wow, Tabibi thought. Had to take some time to color-coordinate medication bottles. And where did you even get colored lids? The stuff you found out when you were out in the field.
"No one has to think." Trent continued. "If they see a blue lid, they know it's meant for Clay. If it's white, he can have it."
"Is it worth it?" Tabibi asked. So, everyone knew the color system. "Begging for the funds for the tracking systems, the medication, having to know what he can take, what to do if he takes something he can't."
"We didn't beg for anything." Jason smacked him upside the back of the head. "Quit spreading rumors."
Everyone knew about the funding Bravo had been granted for the tracking system. Tabibi wasn't spreading anything, just merely repeating what'd he heard!
*snort*
He didn't know the Bravo team all that well. He spent most, if not all, of his time with Mandy, but he had ears, heard talk and rumors. He'd met Clay a time or two, was impressed with how well the young Seal spoke and understood his language. But the rest of Bravo? Oh, he kept a safe distance from them.
And this right here, was why.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Trent demanded. "Why would you even ask something like that?"
"Just seems like a lot of work."
"Yeah, well, ain't work you gotta worry about."
"No." Tabibi agreed. "Just, there's a lot. A lot to know, to understand, to keep track of. Just, kinda surprised they - your government lets him operate."
"He gets killed, ain't gonna feel relief he ain't my problem no more."
"What if they transfer him out of Bravo?"
"Jason would never let that happen." Trent stated firmly, shut the conversation down. "Go away."
In other words: Get the fuck out of my face.
"Hey, open, take this..." Brock instructed. "Can't swallow to good, it's not liquid..."
"Yeah, his throat's sore." Trent said, when Clay coughed, spit the pill into Brock's palm. "Okay, come here." He motioned for Jason to take Clay away from Brock. "Keep him up, more water. It'll be easier for him to swallow."
Clay went from stricken to confused to bewildered. He didn't want to move. He liked the warmth against his back and though he wasn't comfortable, he wasn't uncomfortable either, his pain manageable and moving would likely not allow him to continue to ignore it.
He went to Jason willingly enough, but reluctantly. Brock supported his weight with a hand on his back. Trent and Jason wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
"Oral meds?" Jason questioned quietly. Knew damn well Trent had every kind of pain med possible and knew every way to administer it.
"Would rather he puke it up." Trent held Clay by the jaw, popped the pill in his mouth then flooded it with water. "You good?" But his look was grim. Clay had a hard time swallowing, choked on the water, shuddered when his throat protested. "It go down? Open up, lemme see."
"Puke with that throat?" Brock asked, he didn't usually question any decision Trent made. "He can barely swallow."
"He'll just throw up the water and pill." Trent explained. "Give him a shot, he throws a reaction, he'll puke and heave for a while."
"No, he ain't good." Sonny was back. "What's wrong with his throat? And what the hell is that?"
Clay was sitting up, but listing left, his weight supported by Brock, his head by Jason.
"His throat is swollen, inflamed." Trent answered absently, attention focused on the fact Clay was bleeding. He looked up, thought Sonny meant the blood-soaked bandage – damn glue and tape weren't holding – but no, Sonny looked horrified.
Oh, the red skin and extensive swelling along Clay's side. Right. Yeah, that.
"From what?" Ray asked.
"Screaming." Trent shrugged. "Bumps, lumps, scrapes, bruises, road rash, cuts. What did you expect?"
"Trent?" Ray said testily. "That." He pointed at Clay.
The faint whumpwhumpwhump of the chopper could be heard.
"Oh, the swelling? Turpentine." Trent sniped. "They do their best, right Ray?"
Ray glared. Now was not the time.
"You done with him?" Chris pointed to Dr. Omar, stepped aside to allow Kenny and Karl entrance, armed with a makeshift stretcher and more blankets.
Trent looked at Jason. "Can I kill him?"
"No."
"I'm done with him." Trent told Chris.
Jason whistled; the signal for everyone to collect their shit, group together and prepare to leave.
Pulled away from Brock, lifted and gently laid on the stretcher, everyone could see the extensive red, swollen skin on Clay's right side. Though he kept his arm close to his side, the swelling was up to his shoulder, spread out from his arm pit and down to his knee.
The bandage, though blood soaked, held firm and Trent simply taped another over top before covering Clay with the blanket.
"Clay? I need you to stay still." Trent told him. There was no way to secure Clay to the blanket covered mat. "You with me?"
Clay nodded but Trent didn't believe the kid had a clue. He was frowning, petting the blanket. Did he think it was Cerberus? Or maybe he didn't like the blanket because it wasn't soft. No way of knowing.
He'd feel a hell of a whole lot better after they were on the chopper and were able to get Clay on oxygen. If his breathing eased, so would Trent's concern. If it didn't…..
Cerberus, tired and weary, jumped onto the stretcher and settled between Clay's feet. Brock patted his head, no one had the heart to make him move. His added weight wouldn't be an issue.
Sonny, Ray, Brock and Jason carried Clay. Trent followed with his backpacks and bags, trudging wearily out of the clinic and towards the chopper.
The motion and height accompanied by jostling and jarring jerks, brought Clay around. He blinked until his vision narrowed into focus and he stared up at the two upside-down faces above him.
There were two Jason's and a blurry Sonny. Both - or all three - heads bobbed and weaved, floated and swayed, never stayed still or ceased moving. It made him nauseous.
H couldn't move his feet, a heavy weight kept them pinned. He raised his head to look down, saw four furry ears, three long noses and four brown faces...oh God.
"Hey, you're good. Just the dog. You have a concussion. Keep your eyes closed." Trent handed a bag off to someone, reached to lay a hand on Clay's shoulder. "Need you to stay still."
Clay stilled, then slowly reached with his right hand. Trent happy to see him moving his right hand more, let him take hold of his hand, gave the kid a reassuring squeeze.
"We've got you."
Clay let his eyes close, but kept hold of Trent's hand. Whether it was they were finally heading to the chopper, Clay was moving his right hand or he had acknowledged and accepted him, Trent neither knew nor cared. He just suddenly felt a hell of a whole lot better about the situation.
We.
Chuck hadn't landed, hovered, kept the chopper steady until everyone was on board then lifted off. Trent gave Doc a hug and Clay was transferred into a basket secured safely to the floor but not strapped into it.
An IV was started, oxygen went over his mouth. Doc and Trent communicated with one another in a way only they understood but everyone on Bravo and Support knew Doc wasn't happy by his frowns and scowls and thinned lips and head shakes as he quickly and efficiently, examined Clay.
Clay under the care of Doc's capable hands, everyone started to shed wet cloths, heavy backpacks, weapons. Accepted the offers of hot coffee, dry towels and warm blankets from Dutch and his team.
Brock started to dry Cerberus off but Dutch waved him off, did it for him. The dog would need a proper bath, a good shampooing and several brushings to rid his fur of all the muck and mire, but for now, he was happy to be rubbed with a blanket and given warm broth to drink.
Doc handed Trent a syringe who motioned for someone to roll Clay onto his left hip, gave him a shot. Doc injected something into the port feeding the IV. Later Trent would tell his teammates the shot had been pain relief and an antiemetic had been administered through the IV to help with nausea.
Clay wanted to stay on his side, fussed with the oxygen mask, slapped back at the hands that knocked his away. He was too tired and too disoriented to put up much resistance, finally went limp and accepted the warm touches, back pats, hand squeezes and found it much easier to breathe.
The sounds around him were no longer alien and scary. The motion and whumpwhumpwhump of the chopper were a lullaby that finally made him feel safe. The medication and oxygen rendered him quiet and still and finally, he went limp, the pain and discomfort somewhat controlled.
Chuck landed, would shut the chopper down. He and the rest of Support were due showers, dinner, change of clothes, a two hour nap then they would return, minus Bravo, to the relief efforts.
Eric met them, watched Clay be strapped into the basket and carried from the chopper to the infirmary. He followed and once Clay was taken from Bravo, ordered everyone to the showers, then dinner. Even Trent.
He assured Jason he didn't have to worry about Sonny encountering Mandy, she'd left Jordan.
Doc promised to remain with Clay, so Bravo obeyed their Commander and headed for the showers, clean clothes and a hot meal. Brock allowed Davis to take Cerberus to the kennels and leave him under the care of another handler who promised to see the dog, washed, cleaned, tended and returned to Bravo's quarters.
They were exhausted. It had been a long day that had started in the middle of the night and gone to shit before dawn. Tracking Clay, finding Clay, discovering he was hurt, not knowing how or why, finding out what had been done to him, had wiped them out; mentally, emotionally, physically.
() () ()
Clay instantly noticed he was alone with people he didn't know. Not a face was familiar. The bright lights of the infirmary made his head roar, slammed him with anxiety, left him disoriented and unable to connect to reality once again. Pain soon over-rode medication. The activity and motion and comings and goings of multiple people built panic. Hands came at him. He was pushed and pulled. Pinched and plucked. Rolled and picked up and put down - held down.
His initial examine completed, Doc decided to have Clay thoroughly cleaned before setting any stitches - internal or external. Yes, the wound was deep, but surgical repair wasn't required and a good washing with warm water and antibacterial soap wouldn't hurt. Well, it would, but ultimately, it would help more than it would hurt. Maybe not physically and Clay might think differently...eh. Whatever.
Doc was tired, it had been a stressful day, doing nothing but waiting.
Clay wasn't happy. His vision remained blurred, his hearing fuzzed out. The voices were no longer familiar. And he didn't take kindly to the removal of his last article of clothing and attempts to put him in a tub of water. Oh no, no one was going to put him in water while he still breathed.
Doc was fetched.
His familiar face, soothing voice and gentle touch was enough Clay stopped fighting and let himself be submerged in the hot water. But attempts to scrub him from head to toe by people he didn't recognize made him lash out. Dunking him beneath the water didn't happen, required the retrieval of Trent.
"The last time he was scrubbed this clean..." Trent took a bite of his cheeseburger, set it aside, dunked Clay's head under the running spigot. "...we had to find two kittens. Still don't know how she managed to get him so clean with just a sponge bath." He grinned when Clay grunted, possibly at the memory. "What do you think Doc? He okay?"
"You tell me." Doc countered, wielded a small scrub brush and a coarse washcloth. "He had on boots, did he not? How'd he get mud under his toenails?"
"You've no idea how much mud and muck there was." Trent rolled his head until his neck cracked. Bending over a tin tub on his knees made his back and shoulders ache. He'd go get a massage when he was done. "He's gonna hurt like hell a couple of days. No serious damage." And he knew Doc agreed or Clay would be in surgery, not a bathtub.
"I flew over it." Doc reminded him. "Infection might set him back on his heels. Fever would put him down for a while. I'm gonna want a good look, but yeah, stitch him up, send him home - no falls out of a hammock, some PT, he'll bounce back."
Finally after his third bath, and being allowed to just soak in clean, hot water until his muscles went lax and the tension eased from his very bones, Doc and Trent deemed Clay clean - though Millie might not have, bless her soul, Trent thought with a chuckle - and he was allowed out of the water and taken to a room where he was given a sedative and Doc went to work.
Finally, he was settled in bed where he was made warm and comfortable. The medicine and pain meds finally combined and quelled his discomfort. The ice pack on his aching head reduced his confusion and lulled him to sleep and he was finally calm and content.
Until Trent tried to leave.
Left alone, he grew restless, kicked at the blankets, fussed with the oxygen mask, pulled at the IV, tried to flap the pulse oximeter right off his finger - why'd he even have that anyway?
Trent didn't complain when he was fetched a second time, simply sat in a chair, turned on the TV, searched for something in English, fell asleep with his feet up on the bed.
He'd get a massage later.