Thanks to everyone who took the time to review or send me a message about the What Happens on Bravo universe I have going here. This is a one shot inspired by Ann and M who recently reviewed Aftermath and let me know that they wouldn't say no to some Brock centered comfort and babying. And thanks also HamburgerJoint22 who also has given me great feedback. :)

Again - this is more from the What Happens on Bravo universe. It's an extension of the scene at the end of Aftermath where Brock gets suddenly sick. Weekend at Trent's is a completed (relatively long as usual) one shot with the young Brock as he is in my universe, rather than Clay, as the main focus of the team's care and concern.

Like the other stories in this universe, there is plenty of tough love and references to parental discipline. I hope you like it, and as always I greatly appreciate any reviews and feedback. I will reply if the system lets me. - Luna :)

Weekend at Trent's

When Brock woke up at 5:50 Friday morning, ten minutes before his alarm, he immediately knew something was wrong.

Bravo's dog handler had gone to bed early the night before, but when he startled awake, in bed next to his still sleeping young wife, the kid was still exhausted, and he could barely lift his head off the pillow. As a tier one operator, Brock was accustomed to regularly functioning on limited sleep, so he knew that he should not be tired and sore after a solid ten hours of uninterrupted rest.

It had been a rough several weeks for the team who had become the young SEAL's family. Their underage rookie and baby brother who had lied about his age to join the Navy as a means to escape foster care and an abusive childhood, was slowly recovering from being attacked and beaten when Jason left him home alone. Clay's loser father had shown up when he discovered the boy was on his own in Jason's apartment. Using the kid he had abandoned more than once as a pawn, Ash Spencer beat the sixteen-year-old boy with a belt in a twisted attempt to provoke and piss off Jason who was raising Clay as his own son after his true age and abusive childhood had been revealed.

Before Ash decided in his screwed up head that going after Clay to hurt Jason was a good idea, Bravo's Baby, as the other team guys referred to him, was finally settling down and adjusting to his new life as a tier one operator. But in the weeks after the attack, Clay was off the rails, acting out with reckless behavior and sarcastic backtalk that his team and new family hadn't needed to deal with since he was first dropped on their collective doorstep several months before. It was exhausting not only for Clay and Jason, but also for the rest of the team who were dealing with the kid on a daily basis while trying to run interference between the boss and the baby rookie to prevent Bravo One from snapping and ringing their unruly kid's neck.

When Brock dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, he tried to avoid waking Katie who was on summer break from her job teaching Algebra at the local high school. He hadn't called in sick in over a year, but Brock was seriously considering spending the day home on the couch with his wife watching Netflix if a shower didn't work some kind of miracle.

The dog handler knew if he called Trent, who somehow morphed into a loving but no nonsense mom whenever he or Clay needed him, the team medic would write him out as sick for the day. Brock also knew that he could count on his big brother/nervous mom showing up on his way into work to check him out to confirm he would be okay at home with Katie playing nurse and that a trip to the infirmary was not necessary.

The hot shower only served to make him lightheaded and slightly nauseous. Brock was surprised and confused to find Katie not only out of bed at 6:15 a.m. when she didn't need to be at work, but his normally unfazed wife was running around the bedroom, flustered and trying to dress and throw random items in a backpack at the same time.

"What the hell, Brock?" she yelled at him over her shoulder. "It's after six. You were supposed to wake me up at 5:30. We need to go, like now!"

Brock stood still staring at his obviously frazzled young wife, wearing only a towel around his waist and having no idea why she was yelling at him. He thought fuzzily to himself that he should probably sit down on the bed before he face planted on the floor, but instead he squinted back at Katie willing her to lower the volume several notches before his throbbing head exploded on him.

"Don't just stand there, Brock!" Katie yelled, sounding like a pissed off mother whose teenage son was late for school. She picked up a pair of his jeans that were tossed on a nearby chair and threw them at him. "Get dressed. I'm going to miss my flight if we don't get to the airport in the next half hour. I can't believe you didn't wake me up. I told you like a hundred times. You never listen to me!"

"What?" Brock asked, looking around the room for a pair of boxer briefs. "What flight? What are you talking about? And for fucks sake, Katie, stop screaming like a crazy person."

"Are you serious?" She said in a much lower voice, that if he wasn't sick as a dog, Brock would have recognized as a sign his wife was seriously on the verge of losing it with him. "What flight? The flight I need to be on at 7:30. The flight I am taking to Miami to board the ship. That flight Brock."

"Oh shit," Brock said, suddenly realizing why he felt flustered when he woke at 5:50 like something was wrong. When he crashed early the night before, he had forgotten to reset the alarm for 5:30. He was supposed to drive Katie to the airport. She was going on a four night cruise to the Bahamas with her friends from work. It was a Bachelorette thing. "I'm sorry. I forgot to set the alarm."

Brock was doing his best to get himself dressed, but he truly felt like crap. And Katie was ranting and bitching and it was starting to piss him off.

"I can't believe you didn't set the alarm," she said, zipping her bag and pulling her suitcase out to the kitchen. "I told you to do it when you went to bed. You never listen to me."

"You could set your own alarm, Katie," Brock snapped back at her. "Why am I in charge of waking you up? I'm not your damn mother."

Katie stopped, briefly shocked at his tone of voice. Her laid back husband never got snarky with her, even when she was in flustered mode and yelling at him. She almost stopped to ask him if he was okay, but she was pissed off that she was going to have to leave without taking a shower and she just wanted to get to the airport.

When Katie was silent, Brock took that as his cue to continue. "And maybe you should have had one of your many friends call to wake you up," he said, sarcastically. "You obviously would rather go to The Bahamas with them than me. I mean, I'm just your husband, so why would you want to spend any time with me?"

Now she was pissed off again. "Jesus Christ," she said, bitterly. "You are such a freaking crybaby. You know we can't count on going to The Bahamas or anywhere else more than two hours away because you can get called in at any time. How is it that I can understand that, and I'm not even in the fucking Navy, but somehow it's a mystery to you?"

"How is it that you are Suzy Fucking Sunshine with your friends and your family and the team at Starbucks who make your fucking Frapaccinos, but you are a complete bitch with me?" Now Brock was yelling, and his head did not approve.

They stared at each other silently for several long seconds.

Brock felt like shit because he never talked to Katie like that before. His father literally never raised a voice at his mother. Brock thought that if the man had heard him cursing at his young wife, his father no doubt would have knocked him on his ass.

Katie felt like shit because her husband who she adored was clearly out of sorts for some reason, and she hadn't bothered to ask if he was okay. Unlike her mother, she was a rotten military wife. And her mom would have soaped her mouth if she'd heard her cussing at Brock, not caring that she was twenty-three.

"I have to go Brock," Katie said, picking up her phone and calling her sister who was just a few streets away and could be there by the time her husband was dressed. "Jenny will give me a ride. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Yeah, okay," Brock said, sitting down to rest before walking to the closet to get his uniform. "Have fun on the cruise. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"I'm sorry," she said, quietly.

"No, it's my fault," Brock said, worn out. "I'm sorry. I love you."

"Love you, too," Katie smiled. "Don't just sit around here all weekend. Go hang out at Jason's place. Or drag Trent out to The Bulkhead to shoot pool or something."

An hour later, Katie was at the airport boarding her flight. Brock was driving to work, feeling like crap. He knew Trent would be pissed at him for coming in sick, but he didn't want to be alone all day in the empty house.

Brock had grown up in a big family. The youngest of five, he had gone from sharing a room with his older brother in a small house with his parents and four siblings to a bunk in the dorm on base in a room he shared with two other guys. From there, he moved to either sharing a bed with Katie at home in their two bedroom ranch or the top bunk over Trent, across from Sonny and Clay, when he was spun up. Unlike Clay, Brock wasn't afraid to be alone, but somehow it never felt natural to him.

Brock didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't surrounded by people. He had grown up following the directions of his parents, teachers or older siblings back home in California. After he graduated from high school, the kid joined the Navy and followed the directions of his instructors and officers. Now he spent most of his time following the lead of his older brothers.

Brock was struggling to figure out how to do his job and be part of his Bravo family, while also being a husband to Katie who seemed content to be part time roommates with benefits.

Most days everything seemed to work out okay, but when he was feeling run down and crappy like he was on that drive into work, Brock couldn't help but wonder if Sonny had been right when his much older brother had gotten drunk at the wedding and told both Brock and Katie that they should have stayed single so they could just enjoy the sex and hanging out without the pressures of making military marriage work.

At the time, both he and Katie had laughed at Sonny being Sonny. Jason and Trent had dragged Bravo Three off to enjoy more drinks. Both Ray and Naima had pulled the young bride and groom aside to apologize on Sonny's behalf and tell them to ignore his antics and horrendous advice. Brock hadn't given it a second thought. But now he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Sonny was right. Maybe he and Katie were too young, not ready to make that kind of lifelong commitment.

Brock managed to make it through most of the day at work avoiding Trent who would have recognized he was sick within five minutes and given him an epic scolding while either driving him home or hauling him to the infirmary. He texted Jason to say that he needed to pick up Cerb from the kennels and spend the morning training with him on the canine course. Then after catching a quick nap at lunch time hiding in his cage when he knew the other guys had headed for the cafeteria, Brock texted Jason asking if he wanted him to take Clay off his hands to work out with him in the gym until three when he knew, being Friday, the kid would be leaving early to spend time at Josh's place with his kids.

After the Ash incident, Clay's counselor had strongly suggested that the boy needed to spend down time with kids his own age, away from the pressures of being a tier one operator. Trent agreed, and Jason made it work. The master chief had used the special permission to alter his rookie's schedule that he had been granted when it was revealed that Clay was actually sixteen and not twenty as the kid and upper brass had been trying unsuccessfully to sell. Jason worked it out with Alpha's bomb tech Josh to have Clay spend two afternoons a week when they weren't spun up with Josh's three kids who were around Clay's age, as well as Katie's little brother Corey who was also sixteen and their runt's new best friend.

Jason had been more than happy to send Clay, who was ready for the work week to be over, off to meet Brock at the gym to supposedly work out. Sonny had laughed that his money was on Bravo's two youngest spending a half-hour tops at the gym before finding their way to the cafeteria for milkshakes they would sneak off to enjoy at the base dog park while watching Cerb play with the other mutts. Jason said as long as it kept Clay busy and out of his hair, he didn't care what his kids were up to. They all trusted Brock to not let Clay get into any trouble.

At three, after Jason sent one of the support kids to retrieve Clay from the gym where Bravos Four and Five had returned just in time not to get caught, Brock gratefully passed his little brother off to Jeff who delivered him to playtime at Josh's place. By the time Brock had hit the showers and returned to the cages at just after four, he looked and felt like he had been hit by a truck.

He was able to dodge his older brothers for another half hour, cleaning up his own cage while the senior Bravo members sat around the table teasing Sonny about something Brock was unable to follow in his fevered state. About an hour before it was time to call it a week, Blackburn showed up looking serious. He called Bravo over to the table to deliver bad news. Ash, who Jason had scared shitless, had returned from two months of hiding in Europe with his tail between his legs.

Unfortunately, their captain also revealed the answer to the mystery of how Ash had discovered Clay had been left home alone back on the night his useless sperm donor had made the colossal fuck-up of deciding he had some parental right to take his belt to Clay. It turned out that Ash had been lurking around The Bulkhead and managed to overhear Sonny and Metal saying the kid was home without a babysitter.

Despising Ash for every bad thing that had ever happened to the kid he loved, Sonny immediately lost his mind. He was guilt ridden to discover that he was the reason Ash was able to hurt the boy he had vowed to protect. The Mighty Quinn took off like a bat out of hell after kicking a chair across the room. Ray went after him to avoid a murder charge if an enraged Sonny got his hands on Ash.

At that point, Brock was officially done.

The next thing he remembered, Blackburn was calling his name, asking if he was okay. Trent was immediately at his side, and soon Brock was spewing puke into a wastebasket held by Mama Trent who was simultaneously rubbing his back and assuring the kid he would be okay.

"Trent, you got this?" Jason asked, ushering Blackburn into the hallway to finish the Ash discussion. The medic nodded that, yes, he most definitely had Brock handled.

Feeling like absolute garbage, but relieved to finally be alone with his best caregiver, Brock leaned into Trent and let his favorite big brother take care of him.

"I should have known there was a reason you've been making yourself scarce all day," Trent said, shaking his head. "And you damn well know better than lying to me." Trent was ripping his kid a new one while cleaning up his mess and opening a bottle of purple Pedialyte left over from Clay's last fever.

"I didn't lie, Trent. I just didn't tell you I wasn't feeling great," Brock said, miserably.

"Drink this," Trent said, using his stern voice. "Don't even think about fussing. And don't try that double talk with me either. You know the rule is no hiding injuries or 'not feeling great' from me. Ever."

"I'm sorry," Brock said, softly. He grimaced at the taste of the purple liquid, but immediately fixed his face when Uncle Trent gave him the 'I mean business' glare.

"You're sorry you got caught," Trent scoffed, moving to gently feel the kid's forehead and cheeks for fever in full mom mode. "What you should be is relieved you're not Clay. Because if you were actually sixteen like you behaved today, and not twenty-four, you would have a trip across my knee to look forward to once you were over being sick."

"I don't believe you would spank Clay if he was sick," Brock said, leaning over the table and burying his throbbing head in his arms.

"I wouldn't spank him when he was sick," Trent said, returning from his cage with his medical bag and taking out a thermometer to check the kid's fever level. "But if he lied to me, like we both know you absolutely did all day today, I would most definitely warm his little tail when he was well again. And if I was feeling like a softy and letting him off the hook, Jason would surely remind him the hard way that hiding sickness is dangerous, and lying has consequences."

Trent removed the thermometer, shaking his head at his pitiful looking baby brother.

"And if we were unexpectedly spun up today," Trent lectured. "You, young man, would be God knows where, trying to swallow down puke and rockin' a 102 degree fever while trying to do your fucking job. That's how people end up hurt. Or worse. You want to spend the rest of your life knowing one of your brothers took a bullet because you were in the field too sick to have his back?"

"No Trent," Brock said, trying hard not to tear up and failing miserably. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm not Clay, and I'm old enough to know better. I'd never want to do anything to put you guys at risk. I swear I wouldn't Trent. I don't know why I didn't call you. I was going to, but then I don't know. I just came to work. It will never happen again. I promise it won't."

Trent continued to stare the kid down with his pissed off dad glare. He was almost ready to switch to mother hen and get him sorted and ready to head home to his bed and bathroom before the vomiting and likely diarrhea made an appearance, but he reminded himself that Brock was still a kid whose brain wouldn't be fully developed until his late twenties.

It was Jason's job as team leader, and his job as medic, to make sure as a very young tier one operator Brock understood that he did not have the option of picking and choosing which rules to follow. And he sure as shit was not allowed to decide showing up sick to active duty where he could be on a plane to a war zone at any moment was acceptable. Trent knew that Jason counted on him to be the bad cop with both Brock and Clay in anything health related. Jason played bad cop in all other Bravo related areas. And they both took their jobs very seriously.

When it was clear to Trent that his kid understood that he had fucked up, and he was most definitely sorry for lying and hiding from him all day, the medic softened the dad glare. He reached out to gently rub his harshly chastised baby brother's head.

"I'm going to get your cage and the common area de-germed," Trent said, quietly.

"I can help you," Brock whispered, looking up at his most loved big brother with fevered eyes and sweaty bangs.

Trent smiled gently, feeling his boy lean into his hand seeking comfort and assurance that he was forgiven. "I think I have the disinfecting under control, honey," he said, helping the kid stand and pointing him toward the far wall with a swat to his ass. "How about you park your butt over there in the corner out of the way. Take your delicious purple drink with you, and finish it up. All of it. The boss will be back soon, and then we are getting out of here. It's been a long ass week."

"Yes, sir," Brock said, following Trent's direction and sliding down against the wall to wait in the corner, drinking his purple crap until someone told him what to do next.

An hour later, Brock was burning up and sick as a dog in Trent's bathroom. He had barely made it in the house and was seated on the toilet before, as Bravo's medic predicted, his system was being emptied from both ends of his miserable body. Trent had diagnosed him back in the cage room with a nasty stomach flu, and Brock couldn't remember ever feeling this sick. His big brother stayed close as he knew the kid wouldn't want to be completely alone. Trent left the bathroom door partly open, coming in and out of the bathroom to keep his little brother's mess relatively contained and assure him that he was not going to be left on his own.

"I know you feel like death reheated right now," Trent soothed, pulling off the kid's vomit splattered t-shirt and laying his strong hand on the boy's hot back while holding a cold, wet washcloth against his neck. "But I promise once you are completely emptied out, it won't be so awful. It sucks. I get it honey, but try to relax as best you can and just let it all go. Don't try to fight it."

"I'm sorry I lied to you Trent," Brock moaned, looking up at his comforter with confused brown eyes. "And I'm sorry for making a disgusting mess in your bathroom. I'll clean it up. I promise."

Trent chuckled, giving his loopy kid's sweat drenched, brown mop a quick kiss before switching out the puke filled wastebasket on the floor between his knees with an empty bucket the medic had just cleaned out.

"I think you've officially apologized enough, kiddo," Trent assured him. "And you most definitely have suffered worse than any punishment I would ever dish out. Thankfully, I think we are almost at the end of the puke and shit show."

"Really Trent?" Brock asked pitifully, sounding all of twelve. "You think I'm done?"

"Sweetheart, I think you puked up stuff your grandfather ate," Trent teased lightly, running a cool cloth over the kid's back. "And no, mean old Uncle Trent isn't going to make you clean up your own sick. As soon as you feel like it's safe to move from the throne here, we're going to park your sweaty carcass on a chair in the kitchen where you will be working on replacing some fluids with your choice of Gatorade. I'm going to be scrubbing and bleaching in here."

"You know I love you, right Trent?" Brock said, softly. "I only came to work today because Katie was gone and I didn't want to be alone at the house. I wanted to see you."

Trent shook his head, sighing. It was a toss-up which of his babies had him wrapped tighter around his finger - Brock or Clay. The guys on base would say Clay owned him, but right now, Bravo Five was giving his youngest some stiff competition.

"Yes, I know you love me," Trent said, helping his kid to stand and get his pants righted. "And I guarantee, I love you more. I know exactly why you dragged your sorry ass onto base. But for future reference, the next time you piss off your cute wife and end up sick, alone and feeling sorry for yourself, get out your phone, scroll down your contacts, and tap 'Trent'. And I will take care of everything. Just like I always do…"

"Because you're the best," Brock finished for him, wrapping his arms around his big brother's neck and resting his hot, aching head on the older man's shoulder.

"Exactly," Trent smiled, rubbing the kid's back for a few seconds before gently peeling him off of his chest and directing him to the chair and red Gatorade in the kitchen. "Sit. Stay. Drink. I'm going to get the bathroom disinfected and deodorized. Then there is a cool soak in Uncle Trent's tub in your future before we get you medicated and snoozing."

"Am I getting a shot?" Brock asked, warily.

Trent snorted. "Your butt is getting a few jabs before you are tucked in for the night," Trent said. "Sorry for your bad luck. And I'm going to tell you exactly what I tell the blond menace and chief whiner - no fussing or I will give you a reason to pout."

Laughing at the kid's wounded expression, Trent gently tousled his messy hair before pointing at the drink on the table in front of him and heading back to the bathroom with his rubber gloves and bleach.

After his bath and hair scrubbing, as Trent predicted, the kid felt a lot better. Brock was sacked out on this big brother's worn out and comfortable couch, curled up under a soft blanket with his no longer aching head resting on a pillow from Trent's bed. The medic had happily reported to Jason when he called to check on the kid that Brock was sleeping peacefully, and he had been much easier to deal with than Clay.

Once he had dried off and was laying on the couch stripped down to his boxer briefs and one of Trent's old t-shirts, Brock laid mostly still and let the medic fuss over him.

"Open up," Trent directed, sticking a thermometer under the kid's tongue. "You're still at 101, but we'll get that down some more so you can get some good sleep."

Brock nodded, eyeing the older man suspiciously as he dug around in his medical bag.

"You can give me all the dirty looks you want, kiddo," Trent laughed, pulling out the kit Brock knew held the dreaded medicine filled needles. "But this is for your own good. Now turn over and try to pretend you're a big boy."

Brock pouted, minding his big brother and turning over on his belly, wrapping his arms around the pillow. He turned his head to look up at Trent nervously. "It's not funny," he whined. "You know I hate shots."

"Yeah, I know you do, honey," Trent said, calm and gentle as always when taking care of his boys. Taking down the kid's shorts, not dragging it out, the medic quickly cleaned the injection site before giving him first a shot of fever reducer, immediately followed by a medication to reduce his nausea that Trent knew would allow his kid to get some much needed sleep.

Brock held still, not making a sound, but still clutching the pillow.

"All done, kiddo," Trent said, cheerfully. He patted the kid's backside and pulled up his shorts before covering him with the blanket and rubbing circles on the exhausted boy's back until his breathing was steady and Trent knew he was out for at least the next few hours.

Sighing, Trent scrubbed his hand down his own tired face, standing and stretching his back. He headed back to the kitchen to do some more disinfecting and possibly cook himself up some Ramen while the kid was sleeping.

The medic was not surprised when thirty minutes later, there was a brief knock at the door, followed by Jason and Sonny entering with their arms full. When he had returned to the cages to check on Brock back on base, Jason had said that after picking up Sonny from Ray's place and taking him out for dinner he would stop by Trent's to deliver more liquids and popsicles for the kid.

Their tired and selfless brother was thrilled to see that Jason and Sonny had not forgotten about him. Along with the supplies for Brock, the senior Bravo members had brought lobster with all the sides for their longtime friend and teammate who both men knew would be focused completely on the kid and not taking the time to take care of his own needs.

"You guys are the best," Trent beamed, unpacking his dinner. "I was just thinking of cooking some Ramen. This is a great surprise."

"You deserve it, brother," Sonny said, seriously.

"How's the kid doing?" Jason asked, joining them at the table. "He's still warm, but not boiling like he was back on base. I hope you thrashed his ass for crawling into work and dodging us all day."

"I gave him a good talking too," Trent said, diving into his fries. "Let him know that if he was Clay, his ass would be blazing. You know Brock. He's sensitive. Doesn't want his dad and big brothers mad at him. He's plenty sorry. Knows he fucked up."

"He spill more about the Katie drama?" Jason asked, sipping his beer and looking over to be sure the kid was still sleeping.

"Not yet," Trent said. "He will be talking soon. Tonight he was sicker than I've ever seen him. Took me half a bottle of bleach to clean that crime scene. He's miserable, feels like crap. Doesn't do well alone. Clingy."

"Are you keeping him for the weekend?" Sonny asked, already knowing his brother was not sending his kid home on his own.

Trent chuckled. "It would take a court order to get him out of here now," he said. "Yeah. I'm keeping him. If he was lucid enough to get the details straight, Katie won't be back until Tuesday. He won't want to go home."

"You're a good man Charlie Brown," Jason said, smiling. "I hope you know that one in there, along with the runt I sent off for a weekend of camping fun with Josh and his crew, would both be up shit creek without their Uncle Trent. And they know it too."

"The boss is right about that," Sonny added. "They look for you every day. Both brats would be lost without you to be their mother."

"Yeah, well," Trent smiled. "The feeling is mutual. I'd be just a grumpy old man if I didn't have my babies to scold and fuss over."

The next day was Saturday, and Brock slept like a rock until Trent forced him up just before noon. Jason had called earlier in the morning to see how the kid was feeling. Trent reported that he was asleep in the spare room which was the best thing for him.

"The shots I gave him last night at bedtime have worn off and he's starting to get restless," Trent told their boss. "I'm going to get him up and check his fever. Medicate and make him drink something. Get him in the shower and give the shots time to work before we see how some dry toast goes down."

"You think he's ready for toast?" Jason asked, skeptically. "Remember it took a half bottle of bleach to clean up after him last night."

"Ready or not, the kid needs to keep trying to put something in his belly, even if it comes right back out," Trent explained. "But with the anti-nausea medication being in his system for over twelve hours, it won't be nearly as bad as yesterday."

"You going to take him to the infirmary?" Jason questioned.

"Jury is still out on that," Trent said. "He slept through the night, and the medication controlled his fever and the vomiting diarrhea combo. As long as he's able to rest and hold down the liquids today, I don't think I need to drag him out. But if I can't control the diarrhea at home, he's going to need IV fluids and meds."

"Okay," Jason sighed. "Let me know how he's doing. And if you need to take him in to see a doctor, call me. I'm going to let Blackburn know Brock's down and you're on nursing duty. We're off regular rotation all next week, so unless there is some kind of crisis situation, there shouldn't be anything we need to worry about this weekend."

"Copy that, Boss," Trent said. "You should probably give Josh a heads up to keep an eye on Clay this weekend. He was with Brock most of the afternoon yesterday. He seemed fine when he left work, so fingers crossed this isn't going to hit the runt. The stomach flu is the last thing he needs right now."

"Clay sick and spreading the plague to the other kids is definitely the last thing poor Josh needs in a cabin two hours from home," Jason said. "I'll give him a call now. And let me know if you need anything over there. I'm flying solo here, so I can run out for whatever you need. And if you need to get out of the house, just call and I'll come sit with Brock."

"Will do, Jase," Trent said. "If you're bored and you want to stop by later, I'll be here just watching the kid sleep. I can cook us some steaks. Or better yet, bring Sonny and he can man the grill."

"Sounds like a plan," Jason laughed. "Sonny's still feeling guilty about the whole Ash debacle. Standing by the grill holding a beer always cheers him up."

"Okay, see you later," Trent said. "I'll let you know when Brock is up and around."

Disconnecting the call, the medic took a bottle of water and headed in to wake his kid. Brock always looked younger in his sleep, but sick and asleep he appeared to be a teenager. Sitting down on the side of the bed, Trent reached out to push back the kid's hair and rest a hand on his warm forehead. Channeling the baby, Brock turned toward his big brother in his sleep, wiggling closer to the older man and reaching out to grab hold of his t-shirt.

Trent shook his head smiling. He really did love this kid as if he was his own - Clay too. When he was younger, the medic always assumed he'd have a family of his own, a wife and kids like Jason and Ray. But it never worked out for him.

Brock and Clay, along with the younger kids on the support team and the young medics looked up to Trent as a hero. Not an ass-kicking, alpha dog, legend like Jason, but an unshakeable, cool as ice under pressure, save your ass and put you back together when your insides were on the outside, never let you down bad ass big brother. That's the Trent they knew. Grown up, mature, responsible, Trent in his forties. That was Trent, their hero. Trent the real man, like all men, was more complicated.

Trent had grown up poor in rural Alabama. The oldest boy, he was naturally protective of his siblings. Until he was ten, Trent had lived in a rundown trailer park with his parents, two older sisters and younger brother. His father was a veteran of Vietnam who had returned from the war with a brain injury that his long-suffering, meek mother blamed for her husband's quick to anger, violent personality.

His father had what Trent now understood was PTSD that the man self-medicated with alcohol and pills handed out loosely by doctors at the closest veteran's hospital who didn't have the understanding of post-war mental and emotional scars that medical professionals have today.

When Trent was a young boy in the eighties, he and his mother and siblings spent many nights cowering in fear of upsetting or provoking the husband and father who could erupt at any time. Screaming, breaking furniture and dishes, and sometimes when he was drunk, beating his wife and children was not uncommon for Trent's angry, damaged father. Once he was old enough to hold and shoot his father's hunting rifle, Trent would stand guard at his bedroom door, the last line of defense between his raging father and his sisters and little brother who would hide under the bed while his parents fought in the next room.

When he was ten, Trent's mother left his father, taking her children back to her hometown where she got a job in a local factory and eventually remarried. Trent's step-father was a farmer who had a small family farm on land left to him and his brother by his own father. His step-father and uncle both had houses on the property where they raised sheep that Trent helped shear every spring, and beef cattle sold to butchers in the surrounding area.

His mother had three more children with her new husband, a girl, and two more boys. His uncle and aunt had five of their own kids, including two boys close in age to Trent. They were a large family with a lot of kids running around. Trent's step-father was strict and put up with zero nonsense from any of the children whether they were his own or not, but he wasn't violent or unpredictable like his biological father.

Trent respected his step-father, and he was old enough at twelve when his mother remarried to understand that he and his siblings were lucky to be taken in by the man who always treated them as his own, and never lashed out violently or hurt them in any way. His youngest sister and brothers never knew what it was to live a life of poverty, violence and fear that he and the older siblings had survived. Trent loved and was grateful to his step-father for that, but he was never emotionally close to the man.

Trent's uncle was the younger of the two brothers and was more easy going and emotionally accessible than his older brother. While Trent's step-father was the stern disciplinarian, all of the kids from both families sought out the younger man for comfort and understanding. Trent took to the uncle right away, and the man always included him, treating his step-nephew like his own sons, taking the older boys fishing, hunting and camping while the slew of girls and younger boys stayed mostly around their mothers on the farm.

Trent had spent the majority of his adult life single and living on his own between three marriages that didn't last long. Forced to grow up quickly, the medic had to be a protector and caregiver even as a young boy. And as a grown man, Trent was very self-aware.

Trent understood that the roots of his inability to emotionally connect with his ex-wives and commit to becoming a father to biological children of his own lay in his fear of turning into his angry, damaged father - terrorizing and abusing his own family.

Trent was able to clearly recognize both his step-father, responsible and strict, and his much-loved uncle, a kind and understanding caregiver, as well as his gentle, loving mother, in the way he related to both Brock and Clay. And Bravo Four knew that he would always be that fierce and protective boy, standing guard between his family and the danger lurking on the other side of the bedroom door.

When Trent left home after graduating high school to join the Navy, his mother had cried, worried that her first and secretly favorite son might come home violent and damaged as his father had returned from Vietnam. When he became a Navy SEAL and then a tier-one operator, continually moving from one warzone to another, her dread increased, fueled by her son's three failed marriages. Trent's mother worried he would never find the peace and contentment she had with her second husband.

Shortly after he returned home from an extended mission in Afghanistan to find his third wife had left him, Trent took a two-week leave to visit his family back in Alabama. He stayed in the house with his uncle whose wife had passed away a few years back. All of his sisters, brothers and cousins were out of the houses living their own lives, but his youngest brother and one of his cousins lived in town and continued to keep the farm going with the help of their own teenaged sons.

Trent had spent many hours sitting on the porch with his beloved mother by whose side he had gone through hell and come out the other side to see better times. The now gray-haired woman sat happily, holding the hand of her oldest son and watching her grandchildren play in the yard.

"I've been fretting over you for years, you know," she said. "Worrying that your daddy and me had ruined you for settling down. Having a family of your own. Being happy."

"I am happy, Mama," Trent told her honestly. "You don't need to fret over me."

"I can see that now," she said, smiling. "Even your grumpy old step-daddy noticed and said you've finally grown into yourself. You know he doesn't know how to show it, but he's always fretting too in his own way. And he and your crazy uncle Jimmy are so proud of the man you've become. Braggin' to the other old geezers in town." She laughed, stopping to shoo the babies away from bothering the chickens.

Trent knew his parents were right. He had finally grown into himself. He'd had some wild, reckless years and had done things he'd be ashamed for Brock or Clay to know. None of the older SEALS would ever tell, and the babies would never believe it anyway. To them, Uncle Trent was the unbreakable, unshakeable, brave, dependable, loyal protector who was always there to take care of them. He loved his boys unconditionally, and they could both count on Trent to give them what they needed - whether it was a strong, safe arm to hide under, a steady, gentle hand to get them sorted or a stern scolding or stinging smack across the tail to let them know they had crossed a line and actions have consequences.

Waking Brock, the older man got him sitting up and working on a bottle of water after confirming that his temperature had risen during the night, and his kid had another unwelcome shot of fever reducer to accompany the anti-nausea meds in his near future.

Brock just sighed miserably and turned over to take his medicine without argument. Unlike their youngest, Brock was a natural rule follower who got no pleasure from pushing buttons or testing the grown ups. Trent was relieved to note once again that dealing with their second youngest was a walk in the park compared to wrangling the baby, especially if Clay was sick, hurting or upset.

"Good boy," Trent said, rubbing the kid's back to help him relax. "I'm glad to see you have entered the acceptance stage. I only wish some of your cooperative attitude and good behavior would rub off on Mr. Trouble."

Brock snorted, burying his face in one arm while reaching back to tightly clutch Trent's leg with his free hand. "Keep hope alive," he said sarcastically, tensing in anticipation of the impending needle jabs to his exposed backside.

"Hey," Trent said softly, sliding his calloused hand up to gently squeeze the back of his boy's neck before rubbing his thumb against the back of his head, grounding and offering support. "How about you relax and unclench your scrawny little tail. When have I ever hurt you?"

"Never," Brock said, turning his head to look up at his patient big brother with trusting eyes.

"Exactly, honey," Trent soothed. "So let's take the anxiety down a couple notches so we can get through the needles and move on to a refreshing shower to rinse off the sweaty, followed by some dry toast and Pedialyte in your empty belly. Fingers crossed that goes down smoothly and doesn't make an immediate rush for either the front or back exit. Then we'll get you settled on the couch for a day of doing absolutely nothing but chillin' with your favorite grumpy old guy in front of the TV."

"Sounds good, Trent," Brock nodded in agreement. "Am I staying for the rest of the weekend?"

"What do you think worry wart?" Trent chuckled, expertly cleaning the injection site and administering the two shots while his kid was distracted by their conversation.

"I think I want to stay with you," Brock admitted hesitantly, feeling like a needy little kid. "Is that okay?"

"It's always okay. Twenty-four seven," he assured him, once again. "If you and the runt haven't noticed, you two handfuls have been officially adopted as the only kids I need and want. This is your home, anytime you need or want the rundown old house or the grouchy old guy inside."

"I love you so much," Brock said, his eyes watering, still holding tight to the older man's leg.

"I know you do, sweetheart," Trent said, tugging up the back of his boy's shorts and giving the un-assaulted side of his bottom a light swat. "And I surely hope you know I love you more."

"Wait, we're done?" Brock smiled, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes embarrassed.

"Yeah, tough guy," Trent laughed, ruffling the kid's hair. "We're done. So get your sickly butt out of bed and into the shower while I toss these sheets and blankets in the wash and make us some toast."

"Yes sir." Brock obeyed, getting out of bed quickly and almost face planting on the floor.

"Woah," he said, reaching out to grab the headboard, suddenly dizzy, his knees buckling. "Trent?"

Turning to catch the kid before he hit the floor, Trent eased him down slowly on the bed, careful not to drop him down on his recently jabbed butt. Immediately in medic mode, Trent crouched down in front of the wobbly and disoriented young SEAL, taking his wrist to check his pulse which was currently racing. Moving his other hand to cup the side of the kid's head, Trent softly rubbed his thumb across his warm cheek to help calm him down.

"Woah is right, there kiddo," Trent soothed calmly. "Let's take a minute to relax and catch our breath. Deep breath and hold it for ten seconds. Breathe with me."

Always compliant with his trusted authority figure, Brock matched Trent's breathing, taking a deep breath and releasing after ten seconds as directed. Following the medic's lead, the kid took two more deep breaths before sitting quietly for several long seconds trying to get his bearings and clear his foggy head.

"When I said to take your sickly butt to the shower, I didn't mean it was a race to get there," Trent said calmly, moving to sit next to Brock on the bed and lifting his arm, inviting his baby brother to lean in against his strong side.

Brock turned into the offered safe embrace, seeking warmth. "I'm cold, Trent."

"It's the fever giving you chills, buddy," Trent explained. "I think we'll go with a bath rather than a shower to get you ready for your cozy couch. The last thing you need is a lump on your head or your tail from a slip and fall on the wet shower tiles."

"Okay, Trent," Brock nodded complacently, snuggling closer to the older man.

"You're such a good kid," Trent said, kissing his sweaty head. "Did I mention I'm hoping your top shelf minding will rub off on Clay?"

"Keep hope alive," Brock mumbled, closing his eyes and relaxing further into Trent's warm hold on him.

An hour later, Brock was sleeping peacefully on the couch. Bravo's young dog whisperer was medicated, warm, clean and successfully holding down a piece of toast and a half bottle of blue Pedialyte. And yes, Bravo was one hundred percent correct when they boasted that Trent was the best.

Now that his second youngest baby was likely out for the next several hours, Trent had time to think about the kid's guilt filled recounting of Katie's departure to him and Jason the previous afternoon back in Bravo's cage room. He wondered what advice Brock's own father across the country in California would give his youngest son if he were the one cleaning up behind him and nursing his sick kid back to health. Trent figured it had to be better than anything he himself had to offer, being that Brock's parents were still married after almost forty years, and he had three failed marriages under his belt.

Trent knew he needed backup for this one.

He didn't share Sonny's gloom and doom pronouncements that Brock would come to his senses and realize he was better off single. But, Trent did agree that twenty-three and twenty-two respectively was very young for Brock and Katie to truly understand the complexities of being married to a tier-one operator.

Brock was still learning what it meant to be a tier-one operator himself. A week before they committed to each other til' death to they part, Brock was sleeping in the top bunk in a dorm room on base with poster covered walls and an X-Box he shared with two other young SEALS, while Katie was student teaching, drinking at frat parties, and sleeping in her own college dorm room complete with sparkly heart lights and stuffed animals covering her bunk.

Trent thought the good news was that they both clearly loved each other. Brock and Katie were responsible kids raised in stable families with the example of loving parents who were still happily married. That was saying something no other member of Bravo or most of the guys on the other teams could claim. Trent knew that worked in their favor as well.

Trent and Jason both agreed with Sonny on one point. If Brock and Katie weren't ready to be married, it was better they found that out before they rushed to bring children into the picture. All three senior Bravo members knew from personal experience the lifelong emotional scars that came from unstable childhoods with warring or absent parents. But unlike Sonny, Trent and Jason both thought their sweet kid and his smart, adorable young wife had the potential to make it work.

But Bravo Four knew they needed some family support.

Trent called Jason to confirm Clay was okay and not puking all over Josh in Williamsburg. While he had the boss on the phone, Trent also wanted to remind Jason that he and Sonny were invited for steaks and beers at his place outside by the fire pit later that night.

"Are you still available to babysit Brock this afternoon?" Trent asked. "I'm going to run out and get groceries for tonight. I know a butcher who can hook me up with top shelf steaks if I buy in bulk. I was thinking we could make it a family night out and invite Ray and Naima, and I'll also call Metal. You let Derrick and Catherine know we want them to join us."

Jason was quiet for a few seconds, his wheels turning.

"Yeah, I can come over now and sit with the kid as long as you need me," Jason said. "But why do I feel like you have some kind of ulterior motive with the guest list? I love steaks and a Bravo barbeque as much as anyone, except possibly Sonny. But you offering to shop and host while you already have a sick kid on your hands seems sketchy to me."

Trent laughed at his longtime teammate and brother who knew him so well. "Sketchy?" he scoffed. "I haven't been sketchy in a decade."

"Just tell me what's up and you know I'm on board," Jason laughed back at his selfless medic, knowing whatever he was up to was most certainly aimed at helping one of his brothers. "I hate being kept in the dark. I'm the boss, remember? I need to know what my team has up their sleeves at all times."

"Okay, Boss," Trent gave in. "It's not sketchy, but I do have something on my mind."

"Which is?" Jason questioned.

"Which is the Brock and Katie show," Trent said.

"He's talking now?" Jason asked.

"Nope," Trent said. "He's still down for the count. No new details, but he broke my heart when I woke him up today. He actually teared up when I confirmed that he was staying here for the rest of the weekend, and that both he and the runt have been officially adopted as my babies who can consider me and my home available to them twenty-four seven."

"Maybe he was crying because he has to share you with 'Mr. I Need to be the Center of Attention at All Times'," Jason teased.

"That would be a challenge for someone who was the only child I had to coddle before you brought home the new baby," Trent deadpanned.

"For the record," Jason deadpanned right back, "I didn't bring him home. He was dumped on my doorstep."

"Well, regardless of how he got here, he's our brat now," Trent sighed. "And so is Brock. I'm worried about him, Jace."

"You think this Katie spat is really a big deal?" Jason asked. "Alana and I had at least five spats a week when I wasn't spun up."

"No offense, brother," Trent said. "But I'm not sure we want to use you and Alana as the best example of a healthy marriage. And I think it's glaringly obvious that I am no role model in the husband department."

"Touche, brother," Jason laughed. "You and I do not need to be counseling young couples in love."

"Absolutely not," Trent agreed. "But I'm worried about Brock. He seems so lonely, and lost about how to communicate with Katie. Even back after the mission in Central America, when Clay was so sick, he showed up at your place, and then my place, like a lost puppy not sure if he was still welcome, but not wanting to be alone at home. Katie was in DC for the week."

"Yeah. I remember," Jason said. "And he worries me sometimes too. He's so soft-hearted, and he clearly adores Katie and wants to do the right thing. But you're right that he has no idea what he should be doing or saying to her. And she seems oblivious, like she's content with living separate lives most of the time."

"Exactly," Trent said. "He told me a few weeks ago when we had just gotten back in town earlier than expected that Katie had already made plans for all but one night that week. Brock said he and Katie are like 'part time roommates with benefits.'"

"Ouch," Jason said.

"I can see her side of it," Trent said. "She's young, just graduated from college with a new job and a lot of friends. Katie probably feels like why should she sit around alone waiting to see if her husband will be showing up at home for dinner or disappearing to God knows where for two days or two weeks. It's a hard situation for a twenty-three year old kid to know how to manage. Katie probably thinks she's being a good military wife, keeping the house in order, the bills paid and herself busy while Brock is free to do his very demanding job."

"And who the hell knows?" Jason said. "She may be right. Alana had the kids to consume her time, and there was zero chance I could ever be Ray on the computer night and day when we aren't in the field involved in everything happening at home. It only worked for us as long as it did because Alana was independent."

"I agree," Trent said. "But someone needs to help Brock figure out how to at least approach and communicate with Katie. I know he wants his marriage to work, but he needs some good advice."

Jason scoffed, "Well, I know you can't be suggesting either Sonny or Metal be his wingman."

"Yeah, Boss," Trent said, sarcastically. "I haven't been drinking at all today. I'm not counting on either The Mighty Quinn or Full Metal Jacket to Dr. Phill this situation."

"So we're counting on either Ray and Naima, or Derrick and Catherine?" Jason asked.

"I'm actually leaning toward Derrick and Catherine for this particular situation," Trent said. "What do you think?"

"I have to agree," Jason said. "Ray and Naima set an impossible bar. Plus they have the kids, and we all know Ray's days as an operator are numbered. He wants to move up and have a more stable job on a base."

"That's what I was thinking," Trent agreed. "I'm inviting Ray because it's a family thing and obviously he and Naima are family. But Derrick and Catherine's situation is much closer to what Brock and Katie have going at this point in their lives. And they are both drama free and so good about helping out with everyone's kids."

"You don't have to convince me," Jason said. "They have been a Godsend to me dealing with Clay. He'd be getting his tail warmed at least once a week, likely more if they didn't run almost daily interference. Derrick barged in and literally saved my kid's ass from Ash in psycho mode, and Catherine would do absolutely anything for Clay."

"I know Derrick loves Brock too," Trent said. "And the kid looks up to him as another big brother he can trust. I'm sure Derrick would be willing to reach out. And I see Catherine having a lot in common with Katie, especially when she and Derrick first got married and they were young and just starting out in their own careers."

"So you want to soften them up with free food and alcohol and love at the family barbeque, and then hit them up to stage some kind of intervention with Brock and Katie?" Jason asked.

"Something like that," Trent laughed. "We'll feel them out and see how it goes."

"And where will Brock be when this subterfuge is happening in your backyard?" Jason asked. "I think it's been established he will be bird doggin' you for the next few days at least."

"Brock is still sick as a sad bird dog right now," Trent reported. "His fever is hanging on. He's nauseous, his belly is aching. I had to force him to eat a piece of toast and drink a half bottle of Pedialyte in full mom mode. I will have him tucked in, medicated, fed and down for the night before Sonny gets the steaks on the grill."

"Sounds like a plan, brother," Jason said. "You want me to bring anything for you or the kid when I come to babysit?"

"Can you run through McDonald's or Seven Eleven and grab one of those sugar-filled, blue slushies that Clay is addicted to?" Trent said. "Brock shares the runt's love for sugar and icy blue liquids. I'm hoping that might go down easier than the Pedialyte, and cool him down while replenishing some fluids."

"Worth a try," Jason said. "I'm on it."

"Oh, and speaking of Clay," Trent added. "What's the word from the cabin?"

"According to Josh, the kid is fit as a fiddle so far. Knock on wood," Jason said. "They were just driving to Six Flags when I called, and it sounded like Josh had fifteen rather than five kids in the van. They were laughing and yelling back and forth at full volume. I said a little prayer of thanks right out loud that it was him and not me behind that wheel."

Trent laughed. "And extra props to Josh for taking motormouth off our hands for the weekend. You'd have to draft one of the support kids to babysit and tell Clay we are going out for salmon and broccoli at a new health food restaurant to get rid of him before the barbeque. You know he is incapable of keeping a secret in Brock's presence. Or mine. Or Sonny's. Or yours, Ray's, Derrick's, Catherine's, Josh's. So basically motormouth is just incapable of keeping a secret."

"Salmon and broccoli," Jason chuckled. "I'm going to remember that for the next time I need some time in the Baby Free Zone."

As usual, Trent's well thought out plan went off without a hitch. Brock marched off to bed like a little soldier with no whining, fussing or complaints. He even let Naima mama him and give him his bedtime shots, which Clay would never do willingly if Trent was within driving distance. Ray's queen and super star mother/nurse took care of checking on the kid and getting him up every few hours to drink, eat a handful of oyster crackers and use the bathroom. Then she rubbed his back, singing softly as if he was one of her own, until he was sleeping again.

Ray and Naima had to head out early to relieve the babysitter who was only fifteen and not ready, in Daddy and Mama Perry's joint opinion, to be alone with two kids after ten who might wake up and give her a hard time. At that point, Derrick willingly took over as Brock's night nurse to give Trent a much needed break. Super medic had already done a thirty hour shift, with another thirty ahead of him if the kid was right about his wife's return date.

Around midnight, when the drinks and double chocolate brownies baked by Catherine were flowing, and the whole fam-damily, minus kids and a few adults taking care of kids, were sitting around the firepit, Trent threw out some feelers on the brewing Brock and Katie drama.

"You're telling me your boy scout called the little lady a bitch?" Metal coughed on his beer. "He must be feeling like three day old shit in the sun to let that slip out."

"Thanks for the charming visual Metal," Catherine said, rolling her eyes and standing to go for another glass of wine.

"I know what you're thinking, that I should have been a poet with my gift for both the spoken and written word," Metal responded, wistfully. "But, alas, the call of the sea beckoned me to leave home and hearth to join the Navy and see the world."

Drinks had been flowing all night, and that cracked them all up.

"Alas. You are An Ass," Catherine laughed, kissing him on the head on her way back to her seat by the fire. "But we still tolerate you. And my baby loves you."

"Don't even mention the Blond Headed Menace. He might appear from the bushes at the sound of his name like Bloody Mary," Metal grouched. "Bravo's Baby is Josh's problem this weekend. The rest of us are in the Brat Free Zone."

"Oh spare us your bullshit," Derrick scoffed. "Back in Mexico you were tormenting kitchen staff to get the kid's milkshake exactly like Uncle Trent brings it to him. And you scared the shit out of a skinny doctor and a sweet little old grandma nurse working nights at the infirmary."

"You can't prove that," Metal grumped. "I have no recollection of doing any such thing. And as a matter of fact, I remember telling the lot of you puppets in the hands of the Puppetmaster, that if he was my kid on Alpha, I would take him over my knee once a week and make his scrawny ass shine while he howled like a little girl until he damn well learned to behave."

Catherine snorted, "Lay a hand on my sweet boy and you'll find yourself in your own trunk heading over a cliff."

"Fuck Derrick," Metal said, giving Catherine the fish eye. "You better sleep with one eye open. This one is feisty."

"Oh, he already knows," Sonny said, reaching for another brownie. "I personally witnessed her kick the shit out of poor Derrick the night Ash came after the kid. I was embarrassed for him. And scared. Poor little Brock was traumatized."

"You better all be scared if you ever leave that boy anxious and alone again, when I am right across the damn hall, and don't have the sense to let me in on your irresponsible, dumb ass decision," Catherine said, shaking her head at her husband.

"See what you did now, Metal," Derrick whined. "She's trying to make eye contact with me. And I have to ride home alone with her in the truck. The only acceptable statement you can make about her blue-eyed prince is that he is a sweet, adorable, loveable baby who never has done a thing wrong in his life."

"Exactly," Catherine said, triumphantly. "But back to Brock. That cute, quiet kid with the dog who barely says boo, called his new, young wife a bitch? That doesn't sound like him. And I hope she at the very least slapped him hard upside his head to let him know that nonsense ain't gonna fly."

"I don't believe there was any slapping," Jason said. "But it sounds like the name calling was flying in both directions. Katie accused Brock of being a crybaby who caused her to fly with dirty hair or something ridiculous like that. I don't know."

"What?" Catherine said, skeptically. "I don't believe you guys have this story straight. The girl said he was a crybaby who made her fly with dirty hair? Unfortunately, none of you are a reliable source of information, so I can't reasonably weigh in on this situation."

Katie got up for another glass of wine. She was well on her way to wasted.

"Derrick," she said. "You're going in to check on the kid soon. When you have him upright at the table drinking his juice and eating his crackers, get the straight story."

"No way, Catherine," Derrick said, shaking his head. "The kid looks and feels like crap. I'm not pumping him for details on his love life like I'm doing his nails at some salon."

"You're right," she agreed, snacking on some crackers and cheese. "You are in no way qualified to give manicures or offer life advice to kids. You also never get details straight."

"You are correct," Derrick said, nodding at his drunk wife before turning to roll his eyes at Jason and Trent.

"I'll go in with you, so I can get to the bottom of this little domestic disturbance," Catherine said, pointing a cracker at her husband.

Metal and Sonny laughed.

"Absolutely," Metal said, patting Catherine's arm while Derrick glared at him. "We both know that Derrick is inept at handling this kind of delicate situation. And you're right that he never gets anything straight."

"You should definitely go in with him to supervise and get all the juicy details from the kid," Sonny said, solemnly. "The boy needs someone more sensitive and able to focus than Derrick to help sort out what happened yesterday morning. And we all know that you are a master at handling Clay. I'm sure you'll be great with Brock as well."

"Catherine," Derrick said patiently. "I really don't think Brock is up to being counseled on his marriage tonight. He has a stomach flu and he's exhausted."

"I think Derrick might be right about that, Catherine," Trent agreed. "The kid is really sick and probably can't remember the details clearly himself right now."

"No one knows his kid better than Trent, honey," Derrick said. "I don't want to upset him when he's already feeling so awful."

"Maybe you guys could stop over tomorrow afternoon," Trent suggested. "It would actually help me out a lot, Catherine. I have an appointment to get my oil changed, and Jason has to go pick up Clay at Josh's place. Brock should be feeling better by then, and maybe you could find out what's been going on and give him some advice."

Derrick was looking at Trent like he'd lost his mind. "I don't know Trent," Derrick said. "You think the kid will be up to company by tomorrow? He's still pretty sick. Maybe Sonny would be better to sit with him. Brock is already comfortable with him."

"I'm busy tomorrow," Sonny smirked at Derrick, who flipped him off when Catherine was looking at Trent.

"Derrick," Catherine said. "You're a medic. And Brock spends a lot of time with you. I"m sure he trusts you. Trent is right that the poor thing may need someone more sensitive than the brothers of Animal House to help him sort out this situation with his young wife. And I'm the only one on this deck who is actually a wife. And a woman. So we can most definitely take the time to come help out Trent with the kid tomorrow."

Derrick glared at Trent, shaking his head.

"What time do you want us tomorrow, Trent?" Catherine asked.

"My appointment is at four," he said. "Can you guys be here at 3:30? I'll bring back pizza, and you can join us for dinner."

"Great," Catherine smiled. "You better go check on Brock before we head out, Derrick. I'm going to run to the bathroom before we leave."

Once his wasted wife was in the house, Derrick turned on Jason and Trent. "I don't know what the fuck that was all about, but you two owe me big time. Why in hell do you want Catherine mixed up in Brock's squabbles with his wife? This is a headache I don't need. And neither does Brock."

Sonny and Metal were clearly amused and enjoying the show.

"Calm down, Derrick," Trent said. "Brock and Katie are having a hard time communicating right now. We're worried about the kid, and we thought you and Catherine might be able to talk to him and give him some advice. You two have obviously been more successful at making marriage work than anyone else here."

"Well that's the honest truth," Metal said, opening another beer. "None of the rest of us have any business offering advice in the relationship department."

"And you bastards couldn't just ask us to talk to the kid like normal people?" Derrick said, shaking his head. "You thought encouraging my wasted off her ass wife to ambush your sick kid was a good way to end the night?"

"It may not have been a responsible choice," Sonny said. "But it was definitely the most entertaining way to go."

"Don't get your panties in a twist Derrick," Jason said, patting his brother on the back. "We aren't going to send her in drunk to wake up the kid. Tomorrow, she will be her responsible, reliable, sweet self. Brock will be feeling a lot better. And you and Catherine have the best chance of anyone we know to understand what Brock and Katie are going through as a newly married, young couple trying to navigate marriage, starting their careers, tier-one status and what that entails. And they are several years younger than you and Catherine when you got married - they need support. We are worried about the kid and hoping you can help get them talking and listening before this rough patch turns into a full shit-show."

"We'll see what we can do because I like Brock a lot, and I can see the kid is struggling," Derrick said. "And my wife will enjoy nothing more than being the wise advice giver in her own real life Hallmark romance."

"And seriously, brother," Trent said, smiling. "We're sorry for being sneaky. You're right that we should have just been straight with you and asked for your help."

"Please," Derrick scoffed, walking toward the house to find his drunken wife and head home. "You're not sorry. But you will be. Just wait."

"So, I'll see you tomorrow at 3:30?" Trent called after him.

"Tomorrow at 3:30, we'll be here," Derrick opened the sliding door to enter the house. "And I want sausage on my pizza," he grouched.

"Sausage," Jason said, smiling. "You got it."

As Trent predicted, by noon the next day, Brock was coherent and feeling a lot better. He still had a low grade fever and some stomach upset, but Trent was keeping things down with Tylenol and chewable Nauzene tablets, in addition to another blue slushie that Jason dropped off at lunch time.

"How are you feeling today, kiddo?" Jason asked, sitting on the coffee table across from his young teammate. The master chief and part time mother hen handed over the slushie and pushed back the kid's bangs to check how the fever was cooking.

"Better Boss," Brock said, taking a sip of the icy treat and smiling. "Thanks for this. Clay got me hooked on the blue. Before he came along, I always went for red. But he's right, the blue is a cut above."

Jason chuckled. "Yeah, well, if anyone is an expert on unhealthy, sugar packed, crap, it's definitely Mr. ADHD. It's a miracle his teeth haven't rotted out of his head."

"Candy and other assorted snacks are definitely the runt's wheelhouse," Brock smiled. "When is he getting home from the camping adventure?"

"I'm picking him up at Josh's place this afternoon," Jason said. "And speaking of my naughty kid, just because he has decided to make himself your shadow, doesn't mean you should let his bad judgment rub off on you. It's my intention for you to influence Clay, not the other way around."

Brock immediately recognized the annoyed dad face on Jason and turned to make eye contact with Trent who was sitting in the armchair next to the couch. The young dog handler wasn't near one hundred percent yet, but he could tell his boss and hero was not happy with him for some reason. And there was no one Brock wanted to make proud more than Jason. And Trent was right when he had said that the kid hated to have his dad and big brothers upset with him.

"Don't look at me," Trent said, shaking his head. "I agree with the boss completely."

Both older men were staring down the kid, watching him stew in his juices, wondering if he was in trouble. Brock was not used to being the one double teamed by the boss and the medic in bad cop mode. That was Clay's regular position. Brock was no dummy, and it took about ten seconds for him to catch up and realize he wasn't off the hook yet for showing up to work sick and then spending the day hiding from his big brothers.

Thinking back to the scolding laid on him after the Friday afternoon puke fest, Brock suddenly realized that Uncle Trent was absolutely correct - he was suddenly very relieved not to be a sixteen-year-old boy. It was pretty clear he had a lecture coming from his pissed off foster dad, but if Clay had lied to Jason and Trent, and then spent the day hiding to cover up his lie, right about now the kid would be on his way over Jason's lap with his pants around his knees.

Unfortunately for Brock, at twenty-four and old enough to be expected to know better, a scorched butt and tearful regret would not be earning him post-spanking hugs and comfort along with assurances that he was forgiven and allowed to move on.

Brock suddenly remembered a few weeks back when he and Katie were laughing together and trying to scrape off the burnt remnants of a plastic container she melted in the oven after preheating without removing the random junk they hid in there. They were both drunk off tequila shots and waiting for the pizza guy to arrive with their second attempt at dinner.

Katie had looked up at him laughing from where she was standing at the sink in her sleep shorts and his old Foo Fighters concert shirt. Her long, brown hair half-up, half-down, with grease on her forehead, dish soap in one hand and a plastic ice scraper from the trunk of her Kia in the other. She shook her head, trying to sound serious, and solemnly said, "Adulting is not all it's cracked up to be."

Leaning back miserably and taking another sip of his blue treat, Brock looked back and forth between his glaring big brothers and shook his head. "Katie was right," he said, solemnly.

"Is he delirious again?" Jason grouched.

"No," Trent said, rolling his eyes. "He's trying out a little distraction and subject changing."

"Well, that's not going to cut it this time, Son," Jason said without a hint of humor. "I trust Trent already made his displeasure at your irresponsible and immature behavior perfectly clear."

"Yes sir. He did," Brock said, sitting up and setting his drink on the coffee table.

"I'm not going to rehash what you did wrong," Jason said sternly. "You fucked up, and we all know it."

"Yes, sir," Brock said. "It won't happen again."

"It had better not," Jason said, calmly with ice in his voice. "You are ten years younger than the average first year tier one operator. Ray vouched for you and said that you were smart and mature enough to handle being Bravo, and I agreed."

Jason stopped talking to let that hang in the silent air.

Trent caught the kid's eye and shook his head from the other side of the room letting him know that he should most definitely keep his mouth shut.

"Don't make me wrong, Brock," Jason said, pinning him still with his unwavering stare. "I have never made the wrong pick."

Brock looked back to Trent about thirty seconds from puking on his hero's lap. His most trusted authority figure nodded slightly.

"You were not wrong, sir," Brock said, strong and confident. Like the grown man he most definitely did not feel like at the moment. But his voice was steady. "I fucked up, and I know it. I acted like a kid, which I most definitely know is not acceptable in the field or at work on base. It will not happen again. There is nothing more important to me than this team. You did not pick wrong."

"Okay, then," Jason said, standing. "I don't want to see you anywhere near base until Trent clears you for duty. Whenever that is, you can start working yourself off the top of my shit list the first morning back by showing up two hours early and staying two hours late to run drills. Everyday for two weeks. We're off rotation this week. If we are spun up next week, you can finish your time when we return."

"Copy that, Boss," Brock said.

"Are we clear on my expectations moving forward?" Jason said with less heat.

"Yes, sir," Brock managed without spewing his blue sugar water.

"Excellent," Jason said, clapping his hands together. "I'm going home to have my last few hours of peace and quiet before I pick up Sunshine from Josh's place."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Trent laughed, moving over to the couch and resting his strong hand on the kid's head to offer support. Brock was working really hard to hold it together and not show the panic he was feeling until his hero was out the door.

"I feel an hours long, blow by blow recounting the weekend's adventures coming my way," Jason said, shaking his head. "Let me know if you are coming in tomorrow or if you need to be here another day with the kid."

"I'll be fine alone," Brock said, quickly. "I can probably go back to my place, Trent."

"That's Trent's call," Jason said. "Not yours."

"You're not going anywhere until either your cute wife returns from her fun in the sun to take over nursing duty, or you are looking and feeling a lot better than you do right now," Trent scoffed. "And that's a non-negotiable, tough guy. Capice?"

"Yes, sir," Brock said, leaning into the hand Trent still had on his head.

"He still feels warm to me," Jason said, heading for the door.

"That's because the fever is still holding on," Trent said, getting up and returning with the Tylenol and Nauzene. "If you want him ready to run four hours of drills in addition to his regular schedule, it's going to be Wednesday at the earliest."

"Your call," Jason said. "I don't want him back until he's ready. The drills will still be there on Wednesday. Or next week if that's what it takes. I want him healthy."

"We're on the same page, Boss," Trent said, easily.

"Good," Jason said on his way out. "I'll talk to you later."

"Holy shit, Trent," Brock said, ready to panic now that he was alone with his protector. "I thought I was gonna puke."

"I thought so too," Trent said, handing him his afternoon meds. "Good thing you were already sitting down. You looked ready to pass out." The medic chuckled.

"Jesus, Trent," Brock said, holding the pills in his hand, but making no move to take them. "It's not funny. I almost had a stroke. I thought he was throwing me off Bravo."

"Take your medicine and relax," Trent scoffed. "You're not getting thrown off Bravo. Although by the end of your two week punishment, you probably will be wishing the boss had just tossed you. You do realize that four hours a day of drills for two weeks is forty hours of running your ass off. Not to mention crawling, climbing, and shooting in the eighty degree heat. And Jason actually loves you. Imagine how screwed you would be if he didn't like you. You really managed to piss him off."

"Yeah, I got that message loud and clear," Brock said.

"I certainly hope you aren't dumb enough to pull something like this again, kiddo," Trent said, sitting down next to his second youngest and lifting his arm to offer the reassurance and comfort the medic knew Brock was craving.

Brock leaned against his big brother, gratefully accepting the offered love.

"How are you feeling?" Trent asked.

"Better," the kid answered honestly. "My stomach isn't as upset. Or it wasn't until the boss showed up."

"You said Katie would be back Tuesday?" Trent questioned.

"Yeah," Brock said softly. "I'm supposed to pick her up at the airport at five."

"Let's hope you are ready to go this time," Trent teased him.

"You're hilarious," Brock grouched. "It's a good thing I love you."

"Sure is," Trent answered, rubbing his arm slowly.

"You think Katie's still gonna be pissed at me?" Brock said softly.

"Are you still pissed at her?" Trent questioned.

"No," the kid said. "It was my fault. She reminded me to set the alarm. I was tired and feeling crappy, and I just forgot."

"Shit happens," Trent said. "I'm guessing by now she's having a great time with the bachelorettes and not holding a grudge."

"You really think so?" Brock asked hesitantly, looking up at the older man he had come to rely on for so much.

"I would think so. But honey, I've never lied to you, and I'm not going to start today." Trent paused, moving his hand from his kid's arm to his head. "I haven't got a clue what Katie is thinking or feeling. I can see you are looking to me for reassurance and advice, and in this particular situation, I can't help you."

"Okay," Brock said, not knowing how to respond to his most reliable caregiver saying he couldn't help him.

"Hey," Trent said, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. "It's not that I don't want to help you. I am always there for you, twenty-four seven. But marriage is clearly not my specialty. And sadly, Jason shares my ineptitude in this area. We have four failed marriages between us - and three of them are mine."

Brock chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I see your point." Suddenly tired, he lay down on the couch resting his head in Trent's lap. "I still feel crappy. Thanks for letting me stay."

Trent stroked his cheek with his thumb. "The boss is right. You're still warm. And you are always welcome to stay - sick or not."

"You're so good to me and Clay," Brock mumbled, wrapping his arm around the medic's leg. "Jason is right. We'd be in a world of hurt if we didn't have you taking care of us."

"Well, you are in luck once again," Trent said. "I may not have any reliable marriage advice to offer, but I do know how to locate a specialist and delegate when necessary."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brock asked sleepily.

"I'm going out to get my oil changed this afternoon," Trent said. "Derrick and Katie are coming to babysit while I'm gone. And they're staying for pizza."

"I know I've been a big baby this weekend, but you don't need to hire babysitters to take care of me," Brock said. "I think I can handle laying on the couch watching TV or sleeping while you get your oil changed. I'm not Clay."

"Apparently in your muddled, fevered state, you missed the meaning of my delegating your love life issues," Trent said.

"I don't want to talk to Derrick and Catherine about my marriage issues," Brock whined.

"Too bad. They'll be here at 3:30," Trent said, matter of factly. "Have I ever given you bad advice or hurt you in any way?"

"No," Brock sighed, still holding his big brother's leg.

"Then trust me this time," Trent said, still rubbing his cheek gently. "Derrick is a brother. You know that. And I know you like and trust him. Katie is great. Clay loves her, and we both know he doesn't latch on to just any one."

"But it's embarrassing, Trent," Brock said, channeling his inner teenager. "What am I supposed to say to them?"

"Off the top of my head," Trent said slowly, "I would say that you just talk to them and ask them what they think. Just like you do with me or Jason on a regular basis. It's not a big deal, kid. Don't get yourself all overwrought. If I didn't think they could help, I wouldn't have asked them to talk to you."

Brock was quiet. Mulling that over in his head.

"Trust me, honey," Trent said, gentle and firm.

"Okay," Brock said quietly, turning to bury his face in the older man's leg. "Thanks for trying to help me. I love you."

"The feeling is mutual," Trent smiled, tugging the kid's ear and rubbing his back until he fell asleep.

A week and a half later, Brock was halfway through the two-week punishment Jason had handed out for his immature, bad choices. And it was most definitely kicking his ass. He was dead tired and ready for nothing but swallowing whatever Katie put down in front of him and crawling into bed, passing out until before dawn when it all started over again. Brock felt like he was living in some fucked-up, Navy SEAL version of Groundhog's Day where the same bad day replayed itself over and over. And he still had another week to go.

Clay was taking it hard too. He had leaned up against Brock one night when the older kid stumbled out to the parking lot, looking haggard at 8:00 p.m. after his second two hours of punishment drills at the end of the long, hot day. The younger kid was sitting on the bed of Brock's truck holding a blue slushie he had successfully pestered Bravo's senior grouch to take him to get for his suffering brother. Clay wasn't used to seeing his big brother punished. He was the official naughty brat, while Brock was always the good kid.

Sonny shook his head fondly listening and watching the runt leaning up against Brock who looked like hell. The older man thought for about the thousandth time that he could never be either the boss or the father, handing out punishments, no matter how well deserved and necessary, to these kids who had stolen his hard heart and turned him into a secret softie.

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this," Clay grouched, relaxing under Brock's offered arm and holding his big brother's shirt in his fist. "But, I'd rather get a spanking with the spoon than this stupid punishment. Jason is being a mean jerk. It's not your fault you got sick. It's not fair."

"Yeah, well pip squeak," Brock sighed. "I have to agree that a blistered butt which would be good as new by now would have been my choice too, but unlike you, I am supposed to be an adult. And don't think for a second that this is the boss's fault or give him a hard time on my account. I mean it, Clay."

Brock forced the kid to sit up and look at him. "Jason and Trent are both right to be royally pissed off at me. What I did was dangerous. I knew I was sick, and I knew the rule is to go to Trent immediately. I was feeling sorry for myself because Katie was gone, so I acted like a spoiled kid and went into work so I didn't have to be home alone. Then I hid and lied all day to cover being sick. If we had gotten spun up, I would be sick and possibly puking in the field. When Trent reamed me out, he said that's how people get hurt, or worse. And he was right. I deserve what Jason is giving me."

Clay sighed, leaning back against the older boy's side. "I guess so," he said, begrudgingly.

"I know so," Sonny said, sternly. He pulled the baby off Brock who looked like he could barely hold himself upright without a complaining teenager on top of him. Turning the pouting kid toward his own truck parked next to Brock's, the older SEAL gave Clay a good, hard smack across his little backside to put an end to the whining and get him moving in the right direction.

"Ow, Sonny!" Clay yelped, surprised, rubbing his stinging bottom. "What was that for? I didn't even do anything."

"You're whining on this one's behalf," he said, pointing at Brock. "And you are questioning the boss's decision, which I am not having. And disrespecting the man who took you in as his own son, which I sure as shit am not having."

Clay looked down, guiltily, knowing Sonny was right.

Brock gave Sonny the sad, brown doe eyes, nodding toward the chastised boy who he knew must have put the full court press on Sonny the Grouch to score him a slushie, silently pleading his baby brother's case.

Sonny shook his head and growled with zero heat. "You know," he scolded, "What you two both need is a little one on one time, bare assed at the end of the boss's spanking spoon."

Sonny paused to let that image formulate before continuing.

"And you Trouble," he said, pointing at Clay. "You had better believe that turned over Jason's knee howling is exactly where you will find yourself if you ever decide to pull a stupid, reckless stunt like your supposedly grown brother thought was a good idea. Brock was one hundred percent correct when he told you that what he did was wrong. Jason is the adult and the boss. You, shorty, are neither. Jason decides who gets punished, and he hands out the punishments. Your job is to keep your mouth shut, and mind the adults."

Sonny didn't do the dad glare, but he was rockin' a pretty tough, pissed off uncle vibe. Arms crossed, staring down his tail between their legs, nervous looking boys.

"Both of you get your little asses in my truck," Sonny ordered. "Brock, you don't look like you can make it out of the lot without passing out. Leave your truck. I'll drive you home, and tomorrow I'll pick you up on my way in. We're spun up in the morning, so no early drills until we get back. If Katie needs the truck for something while we're gone, Derrick will drive her in to pick it up."

Sonny opened the passenger door, motioning Clay to get in first and scoot to the middle of the seat before taking an exhausted Brock's blue cup from his hand and passing it back to him, tousling his wet hair, once he was seated next to Clay."

"You don't have to do this, Sonny," Brock said, leaning his aching head against the cool glass of the passenger seat door and taking a sip of his icy treat. "I could make it home."

Sonny scoffed, pulling out of the lot. "Yeah, I can see that," he said, sarcastically. "And don't argue or contradict me. Either of you. It's hot as hell. We're getting spun up tomorrow, and I am not in the mood for backtalk from any brats. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir," they both chorused.

"Thanks for taking me to get the slushie, Uncle Sonny," Clay said, softly, leaning against the older man's hard, muscled arm. "I love you."

When Brock chuckled, quietly, Sonny reached over, taking the drink from his hand and putting it in the drink holder on the floor of the truck between Clay's feet. "Give me that frozen sugar water before you go to sleep and spill it all over my truck," he grumbled.

Sonny looked up at the sky, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head. Lifting his arm, the hard-assed, battle-worn tier-one SEAL invited the scruffy orphan to curl into his side, while the exhausted dog-handler leaned against his window, allowing both his boys to happily rest for the entire ride home.

Sonny dropped Brock off first, before driving Clay home. He parked and walked up to the third floor with the kid to be sure someone was home at Derrick's place waiting for him. It was going to take a long time if Sonny ever would get over being the one who unwittingly had let Ash get to their baby. Clay didn't complain which told Sonny the boy was still skittish about walking up to the apartment alone.

Jason was going to be on base late meeting with Blackburn and a bunch of analysts about the upcoming mission. Catherine had offered to keep Clay overnight with her and Derrick so that the kid could eat a good dinner and get to bed early. Jason was grateful for the offer, not wanting the kid to either have to wait up for him or be woken up at whatever ungodly hour this meeting was finished. Since Bravo wasn't scheduled to fly out until ten the next morning, Derrick said he would let Clay sleep in, get him fed and deliver the kid straight to the tarmac at 9:45.

Right on time as usual, Derrick dropped the kid off and sent him on the plane to hang his hammock and settle in while he waited for the other guys to arrive. Brock arrived with both his and Clay's gear a few minutes later. He sent Cerb onboard to sit with the kid while he and Derrick talked off to the side of the plane.

Trent had been right once again about Derrick and Catherine being the best option to offer support to Brock and Katie. As predicted, Catherine and Katie hit it off and the two had plans for checking out a movie and getting their nails done while Brock was away and Derrick busy on base.

Despite the age difference, Derrick and Catherine helped the younger couple see that there was nothing wrong with relaxing and just doing their own thing for a while. They just needed to touch base and talk to each other regularly, whether it was in person or on the phone, to avoid miscommunication and hurt feelings.

Derrick explained to Katie that Brock was feeling left out, like maybe she didn't need him or he wasn't being a good husband. Catherine spent an entire afternoon talking to Brock about how it felt for Katie to never know for sure if and when he'd be home. She told him how she herself had come to rely on friends at work for companionship because Derrick's first responsibility always had to be his team. And she gently reminded him that he spent a lot of his time at home with Clay or Trent, and that like him, Katie had to develop relationships with friends and coworkers if she didn't want to spend the bulk of her time alone. And that his young wife had been willing to sacrifice a more traditional marriage to support him and his life as a tier-one operator.

Spending time with the older couple who had managed to make their marriage work for so long, despite the odds, had helped both Brock and Katie to calm down and realize that there was no rule book to follow for a successful marriage. As long as they were content with their relationship, they didn't owe anyone else an explanation, and the only pressure to make their marriage 'right' was unnecessary pressure they had put on themselves.

When the rest of Bravo arrived on the tarmac, Derrick gave them a big smile and a thumbs up before heading back to Alpha's cage room to start his own day. Sonny looked at Brock with a 'what the fuck is he so cheerful about' expression, but the kid just shrugged and made himself scarce.

Once on the plane, Brock checked on Clay and Cerb who were sitting against the side of the plane by the kid's hammock. Cerb was pressed up against the kid who was busily digging through a bag of candy searching for Pixie Stix.

"That's a lot of candy, Squirt," Brock commented, smiling as he crouched down next to the kid and rubbed his canine partner's head. "Has Trent seen that stash you are hoarding there? Where did you get all that sugar?"

"Derrick let me pick whatever I wanted from that candy store on the boardwalk this morning," Clay said, happily ripping the end off of a purple Pixie Stix and pouring the flavored sugar into his mouth.

"He took you to the candy store this morning?" Brock chuckled. "Does the boss know?"

Clay shrugged, downing two more Pixie Stix before pulling out a water bottle and squirting the contents into his mouth to wash down the multicolored sugar. "I don't know," the kid smiled. "Probably not. But Jason told me Derrick was in charge and I had better mind him. So after he took me to that breakfast place on the boardwalk by the Holiday Inn, he asked if I wanted to get some candy for the flight."

"And you said, 'yes sir', I assume," Brock was laughing now.

"Yep," Clay said, opening a bag of Sour Patch Kids and holding it up to Brock. "Want some?"

"I'll pass, buddy," Brock said, ruffling the kid's hair and standing to set up his own hammock. "Just out of curiosity, what's in the water bottle?"

"Mountain Dew Baja Blast," Clay grinned. "Derrick let me order the regular Mountain Dew at breakfast. And then he bought me a big bottle to refill my water bottle during the flight."

Catching sight of Jason and Trent on the other side of the plane, Clay shoved his sugar hoard into his backpack and stashed it under the blanket on his hammock.

"Don't tell Jason or Trent," Clay said, looking up at his big brother with puppy eyes in full force. "They'll take it from me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Runt," Brock raised his hands smiling and moved to set up his hammock in a quiet corner away from the blond Willy Wonka.

Brock pulled out his noise blocking earbuds and a blanket, ready for a much needed long rest. It was going to be twenty hours in the air heading to the other side of the globe, and the young dog handler fully intended to spend the time sleeping peacefully, music playing, wrapped up in a warm blanket.

When Trent looked over at him suspiciously, Bravo's second youngest just smiled and gave his big brother a cheerful salute before disappearing beneath the blanket which the kid pulled up over his head to block out the light.

Less than an hour into the long flight, Sonny was ready to toss the kid out a window. "What the fuck, Trent?" he stammered. "He's bouncing off the walls. Shorty is acting like he's high on something."

Jason was in another section of the plane with Blackburn and Ellis, but Ray was as confused as Sonny. Only Brock seemed oblivious, still buried under his blanket without a care in the world.

"Jesus, Trent," Ray said. "Sonny is right this time. I know the kid is always on the edge of an ADHD incident, but this is over the top even for Mr. Ants in His Pants."

The three senior Bravo members were staring, wide eyed at Clay who was practically vibrating with hyperactive energy. He was currently drinking from his water bottle while sucking on a blue lollipop.

"I don't know what the hell is going on, but I know someone who does," Trent said, walking back to where Brock was hiding and yanking the blanket off the sleeping kid.

"Get up, Brock," Trent ordered.

"What the hell, Trent?" Brock moaned, sitting up and burying his face in his hands. "What is your problem?"

"Oh, I think you absolutely know my problem," Trent said, stepping to the side of the kid's hammock and pointing across the plane to Clay who was currently jumping around with Cerb, bouncing a rubber ball off the metal floor and then racing the dog to try to catch the ball first.

"Where the fuck did he get a rubber ball?" Brock said, confused, stumbling out of his hammock.

"Really? That's your response to the kid on a plane thirty thousand feet up in hyperdrive?" Trent growled at him. "And if you even try to play dumb with me, I swear on my mother I will get Jason to add another two weeks to your new punishment schedule."

Brock turned to stare at him with his mouth hanging open. "Oh my God, Trent," he said, looking horrified. "Don't even say that out loud. I can't do another three weeks!"

"You can and you will if you lie to me," Trent said, dead serious. "I do not bluff. Ever. Start talking."

Brock bent down to grab his bag. As he rifled through the contents, he looked over his shoulder to see Ray and Sonny staring him down as well. "Um, just a suggestion," he said, looking over at Clay who was winded from the ball bouncing and chugging the blue liquid from his water bottle. "You should probably confiscate the water bottle."

Handing a folded paper to Trent, Brock moved to attempt to corral both the dog and Clay who were enjoying themselves once again with the bouncing ball.

Sonny grabbed the water bottle and removed the top to look and smell its contents. "What the hell is this?" he growled at Brock. "It looks blue. Is it Gatorade?"

"That Son of a Bitch," Trent said, shaking his head. Handing the paper to Ray, he joined Brock who had ordered Cerb to sit, but was currently having less luck controlling the kid.

"What is this supposed to mean?" Ray asked, clearly confused. "It just says 'Now you're sorry'."

"What?" Sonny asked, looking up from the water bottle.

"It's from Derrick," Trent grouched, taking Clay by the arm and wrapping his arms around him from behind to still his body and settle him down.

Sonny looked confused for another few seconds before the lights came on. "That fucker," he said.

"I don't get it," Ray said, rereading the paper. "'Now you're sorry'? Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for getting Catherine all riled up when she was drunk at my place last Saturday. Sorry for not just asking him to talk to Brock without the drama," Trent sighed. "When I apologized, Derrick said that I wasn't sorry, but I would be."

"Bingo," Brock said, laughing.

"You were in on this you little fucker," Sonny growled. "You aren't in enough trouble with the boss. Jason's head is going to explode when he gets a look at the Energizer Bunny on crack here. What did you give him? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"No way, Sonny!" Brock immediately moved to panic mode. "I had nothing to do with it. Derrick left him this way on the plane. He just gave me the note and said to give it to Trent after we were in the air."

"No way Derrick would drug the kid," Ray said, appalled.

"What?" Brock said. "Calm down. He's not drugged. Derrick isn't psychotic. He just let him go crazy with the candy this morning."

"You said you wouldn't snitch!" Clay pouted, trying unsuccessfully to pull away from Trent.

"Hey," Trent said, clearly meaning business. "Settle down and stay still. Or else."

Clay immediately tried to settle, but he suddenly had to pee.

"Sorry Squirt," Brock said, solemnly. "I'm already in enough trouble."

Clay was wiggling and crossing his legs, still trying to pull away from the medic. "Trent," he said, panicked. "I'm gonna pee myself! I gotta go!"

"Jesus Christ," Trent growled, taking the kid by the arm again and hauling him to the bathroom. Opening the door, he quickly pushed the kid in and stood in the open doorway. "Go!"

Trent was staring down Brock. "What's in the water bottle?" he said, calmly, but still clearly pissed off.

"Clay says it's Mountain Dew Baja Blast," Brock said, trying to stealthily move towards Ray for protection on the off chance that Trent started hitting.

"Don't move," Trent said, still scarily calm.

Brock froze. Then he started rambling. "I swear I didn't know until I got on the plane. Clay was all over and I caught him downing Pixie Stix and Sour Patch Kids. He said Derrick let him have regular Mountain Dew for breakfast and then took him to a candy store on the boardwalk and let him buy whatever he wanted. He's on a sugar high."

"Wash your hands, and get out here, Clay," Trent ordered.

When the kid came out looking nervous, Trent gave him the ticked off dad stare. "Where is it?" he said.

Clay pointed to his hammock looking guilty. "Derrick said I could get whatever I wanted," he said, hesitantly. "I swear, Trent. I didn't even ask him for anything. He just told me I could pick what I wanted to take on the plane because it would be a really long flight."

"I"m not mad at you," Trent said. "Even though you clearly knew I wouldn't approve or you wouldn't be hiding your stash under the blanket. Go get it. I'm pissed at Derrick. Not you." Ruffling the kid's hair, he gave his backside a swat, and pointed to the bag under the blanket.

"Why are you mad at Derrick?" Clay asked, handing the bag of candy and Mountain Dew to the medic.

"It's complicated. And none of your concern, Shorty," Trent said, sifting through the bag and shaking his head. He tossed the bag to Sonny. "Get rid of this when we land."

"Trent," Clay whined. "Don't throw it all out. I won't eat it all at once. I promise."

Trent scoffed, "I think you've already had enough sugar to fuel the Northeast power grid. You're done. And I'm already not happy, so I don't want to hear another word about it."

"Yes sir," Clay said, softly. Looking miserably at Sonny.

"Don't look at me," Sonny said. "Trent is obviously feeling generous this morning. I think last night I already told you, and the other half-truth telling sneak over there, exactly what I think you two both need."

The floor of the plane suddenly got very interesting to both Brock and Clay who were looking down and avoiding eye contact with Grumpy Uncle Sonny. It was clear to Trent and Ray that neither boy wanted any part of whatever Sonny thinks they need.

"So," Sonny paused, letting his brats give some thought to what he had said in the parking lot the previous night, before continuing. "I would strongly suggest that the dog boy over there scampers back to his hammock and puts his butt back to bed. And you, Trouble, better mind Trent for the rest of this long ass flight or I will put you over my knee for the very first time and paint your little backdoor red right here in front of everyone - including Ms. Ellis and Lisa."

"Sounds like excellent advice to me," Ray said. "Boys?"

"Yes, sir," Brock and Clay responded, both looking over to Trent for support.

Trent sighed, shaking his head at his clearly anxious babies.

"Bed, Brock," Trent said, opening his arms and allowing the kid to walk into a tight hug. Giving him a quick kiss on his temple, he released the kid who crawled back into bed and under the blanket without another word."

The three older men turned their attention back to their youngest who was currently trying to keep still as ordered, but failing miserably.

Looking over at his brothers, Trent shook his head. "With the number of empty Pixie Stix wrappers I counted, and the two liters of Mountain Dew, I'm gonna say it will be two to three hours at least before this one comes down off the sugar rush and hits the wall. Then he'll most likely sleep like a rock the remainder of the flight," Trent paused. "Which is exactly what that bastard Derrick knew would happen."

"Come on, Sweetheart," Trent said, gently, motioning for the kid to follow him back over to his hammock on the other side of the plane. "Sounds to me like Uncle Sonny means business today. So I'm going to strongly suggest that you do your absolute best to settle down and mind. Think that's doable?"

"Yes, sir," Clay said softly, sitting down on the floor next to Trent who was in a quiet corner with his back against the wall. The older man, Clay's most consistent source of comfort and care, allowed the boy to turn over on his belly and lay across his outstretched legs, resting his head on a blanket Sonny tossed over from his own hammock.

Rubbing the kid's head, Trent spoke softly. "How about you tell me all about that book you've been reading on the low-down in your cage when the boss thinks you are organizing?"

Clay turned his head to smile up at his favorite uncle. "You really want to hear about Frankenstein? Or you just want me to keep still?"

"I want my favorite runt to keep still and avoid an embarrassing and painful trip across his Uncle Sonny's knee in front of a live audience that includes ladies, while also getting a detailed retelling of the legit, original Frankenstein by my super-smart, sweet, sometimes naughty kid," Trent said. "You think you can handle that request?"

"I can," Clay said, curling up and wrapping his arms around Trent's leg seeking warmth on the cold floor. "Did you bring a hoodie?"

"I think there's an old one shoved down in the bottom of my bag," Trent said, moving his hand to rub his boy's arm and leg to warm him up. "You cold, honey?"

Clay nodded, curling in closer. "I forgot my hoodie at home when I went to Derrick's last night. Can I wear yours? It's cold here today."

Reaching over to grab his bag, Trent dug out the hoodie from the bottom of his bag. When the kid sat up, the medic pulled the worn out, red hoodie over his head and watched as Clay got his arms in the sleeves, and turned to lay back down across his lap.

Rubbing his back to help him settle, Trent listened silently as his kid told the entire story of the misunderstood monster from beginning to end. When he was finally finished, Trent dumped and rinsed the Mountain Dew from the kid's water bottle, refilling it with water which he made Clay drink before feeding him a granola bar and sending him back in to use the bathroom.

Shaking off his wet hands on his way out of the bathroom, Clay caught sight of Sonny giving him the 'you better behave' face. He froze, backing up into Trent, remembering Sonny's spanking threat and not wanting to take any chances.

Trent made eye contact with his formerly hard-ass brother over the kid's head and shook his head grinning. Clay was more in danger of Blackburn snapping and warming his tail than secretly soft-hearted Sonny ever giving his baby a real backside scorcher. The Mighty Quinn practically cried if he was in the vicinity when Jason or Trent punished the kid, so Trent was pretty sure the kid was safe. But clearly Clay wasn't as confident. Appreciating Sonny's contribution to their brat's current top shelf behavior, Trent was happy to let the kid sweat a little.

Sending him back to his hammock, Trent got the kid tucked in and sat next to him. Leaning back in a plastic chair and pushing up the hoodie which swallowed Clay whole, Trent gently rubbed the kid's back until he finally hit the wall and fell asleep.

Once the medic was confident he was down for the next several hours, he pulled the hoodie back in place and covered him with a blanket. Bending down, he kissed his head and gave the kid's upturned bottom a gentle pat before moving off to check on Brock who was sleeping like the dead on the other side of the plane.

Stopping to grab a bottle of Gatorade from the cooler, Trent crouched down on the side of his older boy's hammock, twisting the top off the bottle and gently shaking the kid while calling his name. Brock had been clearly exhausted earlier that morning before heading out to board the plane, and Trent wanted him to get as much sleep as possible before hitting the field and the sweltering desert heat.

"Brock," Trent called softly, not wanting to startle him awake again. "Come on, Kid. Wake up for me."

Slowly waking, Brock sat up rubbing his eyes and looking confused. "Is it time to land?" he asked, looking up at Trent.

"No Buddy," Trent smiled, reaching out to push his hair back off his forehead and resting his strong hand on the kid's head. "We've only been in the air a few hours. I want you to get some fluids in you before you crash for the rest of the flight. How are you feeling?"

"Um, okay, I guess," Brock said, still groggy, but taking several long sips of the Gatorade as directed.

When Trent was satisfied that he'd had enough, the medic took the bottle from the kid and pulled up a chair to sit by his hammock until he was sorted. Settling down on his stomach, but turning his head to face his most loved big brother, Brock sighed and went boneless, sinking into the hammock while Trent gently rubbed his aching back.

"You're the best, back rubber, Trent," he mumbled. "Don't stop yet. The boss is killing me with these drills. The morning isn't too terrible, but by quitting time at 8:00, I can barely climb up into the truck. I told Katie when we get back, she can keep the truck and I'll take the Kia into work for 'Punishment, the Sequel'. It's easier to sink down than climb up."

It was quiet for a few minutes before Brock mumbled again. "Did I mention that you're the best back rubber? Clay says so too."

Trent chuckled softly. "Yes, honey," he said. "You and Clay have both mentioned that you appreciate my back rubbing skills. The runt is also partial to my tummy and head rubs."

"I can't argue with him on that," Brock said. "You know we love you, right Trent?"

"So I've been told," Trent smiled.

"I'm sorry about earlier today," Brock said. "I guess I should have told you about the candy hoard, but Clay asked me not to snitch, and I didn't think he'd go off the rails like that. Don't be mad at him. You know we hate to make you mad."

Trent sighed. "You know Metal is right about you two. You both play me like a fiddle," he said, still rubbing the kid's back. "And I'm not mad. I'm not mad at Clay. I'm not mad at you. I'm not even mad at that juvenile ass Derrick. We had it coming for riling up Catherine. Clay is fine. He's sleeping like the baby he is. I'm over it. So I want you to relax and get some sleep."

"Okay," Brock said softly. "And you were right about Derrick and Catherine helping us out. You really are the best. And I really love you, and would be a hot mess if I didn't have you looking out for me."

"Shh," Trent whispered. "I love you too, honey. And right now, I want you to get some sleep. No more talking."

"Night' Trent," Brock mumbled.

"Night' Kiddo," Trent said, leaning back in his chair. He stayed another thirty minutes to be sure his baby brother was sleeping soundly before moving back to the other side of the plane to get some much needed sleep in his own quiet hammock.