"CLAY?! CAN YOU HEAR ME? ANSWER ME SPENSER!"
"This is bullshit! He can't have gone far." Sonny said, frustrated. He trailed behind and to the left of Trent and Brock, fell further behind. He raised his voice and shouted. "IF I HAVE I TO REPEL DOWN THAT CLIFF IN SEARCH OF YOUR ASS, YOU BETTER HOPE TO HELL I FIND YOU AT THE BOTTOM OF IT! YOU HEAR ME CLAY?"
"Anything?" Ray keyed in. "We got nothing. No blood, no footprints, no broken twigs or trees missing bark."
"Nada." Brock replied. "Same here. Nothing."
"We re-grouping? Plan a raid on the camp? Call in for back-up?" Sonny joined the conversation. He really liked this party-line open mic thing they had going on where they could all hear one another. "No one has come after us."
"Their numbers might be too low now." Ray mused. "Don't see how one woman can do anything on her own."
"Booby-trap a building, blow us up." Brock muttered.
"True that." Ray agreed way too cheerfully for Sonny's limited patience.
"Spread out further." Jason ordered.
Sonny split off from trailing Trent and Brock, took a different direction.
"When I get my hands on that kid…" Sonny stomped across the wet grass, cursing the rain, the cold, the mist, the fog rolling in. Wasn't that just great? He just bet they'd find the kid and Eric would tell them choppers were grounded due to fog. "Tell you what, you go and get yourself lost again….." Maybe they should have brought the dog, but strong and fit as Cerb was, it was still a six hour hike up here. Eric had promised he would fly in with the dog if they needed him. "Make me tromp through this wet, tangled shit after your ass…can't stand being wet."
Their kid was somewhere in these woods, this forest, this jungle, this hell-hole. Somewhere among this undergrowth, these gullies and ditches and ravines and hills and cliffs…..dear God what if the kid had gone over the cliff, fallen to the bottom?
In this cold, in this rain, in his condition, he wouldn't be able to hold on until they could get to him. He didn't even know Bravo was here, had come for him now.
They'd repel down the cliff if they had to, but Eric would send in their support team via chopper with Cerberus before it came to that…..he prayed. He swallowed, coughed to clear his suddenly thick throat. Dammit!
"SPENSER! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU'RE GONNA CRY FOR YOUR MOMMY!" after I hug you, and tug on your hair, make sure you're okay. "CLAY! COME ON DUDE! I'M WET AND I WANT OFF THIS FUCKING MOUNTIAN!"
Clay moaned, hearing the voices yelling his name, calling to him. At first he thought he heard Trent yelling for him, then Sonny, but now the voices were strange, garbled, no longer sounded familiar and though they knew his name, he didn't know the voices shouting it.
He needed to hide. Why, he didn't know, but he knew that he needed to. Hell, that didn't make sense, maybe he didn't know anything. Good God, all this trying to think made his head hurt, made him want to puke.
Hide where?
He was in a ditch, he supposed he could crawl over to that patch of thicket, roll under the brambles. It would scratch him up a bit, catch on his clothes, but he'd be out of sight. Could wait there, get some sleep, let his head clear. Maybe he'd feel better when he woke up. It'd be warmer, the misty rain wouldn't be as heavy and he could…..
Pain stabbed his belly and he lost his thoughts. Like a dog who stopped to scratch an itch and forgot what he was doing or where he was going, Clay had no idea what'd he been thinking or planning to do.
He regained his knees, intent on crawling where, he no longer knew, but both his skin and the muscles in his belly stopped any forward attempt at movement. Holy shit, he panted, trying to breathe. Okay, here was good.
He froze, held his breath, heard footsteps crunching leafs and twigs, dislodging stones in the sloppy mud. The footsteps were so close, he heard the mud squelch when it reluctantly released the booted foot for another step.
Shit.
He carefully, slowly, gingerly, belly-crawled his way up the bank. If he could reach the top of the ditch, maybe he would find bushes he could hide under or behind.
"CLAY! IT'S ME, TRENT!" Trent bellowed. "IF YOU COME OUT, I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING FOR YOUR HEADACHE!"
Trent? His Trent? Here?
Well, sure then, if you put it that way…..Clay's weak grip on the root he had hold of to assist his ascent up the hill wavered, he began to let go….he'd go to Trent even without the promise of relief from his headache.
"CLAY? DAMMIT! COME ON!"
"You think he can hear you?" Brock asked.
"Hell, I don't know. Thought we'd find him by now," Trent didn't want to appear concerned because then his team would pick up on how he felt and everyone would worry. "Jason isn't going to be patient much longer."
"You think he's fucked-up? Doesn't know what is and isn't? Doesn't believe we're here?"
"Don't think he's just going to appear out of nowhere and land….." Trent began.
Clay yelped as his foot slipped in the grass, his already bruised, split forehead smacking the ground and forcing him to let go of the root completely. He panicked, and grappled for a hold, a tuft of grass, something, anything to keep himself from falling back into the ditch, but nope, there was nothing. He slipped backwards on his belly, down the wet grass, through the mud, stopping when his hip rolled into a pair of booted feet.
"…...at our feet." Trent finished. "Clay?!"
"BOSS!" Brock yelled.
Brock keyed his comms, repeated they had Clay, set aside his rifle, shrugged out of his backpack and pulled his hoodie over his head. Jason caught him leaving Trent and Clay unprotected even for a minute, he'd run hills for a month, but the kid was freezing and Brock's only thought was to do what he had to, to get Clay warm.
"GOD DAMN YOU CHARLIE!" Brock shouted. "WHERE THE HELL ARE HIS CLOTHES? I'M SERIOUSLY GOING TO HURT SOMEONE! YOU HEAR ME?!"
Trent went to his knees, rolled Clay over onto his back, reached for Clay's hands, smacked at his cheek. Clay winced, squirming away, tugging on his hands that once again didn't obey his commands to respond.
"Clay? Hey, it's me, Trent. We've got you." Trent took the hoodie from Brock. "Clay? Fight through it, come on. You can do it, focus your eyes. Listen to me. I'm right here. Don't fight me."
"He with it?" Brock reached for his rifle but Trent shook him off. Sonny would catch up in seconds and would have their backs. "What?" Brock's knees went weak and he felt a splurge of panic. "Christ Trent, don't say he isn't breathing! Tell me he's alive!"
"Yeah, he's breathing. Take him so I can look him over." Trent easily pulled Clay up from the wet grass and handed him over to Brock's willing arms, tucking the hoodie over Clay's shoulders and arms, down to his belly, then took off his own. Both his and Brock's were damp, but water repellant, so the fleece lining was dry. "Hold and hug, he needs your body heat, let him take it."
Brock didn't need encouraging, didn't care about the mud or how dirty holding Clay made him. "Hey now. Watch your head, just keep it still, okay?" He held Clay's hands out for Trent to cut the rope. "Bet that feels better, huh?"
Trent tossed the cut ropes aside, pocketed the knife and holding Clay's hands in one of his, spun around on his knees for the backpack he'd discarded when he'd taken off his hoodie.
Jason came over the comms. "Trent? Brock? Tell me you got him."
"We got him. Follow the ditch." Trent keyed in, mumbling around the flashlight now between his teeth. Brock had his hands full of wet, shivering Clay. "Ten fingers, ten nails, no broken bones. Wrists scraped up from the rope, nothing bad." He told Brock who, once Trent was done with his inspection of Clay's hands, began to rub his hands up and down Clay's arms with the loose sleeves of the hoodie. "Awww, kid, your head."
Brock looked down, saw the bruise, the swelling in the beam of the flashlight. Guessed there was a fair amount of blood mixed with the mud. If there'd been a Band-Aid or tape or any kind of bandage holding the gash together and protect it, it was long gone. His eye wasn't black or swelled shut, but his eyelid, eyebrow and forehead were grotesquely swollen.
"Shit, that's gotta hurt." Brock stopped rubbing, gave Clay a hug, tucked the hoodie back around the kid and began to rub again. "Think he's knocked senseless?"
"Mmmm, maybe. Has one hell of a headache." Trent reached for Clay's soaked t-shirt. "Sit him up a bit? He should start to come around, he warms up, dries off."
Brock took hold of Clay by his upper arms to move him away so Trent could get his shirt off, but Clay protested. He didn't want to move and resisted Brock's attempts to make him sit up.
Brock looked up at Trent with a grin. Trent looked back, baffled.
"He has my shirt." Brock explained with a laugh. "And he ain't letting go. Always has to hold onto something." He held his fist out.
Trent grinned back, bumped fists with Brock. He could just cut the t-shirt off and not make Clay break his hold, but he wanted Clay to put the other hoodie on and it didn't have a zipper. Course, he could cut it up the front, that would give easy access to the staples in Clay's belly, but it would also gape open and Trent wanted him warm.
He cut the t-shirt off. "Come on here kid, let go." he tugged at Clay's hand gently, succeeding only in making Clay tighten his fist. "No? Okay, gimme your other hand." He was hoping once Clay felt the soft warmth of the sleeve on one arm, he'd let go of Brock and slide his arm through the second sleeve.
***000***
Sonny heard Trent report to Jason that he and Brock had Clay and follow the ditch. So he did. He wasn't that far behind Trent and Brock, would reach them before Jason and Ray did.
Yes, they'd taken a calculated risk when they'd decided to call out for Clay, but they kid was lost and cold and hurt and most likely confused and disoriented from breaking rocks with his head. How else were they going to find him? He had a tendency to hide when he wasn't coherent. Tough shit if Charlie didn't like Bravo's methods.
"Howdy, you blonde bitch." He pressed the muzzle of his .9mm against the back of the blonde's head. He'd unexpectedly come up behind her watching activity in the ditch. He hadn't been looking for her, but he'd found her. "What'cha thinkin' about?" Something had finally gone their way.
What the hell did she think she was going to do? Kill all three with a pistol? Wouldn't happen. She might get a shot off in this mist and fog and if she was an excellent shot, might even hit Brock or Trent, but she wouldn't live to see what happened next. Neither would miss, they shot at her.
"He killed five of us." She spoke with an accent, Russian he guessed. "Dom is missing." She didn't move. "He broke my hand."
He being Clay, Sonny assumed. "Why didn't you kill him when you took him?" Sonny asked. "Hands up, turn around, nice and slow." Why even take Clay? Why hadn't this group just gone in to the campsite and tried again to kill everyone? Eh, not his problem, it was Charlie's.
"I wanted to. Dom said no, we wait. You come for him, we kill you all."
"Yeah, see, that's not gonna happen." The thing Sonny liked most about having taken one captive alive? You didn't need two. He hesitated, but not over throwing a punch and knocking her out cold. It was over whether or not to leave her alive. With a sigh of disappointment, his fist shot out, clipped her chin and she crumpled in a heap. "AND THAT'S HOW IT'S DONE SPENSER!"
***000***
"Jason? You good?" Ray asked when Jason didn't immediately turn towards the ditch. "Something wrong?"
"Just thinking, this whole shit-shebang isn't our mess to clean up this time." He rubbed his jaw, gave Ray a grin. "We're walking our dog, we get to go back to base, have supper. Charlie has a target to secure, reports to write, action to call in."
"Not that easy boss." Ray slapped his shoulder. "They're gonna wanna talk to Clay, so, let's go see how our boy's doing."
"You ever lose that kid in a bet again," Jason began.
Ray put his hands up, shook his head. "Lesson learned Boss."
***000***
"Weeelllll, lookee here." Sonny stood at the top of the ditch, looking down. He watched for a moment, smiling as he watched Trent attempt to wrestle Clay's hands into the sleeves of the hoodie. He didn't start down the bank to join them until he was sure he could keep the smile from his face. "He okay there Trent?"
"I'll feel better when he's warm and dry." Trent muttered. "Watch his head." He had one sleeve on, the hoodie pulled up to Clay's shoulder. "Need your hand a minute Clay. Let go….let…..hey, let go of Brock."
Clay heard him, he did. Knew the voice, even if he didn't understand the words. He tried to follow the order, obey the hands pulling and tugging but he just couldn't figure out what they wanted from him. The words 'let go', meant nothing to him.
"Clay? Sonny's here." Trent coaxed. "Come on, get with it. Hey, hey…..wait…what….no….gimme your hand."
So were Mick and Chase though they hung back and kept watch. They'd met up with Sonny and Greg had taken the blonde to return to Beau at their campsite.
Bravo knew how to manipulate and coax Clay into doing what they wanted when he was unresponsive and reluctant or even combative. Sonny set his rifle aside and knelt down next to Brock who again juggled Clay's weight away from his chest – every time he did so, Clay went limp and attempted to flop right back – and towards Sonny.
Clay let go of Brock for the transfer from one warm body to another but before Sonny could pull him close, Trent and Brock wrangled him into the second sleeve of the hoodie and had it over his head within seconds, leaving the hood up and pulling the strings tight so it wouldn't fall off. Clay's hair was still wet, but the hood protected him from the damp, constant mist and slight wind that just would not stop.
"You tie them under his chin and I'll knock you on your ass." Sonny growled.
Trent smirked, tied the strings into a bow, gave Sonny a salute.
"How is he?" Sonny asked quietly, cheek resting against Clay's hooded head. "He with it? Know you? Say anything?"
"Hasn't come around yet. You okay to keep hold of him?" Trent asked, knowing damn well Sonny wasn't about to give the kid up unless Trent told him he needed to so Trent could keep looking him over. He wouldn't call him on it though. None of them ever did, no matter who it was. Bravo didn't roll that way.
"If I have to." Sonny sighed.
"He could use the body heat." Was all Trent said. Clay would be fine on his back on the ground and they all knew it, but no one was going to admit it. And if Sonny wanted to give him up, well Brock would just take him back.
Brock wrapped and tucked the second hoodie over and around Clay's feet and calves, rubbed briskly. "Think he warms up, he'll comes around, see it's us?" Trent nodded, shrugged, nodded.
"How bad's his head, you think?" Sonny asked. "Should we be worried?" he could feel Clay shivering, hoped that even though he was still wet, Clay would begin to warm up a bit since he was held against a warm body.
With Sonny content to hold Clay, Brock pulled out a LED flashlight and held it so Trent could see what he was doing.
"Dunno yet, working on taking a look. Cloth of cold water would help the swelling." Trent was saying. He was pressing and thumbing Clay's cheek bone and the hollow beneath his eye. Clay murmured what might have been 'no' and 'don't', but didn't attempt to either pull away or slap at Trent's hand. "Worried? He's conscious. But I don't like it." He thumbed between Clay's eyebrows, above his nose, elicited a deep groan. "I know, I know, you don't like that, sorry."
"You think he didn't need stitches?" Brock asked. "Doesn't look like nothing to me."
"Thinking he smacked his head a time or two or five after she bashed him with a rock." Trent decided to let off poking at the gash and his head until he saw whether or not a cloth of cold water reduced the swelling. Maybe by then, Clay would be awake and talking.
"Why's he shivering?" Sonny complained.
"Because he's cold." Trent chuckled. "He'll warm up." He stuck his hands inside the hood on Clay's head, carefully pulled his fingers through the kids tangled hair, searching for lumps and bumps or cuts and sore spots. "Clay? Can you talk to me yet?"
Chase was amazed how well Trent spoke around the flashlight in his mouth. He kept waiting for it to fall, but it didn't. His attention was divided between watching Trent, hoping Clay was okay and keeping watch for anyone approaching them that shouldn't be.
Sonny held the kid tight against his chest with one arm, alternated rubbing Clay's arms and chest with his other hand. When Clay didn't tense or flinch from Trent's touch, Sonny adjusted the kid's weight, easing him off his hip.
"What we got?" Jason was squatting on his haunches behind Sonny. "He with it?" He'd come up with Ray, waved Mick off. He knew about the blonde, Sonny having keyed in over comms.
"No." Trent was cutting the bandage around Clay's belly, the hoodie pushed up his chest and held there by Sonny. The water-proof tape was loose and the gauze pad just fell off. The skin was red and inflamed, several of the staples had pulled out, but those that remained held the wound together. Slight bleeding, but nothing severe. "He's not in any danger, but he's cold. He'll come around quicker, he's warm." Maybe if he said that enough times, he'd believe it himself. Hell, might even work!
"Taking him up to the campsite?" Ray asked.
Trent pulled the hoodie down over Clay's belly. Nothing he could do about the staples out here. Clay had moaned and flinched away, squirming against Sonny's hold when Trent had pressed and pinched along his belly. Making him sit up and pulling him away from the comfort and warmth of Sonny to wrap another bandage around him was unnecessary.
"Eric on his way?"
"Roughly 30 minutes out." Ray answered. "Coming with Bravo support to help Charlie clean up so we don't have to."
"You got water?" Ray nodded. "Soak a cloth, hold it to his head." Trent said. "Carefully, he's touchy." Clay turned his head away, attempted to bury his face between Sonny's arm and chest, moaned when his forehead hit something hard. Even though his eyes remained closed, he didn't like the bright lights from two flashlights. "We'll stay here, can't toss him over Sonny's shoulder. Not with staples in his belly. Not with that bump on his head, hang him upside down now, he'll puke and pass out."
Jason shrugged out of his backpack, unzipped a pocket, pulled out a bottle of water, took the cloth Ray was holding out and soaked it.
"Clay?" Jason said quietly. "Hey there, kid. Easy." He gently brought Clay's face away from Sonny's shoulder by a light two-finger touch on his chin. Clay resisted at first, liking the feel of the material beneath his cheek that, though at first had been rough and damp, was now soft and warm. "That's it."
"Damn!" Ray whistled. Neither flashlight was directly in Clay's face but even in the shadow of the beam's edges, the swelling was visible. "Jesus Trent!"
It wasn't Trent's fault and Ray knew that, but if any of them knew how bad it was, surely it was Trent and he wasn't answering, so that made Ray even more uneasy.
"Got him?" Jason asked Sonny, who nodded. He really didn't expect Clay to thrash or attempt to bolt from his arms, but with this kid, you just never knew.
Clay pulled away with a whimper before Jason even touched him. Sonny pushed the hood back and Jason gently pressed the cold, wet cloth against the swollen bruise. Released from Sonny's one-arm hug, Clay slumped down to get away from the pressure against his head.
"Hey, hey, where you going?" Jason reached to pick him up with one arm, Sonny let Clay go and took the cloth to hold. "Come here." He let Clay lay on his side over Sonny's thigh, his cheek resting against Jason's leg. When Clay twisted his fingers around the material below Jason's knee and moaned because the cloth remained firm against his forehead, Jason gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"Mmmmm." Trent said in response to Ray. With Clay on his side, he moved the hoodie that covered his legs. Clay stirred, feeling hands on his knee, his thigh. He missed the warmth when the hoodie left his lap and moved in protest, blabbing nonsense as he reached with his free hand to stop Trent. "Cold water will help the swelling subside, won't hurt as much then."
"Damn mist, wish we could get him out of it." Brock sighed, hunching his shoulders. "Sucks."
"Not happening." Ray stated. "Unless you want to take the camp."
"Would rather not move him." Jason said. Or leave him while we do so. "Chopper isn't far out. We run into trouble, we'll take the camp."
Clay didn't like Trent poking at his leg. Trent had cut the bandage off and the tape and gauze pad, both wet through, came off with it. When he leaned closer, Brock moving the flashlight so they could see, Clay brought his thighs together, blocking Trent's view.
"Hey Clay, just me, your ole buddy Trent." Trent jostled Clay's good leg. It was time to try and bring Clay around. "You with me? Gotta let me see."
Clay didn't open his eyes. Didn't relax. Didn't spread his legs. Didn't turn towards Trent. Didn't let go of Jason, but lifted his head to rest his chin on Jason's leg.
"No." he squeezed his eyes shut, whimpered at the action. "Ow."
"Can you tell me how you feel?" Trent asked. "Clay? Hey come on, keep coming out of it."
Clay was quiet, didn't move. Trent again jostled his good leg.
"Clay? Talk to me. How do you feel?"
"Dizzy….in the head and I'm feeling….. bad." Clay sang in tune despite a slurring. "…..argh….mmmmm…"
"Scorpions." Brock told a baffled Sonny.
"Where?" Clay jerked, trying to lift his head but the distance and effort was too great and he scrunched his nose with a moan. That hurt his head and he groaned, moving uneasily.
"The Who." Jason corrected, hand on Clay's shoulder to still his movements. "Stay still."
"Whoa there sunshine, where you trying to go?" Sonny pulled the hoodie down over Clay's belly. Every time he moved – and he moved a lot – it rode up.
"Don't….wanna….stung….by…..bug."
"There are no scorpions here Clay." Trent assured him. "No bugs. Jason and Brock are talking about rock bands, now stay still so I can see your leg, okay?"
"Okay."
Cold, wet, in pain, still confused, Clay's thoughts were: get warm, get out of the rain, find a position to lie that didn't make him hurt and go to sleep. He felt his knees pried apart and jerked, feet digging into wet grass to gain leverage to push up and away.
"Hey," Sonny set the cloth aside, used both hands to pull Clay off his lap and make him sit up. Clay didn't fight the hold, but neither did he let go of Jason. "Spenser, look at me. You see me? It's me, Sonny."
But it was Jason Clay was facing and his boss who he finally focused on, his boss he finally recognized.
"Boss." Clay raised a hand towards his aching head, was stopped, tugged on the material still in his other fist. "I'm cold."
"Right here." Jason assured him. "We'll get you warm, soon as you let Trent take a look at those staples in your leg, okay?" he took Clay from Sonny because Clay trying to sit up. "Stay put, no need to get up."
"There's a blonde…" Clay began, then frowned. What was he saying? "Ow."
"Sonny got her. Next time you knock her out, you tie her up." Jason reprimanded. "We've been through this. Don't let what happened in Yemen cloud your judgment when it comes to women."
Clay stared at him, wide-eyed at the set down, then went limp. Already holding him up, Jason simply let Clay sag against him.
"Christ, the kid just flop, no notice." Jason juggled Clay's weight until he could free a hand and key in. "Eric? That chopper coming?"
"Working on it?"
"Working….? Five minutes Eric."
"Had to wait on Chopper Chuck."
"Our pilot? Why? Just go with the one on shift."
Chase looked at Mick. Bravo had their own pilot? Wow.
"Negative. No can do. Fog restriction. He doesn't have enough flight hours to fly in this weather."
Jason sighed, rubbed his thumb across his forehead. "Estimated time?"
"They're in the air. Twenty minutes."
"Roger that." he didn't relish keeping Clay out in the cold and mist, but wasn't much they could do about it. They could carry him up to Charlie's campsite, but would the warmth of a fire be worth the painful trek getting Clay there?
"Tr'nt?" Clay slurred, not fighting the hand that kept stopping his from trying to hold his head.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"My….head…..hurts."
"I know it does." Trent chucked Clay's chin sympathetically. "I'll get you something in a minute." He turned away to dig in his backpack. His hands were shaking and he took a moment to calm his nerves. He felt eyes on him, knew it was Jason. He'd been worried Clay wasn't going to come around and respond to them.
"His leg okay?" Brock asked. "Looks like those staples all pulled loose."
Trent shrugged. "Ain't doing anything out here, can't really clean him up."
"Anything I can do?" Bobby asked. Beau had sent him to see if he could help with Clay, but Bobby could see that Trent was more than capable of taking care of any injuries Clay had. "Brought some hot water." He had a sleeping bag, the coffee urn and two thermoses. "Hot coffee."
To anyone walking up, it just looked like Sonny and Jason were holding Clay down because he fought against Trent assessing and tending his injuries. Bravo knew better, but no one would ever say differently.
Five pairs of eyes pinned him with malice, but they all waited on Jason. However their boss reacted is how Bravo would.
Jason said grudgingly. "We're good."
Ray took the thermoses, passed one to Brock. "Trent, he have coffee?" He poured the hot liquid into the lid and handed it to Sonny, Brock did the same for Jason.
"No." he accepted a refill from Brock when Jason had finished and handed the lid back.
"He's gonna want it." Sonny advised. "He'll smell it. Shouldn't he have something hot?"
"I have hot chocolate." Trent handed the cup back to Brock so he could now have a cup, pulled a bottle of water from his backpack. He poured more than half onto a clean cloth and handed it to Jason to hold against the swollen lumpy bump on Clay's forehead again. He pulled a packet and tore it open with his teeth, poured the powdered contents into the water, capped the bottle and shook it up.
"That's not cocoa." Mick said.
"Hot water isn't for drinking." Bobby scowled. "Try using it to clean up the bump on his head."
Clay turned away, facing Jason's shoulder. "Not...thirsty."
"Will help your headache." Trent coaxed. "Then you can have hot chocolate." He added the bribe with a grin.
"What is that?" Chase asked.
"Cambria." Bobby answered. "Commonly given for migraines." He watched Trent tease Clay into looking at him. "And prescription."
"He said they have a doc." Mick reminded him.
"He doesn't have a migraine." Bobby said. "Why would you give it to him?"
Because he doesn't respond to medications the way normal people do. But of course, Trent didn't say that.
"Drink it all Clay." He held the bottle, gave Clay a moment to lick his lips, wipe his chin on Jason's sleeve. "Finish it."
But Clay smelled the coffee and his gaze didn't leave the cup in Ray's hand. "Is...that...coffee?"
"Finish this." Jason said, taking the empty bottle when Clay swallowed the last mouthful with a grimace of both pain and distaste. "How you doing?"
"It time to go?" Clay sighed. "Okay."
"Stay still." Jason scolded, tightening his hold to prevent Clay from sitting up. "You're not going anywhere."
"We can't leave?" Clay squirmed. "Tired." He tried again to raise a hand to his head. Again, Jason stopped him. "Rain sucks."
Trent took the sleeping bag from Bobby, unzipped it, shook it out and Ray and Brock easily picked Clay up, wrapped it completely around him and returned him to Jason's lap. Trent handed Jason the cup of instant hot chocolate to hold so Clay could drink it.
Finally feeling warm, safe, secure, the pain and discomfort now manageable because he wasn't alone and confused, Clay slowly settled down and relaxed. He sipped at the chocolate, tongue licking the tiny, almost non-existent marshmallows from the rim while his teammates shared the remaining thermos lid to finish the coffee, sharing with Mick and Chase as well.
When Clay was finished, Trent used the remaining hot water to wipe the mud and dirt from Clay's cheek, working his way up to his eye, then the oozing gash over his eyebrow.
"I know, I know, easy." Trent murmured when Clay flinched and twitched. "We'll hold you down, you don't lie still and let me finish."
"How's it look?" Jason asked.
"Gonna want an MRI, but once the swelling comes down some, he won't hurt as much." Trent didn't want to pick at the mud-caked scab, afraid he'd start the bleeding again and they all knew how much Clay bled from a head wound, so he left well enough alone. "He'll be okay. He'll fly with us to our next mission, but should stay in barracks." He told Jason who nodded.
"Need a stretcher to carry him?" Bobby asked.
"No." Trent replied. "Chopper will be here soon."
"Chopper?" Bobby repeated. "You're not serious? We all hiked up here, your kid gets a bump and you get a chopper to fly in for him?"
"No need for stealth now." Ray said.
"How did you get a chopper approved in this fog?" Bobby pushed. Beau had talked to command, they'd been told to sit tight and wait for the weather to clear.
"They have a pilot." Mick said sarcastically. "Ain't that right Hayes?"
Jason shrugged. Clay had succumbed to the warmth and privacy of the sleeping bag, the security of Jason's arms. With Clay quiet, still, in his sight - in his arms - and Trent's confidence and assurance the kid was okay, Jason finally relaxed, pulling the sleeping bag over Clay's head to help protect him from the cold mist.
"There is a pilot on support who has logged enough hours to have the experience to fly a Black Hawk by IRF." Ray stared at Mick. "In this weather, yeah, he had to clear a flight plan first."
"Gear up. Chopper is circling to land." Jason cut in. They could hear it, see its search light. "Sonny, go meet it, bring back a litter. Brock, go get Spenser's gear. You two take him." he told Ray and Trent.
Once on his feet, Sonny and Brock off to do his bidding, Jason turned to the three members of Charlie.
"Don't make me regret not filing a report." he told Mick who finally nodded. "We're done here."
"JASON HAYES!" a voice bellowed. "Good God!" a dog barked. "I see a snake..."
"Hey Doc!" Ray called back in greeting. "Lovely day to take the dog for a walk, don't you think?"
***END***