Sonny heard Lisa yelling his name, guessed Jason was now awake, bet Trent and Brock were running from wherever they'd gone off to. And he hadn't even touched the kid.
"What are you doing to him?" Lisa was in the room. "You were supposed to see if he was awake! Not dump him on his head!"
"I didn't touch him!"
Mahira sadly shook her head. This is what happened when you tortured someone and then left them alone, in a strange house, unattended.
"The hell?" Brock rounded the shed that housed the stove, joining Trent. "That Spencer?"
"He shouldn't be moving yet." Trent frowned. "Shouldn't even be awake."
They stood and stared at one another then bolted. They ran. Oh hell yes they did.
Jason flailed, fighting the couch, scrambling to find his feet. Fucking, soft, deep cushions were determined to keep him hostage. Another yelp from Clay and Jason threw his weight against the back of the couch, rocking it back and knocking it over. It dumped him to the floor, and he rolled with it. Finally free, he crabbed over to the wall, gained his feet. Felt like it had taken him forever, felt like he was moving in slow motion, but it'd been actual seconds.
"Sonny!" Jason yelled, stumbling when dizziness hit him in such a wave, he went to his knees. "Dammit." He muttered, giving himself a second before pushing to his feet, hand fumbling for his gun.
"We're good boss!" Sonny yelled back. He lifted Clay up, hands under his arms. Lisa grabbed his legs, and they were able to put Clay on his back. Please God, don't let a fucked-up Jason come in shooting.
"Sonny?!"
Mahira heard the tread of booted feet coming fast. And with the arrival of Trent and Brock, she once again, in a matter of hours, watched the destruction of another room in her home. She hung her head when the chair was kicked out of the way, the pail of water upended, the pile of cloths scattered. The tray on the table crashed to the floor. Lamps, bottles, photos fell over, fell off. Five people just did not fit in the room and yet, they crowded around the bed; armchair, nightstand, bed-bench, shoved aside. And still, they didn't get in each other's way.
Clay felt hands on his shoulders, felt the touch take hold, tighten, lift. He resisted, going limp, but with his hands bound, couldn't throw a punch, so he was picked up, turned around and put back down. He pulled away as soon as he was released. Tried to sit up, but his legs still weren't working the way he wanted them to and he collapsed on his side, panting through a red haze of pain.
Voices. Hands. Yelling. Calling his name. Demanding he answer. Telling him what to do.
He was picked up, lifted, held, put back down. His hands were grabbed, held, the rope binding them fell, released. The pressure around his leg increased until he was yelling, then it was gone. He choked at the feelings – numbness, tingling, pricking, pain – and he was on his side. Didn't know he was puking until his head was held over the side of the mattress.
"Jesus."
"He's puking sand."
"You got something for him?"
"Yeah, hold his arm."
"Hell, all you need is a muscle, stick him in the ass."
"Jason?"
Jason raised a finger, universal motion for asking for a second. "Clay? Hey, hey, you with me? Clay, need you to focus." Jason dragged Clay's head off the mattress, held his chin between his palms, forcing his head still. "Clay, look at me. No." Jason snapped his fingers in Clay's face. "Look at me….that's it….okay…good, I need you to look at me….you see me? Spencer! Look. At. Me. That's an order."
Clay blinked, tongue licking sweat from his split lip. It stung. His stomach was still knotted, heaving, but the vomiting had stopped. Jason waited for recognition to dawn in the kid's eyes, but none came.
"You need to stay still. You hear me?" Clay didn't respond, squirming away, trying to break the hold on his chin. Jason looked over his shoulder, eying the syringe Trent held and pushed Clay onto his left hip.
"How much we got left?" Sonny asked.
"After this? One."
It didn't take long for the mild dosage of morphine to render Clay once again compliant. He was pushed on to his back and he went limp.
"Christ, my head hurts." Jason sat down on the edge of the bed, holding his head with both hands.
"Called the flu." Lisa quipped.
"It's not the fucking flu!" he flared irritably.
"People die from the flu Jason." She continued.
"I'm not dying." He scowled. "No one is. You hear me?"
"She say he need quiet." Pashtan translated. "Clean. She help."
"Watch her." Jason told Lisa. Her eyebrows went up at the command, but he laid back, wrong-ways, at the foot of the bed, putting an arm over his eyes. If Clay kicked out now, he'd kick Jason in the side but he could handle a bruise or two. No way was he leaving this room this time.
"Boss, you ain't looking so good." Sonny said.
"Fucked up day." Jason didn't move his arm. "We good?"
"Feel better, he sees a doctor." Trent said. "Too much I just don't know." He studied Clay. "Didn't hit bone, but could be internal damage."
"These people still can't tell us where base is?" Jason slurred.
"No." Brock answered. "Best they can do is tell us there's a village…." He pointed. "That way."
"Does it have electricity? Communications? It can't be far, these kids go to school somewhere." Jason sat up, accepted a cup of tea from Mahira,
"You want two of us to take the Humvee, the kid who speaks English, see if we can find the village?" Brock asked.
"Dunno." Jason sighed. "Don't know anything about the village. We go rolling in, set off a panic, or encounter hostiles. Outmanned and outgunned." He tossed something to Sonny.
"We can walk."
Jason shook his head. "We'll see."
Sonny caught the toss and turned it this way and that in his fingers. "This what Trent dug out of him? Not very big, cause all that pain." he pointed at the bed. "Do that to him."
"Arrow head." Trent leaned over. "What I thought. Hate arrows. Never sharp enough. The duller, the more painful."
"Shale." Jason said. "Maybe."
"Not the strongest rock to make arrow heads out of." Sonny commented. "Easily fragments not made right. Leaves sharp edges. This feels sharp to me. Was sharp enough to go through his camos and lodge fairly deep."
"I'm pretty sure I got everything outta there, 'fore I stapled him up." Trent said. Sonny nodded. "Guessin' though."
"Don't know what kind of bow it was shot from." Brock took it. "Seems pretty solid."
"Where's the shaft?"
"Weakest point is where shaft attaches to the arrow." Jason sat forward and cupped his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, held the cup out for a refill. Mahira obliged.
"He's got a bruise on his chin." Trent recalled. "Fist fight? He got shot by the arrow, the shooter attacked him. Shaft got broken in the fight."
"Would explain the depth of the wound."
"So, where's this fictional dude?" Lisa asked.
"Dead." Jason replied instantly. "We didn't hang around looking for bodies."
"No blood on him that wasn't his." Lisa shook her head.
"I don't know Davis and we're not going back." Jason snapped. Wherever back was. "He's dead. If he wasn't, Spencer would be. So get over I'm not shedding a tear."
"Someone needs a nap." Sonny said. "Boss." he added pointedly.
Mahira placed a stool next to the bed and sat down. She looked at Lisa for permission, then held a cup to Clay's lips, his head supported by her hand, but he wasn't willing to drink. She was gentle, patient, just sat and held and waited while Clay kept turning his head.
"Drink." Jason ordered, giving Clay's left knee a stinging smack.
Mahira jumped, the liquid in the cup sloshing, but not spilling.
Blue eyes focused on Jason, Clay finally accepted the tea. He drank, he spit it out. He drank more, tried to swallow, spit it out. Mahira gently wiped his chin, tried again. He drank, tried to swallow, spit it out. She added water to the tea in the cup, tried again. He drank, tried to swallow and spit it out.
Sonny growled, growing impatient.
Mahira frowned at him, waving the hand holding the cup in his direction impatiently. Clay squeezed his eyes shut. The slight motion caused his face to scrunch and his sunburned skin pulled painfully, making him wince. He pulled his head away from her touch with a hiss.
It didn't matter whether or not the poor man liked the taste of her tea. He needed fluids and drink it he would.
Sonny saw the wince, heard the hiss and was moving forward, intending to bodily remove Mahira from the bedside, but she brought him up short with a spatula in his face. She jabbed at him with the handle, railing at him in her language, warning him off.
"Ha!" Brock crowed. "Ole Sonny Quinn felled by a cooking utensil."
"Fuck you."
"Everyone out." Lisa ordered, pointing to the door. "Done with you. Out."
"Say what?"
"You've done enough." Lisa retorted. "Leave him to us."
"You heard her." Jason yawned. "Sack out."
"You too." Lisa said.
In reply Jason gave her an 'I'm-the-boss-and-I'll-do-what-I-want', smirk, and flopped down on his back. His ass wasn't leaving this bed until Clay did.
"Fine." She threw her hands up. "Stay then. Whatever."
Mahira encouraged Clay to continue drinking tea, he finally managed to swallow and she waited while he was sick. The process was repeated until he finally kept the tea down, too exhausted and his stomach muscles too sore to keep heaving.
The never-ending offer of tea finally stopped and an ice pack was place beneath his neck, his head on the mattress. Jason, finally convinced Mahira wasn't hurting the kid, dozed off, coming awake whenever Clay whimpered or cried out, digging his heels against Jason's hip. Mahira washed the sweat from Clay's face, neck, shoulders, chest, arms, hands. Dabbed cream on his cheeks, lips, eye lids. Laid a cloth soaked in cool water on his forehead. Offered him water, coaxed him to swallow, patiently gave him time to see if it would stay down.
But when it came to his thigh, he clamped his legs together and refused to allow her access. She huffed. She'd finally worked up the courage to touch such an intimate area of a male body and he wouldn't let her. She looked at Lisa.
"Jason?" Lisa was loathe to call the guys back in and have them hold Clay down. She didn't want that. Knew they didn't want that.
Jason heard her, he did. But he was tired. Tired of issuing orders, making decisions, being here. But he didn't get to be tired. Or sick. Or sick and tired. He rolled to his right side, facing Clay, came up to recline on his elbow, and grabbed Clay's left ankle.
"Spread 'em." He ordered.
Again blue eyes met his. Steady for a moment, then wavering.
"You're worse than my nine year old." Jason slapped Clay on his left thigh. "Spread your legs."
Clay tried to pull his knees up, but neither obeyed his command. His right leg wouldn't move at all, his left leg was held tight and when he tried to tug it free, the hold tugged back, dragging him down the mattress. He came up on his palms, an attempt to find support in his effort to free his foot.
"Don't fight me." Jason snapped. "Lie down." He came up on his hip. "You're begging for an ass kicking." He squeezed Clay's ankle hard enough to elicit a gasp. "Now. Spread. Your. Fucking. Legs."
Clay went flat. Hands sliding out and up until his arms flopped on either side of his head, he hid his face against his left shoulder.
"Spencer." Jason uttered through clenched teeth.
His toes curled, his knees locked, his thigh muscles quivered then with a hitch in his breath, he relaxed and splayed his knees, and after a second or two, his thighs.
Jason winced, breath hissing through his teeth at sight of the staples. Red. Swollen. Oozing. Scabbed with dry blood. The skin, held together by seven staples, pulled and strained against the foreign objects. He let go of Clay's foot and laid back down. Least he hadn't torn any staples loose or out after his thrashing about the bed.
Mahira faltered, hand holding a wet cloth hovering around his knee. Turning his head, Clay eyed her warily, the waiting rag an instrument of torture. Her hand shook at the look he leveled her with.
"Easy Clay." Lisa cautioned. "She'll stop, it gets too much."
Tending his thigh made her blush, perspire, but Mahira trudged on. He was sensitive to her touch, the rag, the water. Winced, flinched, twitched, murmured in protest, the dosage of morphine just enough to hold him while she washed the blood and dirt from his leg. But either it was wearing off or the pain was topping it because he was getting restless – and bolder.
Lisa raised his leg slightly by holding his foot and Mahira cleaned the back of this thigh. He let her – because Jason smacked his shin – but he was tense. She sat back with a sigh, looking at Clay who lay, panting, bottom lip between his teeth. Would he let her touch the staples?
Lisa offered Clay some water but he shook his head, wouldn't even look at her.
Mahira chewed her cheek, considering what to do. In her opinion, the staples and incision should be washed clean of sweat, dirt, blood, what-all. Letting that kind of 'dirt' remain begged for infection – was a breeding ground – and she didn't understand why these men hadn't taken the necessary precautions to prevent it from taking hold.
Clay remained still, jerking the closer she dabbed the soft rag towards the staples. He tensed, jerked, visibly relaxed. Tensed, flinched, relaxed. Tensed, flexed, relaxed. His breathing increased, once again became a heavy pant. She backed off but he wasn't calming down like he had previously.
Before Jason could rouse and land another slap or issue another order, Trent was there, last shot of morphine in his hand.
"So soon?" Lisa questioned. "Hip?"
Trent nodded. "He can handle it."
"How long will it hold him?"
"Not long." Trent sighed. "Was hoping he'd stay out and I'd clean him up."
"He doesn't want her anywhere near those staples."
"Don't blame him. He hurts." Trent pushed his hair back. "Bone deep pain Davis, I went digging around, muscle, tendon…..hell, I dunno." He nodded at Mahira. "Let's get this over with."
Rather than leaving him flat on his back, Trent nudged Clay towards his right side. But Clay had had enough being moved around and resisted, pulling back. A smack from Jason on his foot quelled his resistance.
"Easy." Trent felt him shaking. "Sssh….almost done. I promise." He pushed Clay's knees apart, raised his left leg, foot flat on the mattress and had Lisa hold it in that position.
"Making me blush here Trent." Lisa grinned.
"His leg muscles are strong. Ready?" he asked Mahira. "He's too weak to put up much of a fight, but he's gonna try."
With his legs spread so far apart, Lisa keeping his left foot, sole down, on the mattress and with Trent holding tight to his right knee, Mahira had easy access to the staples and began dabbing, rubbing, wiping. She didn't tug or pull, but even her light, gentle, touch was too much.
Trent had warred over whether or not to clean Clay up, reluctant to put him through anything more, subject him to more suffering, when retrieval from base was bound to happen any minute, but finally decided Mahira was right. Infection was imminent and could turn deadly. He had no antibiotics with him either. And retrieval might not come until morning.
Clay struggled to remain still, hands fisted in the sheets an anchor, but Trent was right, he didn't have the strength to put up a fight.
"Almost done." Trent said.
Didn't matter.
Clay fisted, clenched, released. Flailed his hands. Held, pulled, released. Flailed. Fisted, clenched, flailed. Looked for something, anything to hold on to. Jason made a grab for the hand closest to him, missed, grabbed again. Clay was quick and Jason was dulled by a muddled reaction time, but he finally caught the kids wrist and held tight.
"Stop." he ordered. "Just. Stop."
Denied his hold on the sheets, Clay clasped Jason's wrist and Jason let him hold tight. Even if he did wince a time or two.
Maybe it was because Jason was close or maybe the second shot of morphine was finally strong enough to top his resistance or maybe he was exhausted and succumbed to shock, blood loss, whatever, but Clay finally gave in, gave up, quit, passed out.
"Done." Trent said, thigh bandaged tight and taped. "Let him go." and if he saw the hold the team's youngest member had on the team's boss, he did nothing about it. Jason wasn't breaking the hold or moving off the bed, and the kid deserved whatever comfort he could get.
Clay finally lay quietly on his right side, breathing more or less normal. Despite the heat, Mahira kept him covered with a light blanket. Jason was mostly on his left side, back to Clay, hugging a pillow.
"Too cute." Lisa commented tiredly, she was emotionally shot, mentally exhausted. "They make a T."
Trent gave her a hug, she clung tight. Nothing to do now but wait.
***000***
"Commander!" Eric's office door burst open and a soldier rushed through, remembered his rank, backed up, knocked on the door frame and rushed through a second time, again without being granted permission to enter.
"Enter." Eric said wryly. He still sat at his desk, sharing it with Mandy who remained with him, both had laptops open.
"Found a Humvee sir."
"Bravo's?"
"Unconfirmed."
"In the search area?"
"No sir,"
"No?" Eric echoed. "Then where?"
"Roughly 15 miles East sir."
The opposite direction of base. He'd approved an air search two hours ago by surveillance chopper.
"Helo?" the chopper capable of transporting the entire team back to base.
"Waiting orders, sir."
"How did they identify a Humvee this time of night?"
"A neon multi-colored flag with reflectors, sir."
***000***
It was dark, the family asleep, Mahira sharing a room with her daughters, her husband with the boys, when the house began to shake, and the yard was lit up with such bright lights, it became daylight.
Trent was asleep on the floor in front of the door to the room where Clay was,
Brock was asleep on the floor in front of the back door.
Sonny was asleep on the floor in front of the front door.
Jason slept on the bed with Clay.
The children woke when the very walls of the house rattled.
"Chopper!" Sonny yelled, but everyone was already awake.
Once Pashtan translated to his parents not to be afraid, choppers had come to retrieve the men, nothing, not even a swat on the behind with a wooden spoon got the children away from the front window. They had never seen a helicopter before and even though it was dark outside, with all its lights, it was easily seen. And this was one huge!
And it landed. Right in their front yard. It was so close, sand kicked up and beat against the windows. Mahira very much feared the glass would shatter under the force of the whirling blades.
The door opened, armed men glided in. Sonny was hugging one of them, patting him on the back, kissing his cheek.
"Eric!" Lisa cried, forgetting rank and proper address. "So glad to see you!"
"Spenser?" Eric asked, giving Lisa a hug. Not come get his own team?
"Needs a doctor." Trent said.
Trent and Brock were on their feet, collecting every single item the team had carried into the house. The Humvee started up, driven away by a man who had gotten out of the chopper.
"Hayes?" Eric didn't see Jason. Or Clay. Felt his ulcer attack with a vengeance.
"With Spenser. Make it two stretchers."
Not even five minutes later, the family was once again alone in their home. Even the lights and sounds of the chopper were gone.
***000***
Jason woke up to bright lights, a needle in his arm, cool sheets beneath his hot body and a fucking headache.
"Chief Hayes." Doc greeted. "Welcome back."
"Spenser?" he groaned, hand going to press his palm against his forehead. "Fuck me."
"He's taken care of."
"How is he?" he was coming more awake.
"He's one lucky soldier."
"He's okay?"
"Yup. No muscle or tendon damage, nothing internal. Hit a nerve. Cause of all the pain. He won't even have a limp when he's old. We'll treat the infection. You're lucky your man was able to get that arrow head out. Shale fragments. Left in, it fragmented, could have caused permanent nerve or muscle damage, worked its way into a vein, could've killed him."
"Where is he?" he yawned. "Where am I?"
"Base infirmary. Where I wanted you before." He pointed. "You'll be my guests for a few days."
Jason raised his head and looked to his right. Clay was in the bed next to his, asleep, the dog curled around his feet. She raised her head and bared her teeth at Jason, daring him to make her move.
Well, okay then.
Cups of water sat on the table over his bed and he reached for one, taking the straw between teeth, because sitting up completely to drink like a man should, was currently beyond his ability.
As he became even more awake, more alert, he remembered leaving the house, boarding the chopper, issuing orders. The doc had been on board and came at him with an IV. Christ, the man and his desire to stick everyone with needles. Eric had ordered him to submit to the doc's care.
He had.
They'd landed, Cerberus was barking, men carried Clay away, Jason had followed, telling anyone who would listen he didn't want Clay out of his sight. Brock had told the dog to guard.
Jason looked over at the other bed. Well, obviously, he'd been obeyed. He was sharing a room with the kid. He pushed the table away and sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. When he wasn't assaulted by dizziness, he grabbed the IV pole and stood up.
Clay was sleeping on his side, sedated, whatever. He'd been cleaned up, properly medicated and attended. He had numerous bags feeding his IV; blood, saline, antibiotics, pain medication. Jason pushed the blanket covering the kids leg aside, but his thigh was bandaged and he wasn't about to remove it.
Clay stirred, moving his head away as Jason loomed over him. Jason waited, but Clay didn't awaken, so Jason woke him.
"Clay?" Jason called him by name. "Clay?"
"Mmmm." his head rolled on the pillow, eyes finally blinking open. He squinted, blinking. "Boss."
"Hey."
"Where...we...at?"
"Base. With the doc."
"They...left me...behind."
"Yeah, they did." Jason hung his head. That was his fault. And Eric's. "But I never will."
***END***
That's it peeps! Happy Summer!
