So, my opinion...NBC's coverage of the 2022 Beijing Olympics was sadly lacking.
Happy note...10-episode Season Six on the way, and a movie...HummmmHmmmm.
"It's just…..Trent…" Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mug of coffee in both hands. Ray was sprawled in a chair, feet up on a table, ankles crossed. Best to let Jason handle this. Trent tended to get defensive and hostile when Ray tried to talk him down. "You tend to obsess when confronted with a challenge…."
Ray snorted, earned identical dirty looks, responded with a cheeky grin.
"I don't obsess." Trent scoffed.
"You don't?" Jason chuckled. "Okay, right."
After the dust-up between Trent and Sonny, Support, along with Brock and Cerberus, had been dispatched to locate and return one wandering Bravo rookie to Doc in the previously off-limits infirmary. Jeff had soon called Jason to inform him he had Clay with him in the mess test and it had been decided, since Blackburn had secured Doc free-run of the facility, Jeff would take him there when he was done eating.
Jason had followed Trent, more to see where he was going, then any strong desire to curtail his activities – whatever those might have been. Ray had tagged along after Jason because he was nosy but Trent had merely returned to quarters.
"I'll figure him out Jace." Engaging in a fist fight with Sonny of all teammates in spandex briefs, had left him with road rash and smarting skin that would turn into painful bruises. Apparently, bare skin didn't skid easily along infirmary floors….least his didn't. Ow.
Jason bit his lip, nodded. Jace, huh. Oh boy.
"That's what I'm talking about….either you'll figure him out or die trying…." And what the hell was it with his men running around in their underwear?
In the process of getting dressed, Trent paused, eyebrows going up in disbelief. Die? Pfft! "Die? That's a reach, don't you think?" He settled his jeans at his hips, zipped the fly. Some bruises were just discoloration of the skin, others hurt….his would hurt. Damn Sonny Quinn!
"His issues can't become your priority."
"You wanna give him back?" He donned a hoodie, zipped it, adjusted the hood until it laid flat.
Jason winced. No. No, he did not. "I didn't say that!" He didn't like that suggestion at all and he had no intentions of kicking Clay off the team. Besides, you didn't 'give back' a Navy Seal. Really, who would you give him to? Well, another team….and no way in hell, was he gonna let that happen. "That's not what I'm talking about." He cracked a slight grin. "I'm saying, don't go going it alone. I'm right here, let me in."
"He's pretty tight with Randy…..they spend a lot of time in Ops togetherrrrr…." Ray offered, voice trailing off. "No? Oh. Okay then. Not the time. Right."
"Enough outta you." Jason snapped, but then ruefully admitted, "Working on that. Ellis will back off." He saw Trent's blank look turn to one of confusion and added, "Mandy wanting him in command."
Pfft. Was that all? Trent blew it off. Wasn't even a current worry.
"He's a novelty she's never had before." Ray smirked at the glare from his boss, "Right. Quiet time for Ray." he made the sarcastic, childish motion of zipping his lips and tossing the key.
Novelty? Jason finished the last of his coffee, set the mug aside, rubbed his eyes. He was tired and wanted to go soak in a tub of hot water with Epsom salts but that wasn't going to happen until his missing rookie was found.
Of course, three of Bravo sitting around, rehashing shit, wasn't going to help find him any sooner. Trent was dressed, was even now putting on boots…..just where was he going?
"…gotta say, right Jay?" Ray just couldn't resist adding.
Jason scowled. Why wouldn't Ray just shut the hell up? Now where...Oh, right. He had one hell of a tactical mind, the ability to plan, plot, reason, but Clay's was mathematical, and he had an ability with languages that Jason lacked. Is that what made him a novelty?
"Something is wrong with him." Jason didn't ask Ray to repeat what he'd missed while defining 'novelty' in his head.
"I know."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"When will you?"
"Can't say."
"What if the infirmary doctor is right?"
"He's not."
And again, Ray couldn't remain silent. "You're not a doctor Trent." He opined.
"Don't need to be."
"You don't have the medical training to determine that."
Trent glared at Ray. "Don't need it."
"But….."
Trent turned away from Bravo Two, "I know him Jace, I know asthma, I know whatever the fuck his problem is, I'll find it and it isn't gonna end his career, because it isn't asthma."
Irritated, Ray thumped his feet to the floor, stood up. "Don't turn your back on me."
"You really think that's enough?" Jason asked his medic, ignored Ray.
"Yeah, I do."
"Then what is it?"
"Dunno. Thinking allergy maybe." Even though there was no mention of such in his medical file, he and Doc had discussed it while Trent had been in the woods and Doc had been with Support's Tier Two team at their camp. "Don't care what it takes, I'll do whatever I have to, until I find out."
Stung, Jason demanded, "Allergy? When did you decide that? And why is the first I'm hearing about it?"
"Thing is Trent, you're supposed to color within the lines, the color it's supposed to be." Ray commented. "A tree is green, you know?"
"Thing is Ray," Trent shot back, "Not all trees are green."
"You need to stay within the lines."
"Not if I have reason not to."
"He needs to go to a hospital, see a specialist." Ray was firm, he was not going to be swayed by a fussy medic. Nope. Nuh-nuh. He wasn't Bravo One. "You can't just decide to…to...to experiment on him."
"I can do what I want."
Ray massaged his eyebrows. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere, wouldn't change Jason's mind, but he was going to butt in anyway, because he had to try.
"Jason," he began in his patient, 'this-is-how-to-handle-Bravo-One', tone. "You can't let the guys just decide to…."
"Ray," Jason returned with a curled lip meant to mollify, but was in fact, frightening. "Got something to say?"
He certainly did. As usual.
"We should wait until we're home, let Doc do proper tests, in a hospital with medical…."
"Doc doesn't need to be home to do tests." Trent cut in.
"Proper tests." Ray stressed. In a military hospital on U.S. soil where there would be actual techs and nurses and aides. "Not guesses based on someone's gut feeling."
"Don't beat around the bush Ray," Trent snarled. "You mean mine. I saw him in the words, in the smoke. It wasn't an asthma attack."
"The base doctor merely treated him as a precaution, he never specifically said…."
"It will follow him, that gets written down." Trent disagreed. "Will linger. Will always be in his file. Ain't gonna happen, I have anything to say about it."
"But…." Ray paused for effect, "….you don't….."
Moved by the look on his medic's face, Jason began placatingly, "Ray, look, in battle, on a mission, planning an attack, I trust your judgement, will heed your advice but in a case like this, Trent has the lead." He paused, "Besides, the kid hasn't exactly warmed up to you."
Ray blinked. Say what? The hell did that mean? "This isn't about whether or not Clay wants to come over for a BBQ," he shot back. "It's about a medical diagnosis that affects all of us."
"…and this isn't your field of expertise." Jason finished with a dark look for being interrupted. "And I meant, he isn't likely to confide in you."
"Expertise?" Ray repeated. "Not really Trent's either." He paused. "And why would Clay confide in me?"
"And if it's diagnosed by Doc, I'll accept it." Trent was angry. "But it's not going to happen 'cause I'm telling you, he doesn't have asthma."
Jason sighed. He'd hoped to have a conversation with his medic without getting him riled up, but Ray had tagged along and his 2IC had a way of ruffling feathers. He let this go on much longer, more punches would be thrown.
"Then what does he have?" Ray demanded. "What? What is it Trent? Allergy? To what? Why now? How would you know? You don't have the….."
"Working on it," And so was Blackburn, who was making arrangements for Doc to fly out with, if not all of Bravo, then Clay, to a hospital in….ahh, Poland?…where the 'proper' tests – dirty look at Ray – could be done discreetly. Translation – off record. Which meant, Blackburn had pulled strings and promised favors. So, this was gonna cost.
"Not good enough."
"Gonna hafta be."
"Enough." Jason's tone shut down the brewing argument. Ray was closest, within reach, so it was he, who got the smack. "How long do you need?"
"For what?" Ray demanded, rubbed his slapped ear. "What'd you do that for?"
Trent hedged, "Longer than you're gonna wanna give."
"How. Long. Trent."
Trent shrugged. "Months," though used to Jason doing the unexpected, he was still caught off guard, blinked, when his boss merely nodded.
"Months?" Ray coughed. "I'm sorry," he waggled a finger in his smarting ear. "Slap musta busted something…..did you say months? Months for what?"
Trent knew he was being mocked, decided to ignore it, would deal with it later when he wasn't so preoccupied. "Getting used to him, getting him to trust us, accepting him, figuring him out."
"You sure you wanna do this? He's gonnna be work," Jason needlessly pointed out.
"I've got Doc." Trent stared his boss down defiantly, saw Jason was offended, his dander up, his feelings hurt, aaannnnddd just couldn't resist adding, "Brock," because sometimes, he was 'indeed' the dick Sonny accused him of being.
"What, you saying you don't have us?"
Trent huffed. Really? Now? Jason was going to question whether Trent believed he couldn't rely on his team for help and support with Clay now? Eh, his bluff had been called. He nodded acceptance at his leader, ducked his head.
"Chances are, a medical professional – you know, a trained, educated, qualified doctor – has made the correct diagnosis." Ray said calmly. "His symptoms…."
Trent snorted, shook his head. "Symptoms?" he scoffed, "What symptoms? Fainting because he was too tired? Blue lips because he ate fruit? Unable to breathe because of pine smoke? Cold water in a running creek? Those symptoms?"
"Yeah Trent, those symptoms."
"Your qualified doctor's a fucking quack. Those are not symptoms of asthma and no shit-head, funky-ass…..." His phone emitted the song assigned to Jeff. It would piss Ray off if he answered it…so he did. "What's up? Yeah? Now? Okay…no, no…stay right where you are…Don't. Do. Anything. You hear me? I'm on my way." He ended the call, sent a text as he made for the door. "Gotto go Jay."
"Who was that?" Ray asked. "Hey!" Trent headed for the door. "Where are you going? Trent? Hey!" He sighed, threw his hands up. "Jason? You gonna let him get away….Jay?"
But he didn't receive an answer, because he was alone, apparently 'gotta go Jay', meant 'follow me'.
***000***
"Look," Sonny began. "Listen, I didn't do anything."
Wheeeezzzzz….heeee….Wheeeezzzzz….
When Clay had gone limp, Sonny had dropped him like a hot brick burning his skin and the kid had slumped across the table, wheezing pathetically, which is how Jeff found them.
"What's wrong with him?" Sonny wanted to know. What the hell should he do? Scoop the kid up and run to the infirmary? "This is what he did before."
Jeff knew that. He might not have been there, but Randy had recounted the episode from the mess tent in explicit detail. Juggling everything into one hand, he pulled his phone, dialed Trent. Sonny didn't even notice.
Wheeeezzzzz….eeeee….Wheeeezzzzz…..
With Clay sprawled across the table like a rag doll, fingers grasping for purchase on the smooth surface, gasping for breath, his lips swollen and blue, they were attracting notice and now, a crowd…..and still, Jeff just stood there.
Wheeeezzzzz….weewweeewwweeweeeeee….Wheeeezzzzz….
"People are staring." Sonny hissed to Jeff who remained stoic and steadfast. "The hell Jeff!"
Jeff didn't like it either, but he remained quiet, did nothing even when Clay's attempts to grab hold of something with his fingers along the smooth surface weakened, slowed, stopped.
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeeezz…..wheeeezzzzz….hicuuuup…..wheeeezzzzz…..hiiiccccuuppp.
Sure enough, they'd attracted quite a bit of attention. People gathered, made comments, offered help, suggested taking Clay to the infirmary, recommended they make haste. Jeff thanked everyone but refused all help and allowed no one anywhere near Clay. Except Sonny of course, who refused to be budged.
"He's wheezing again." Sonny stated. Jeff rolled his eyes, 'ya think?'. "Don't just stand there, you're a medic, do something."
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeezzzzzzzzzzz…..eeeezzzzzzzzzz….Wheeeezzzzz….
He had, he'd called Trent and been told to do nothing, so…nothing he would do.
"Jeff!"
Support's medic appeared calm, nonchalant, but he was anything but. He'd somehow, somewhere lost the push-up and bottle of Advil, held his cellphone in one palm, kept a reassuring hand on Clay's back. He made circular motions, patting occasionally. But rubbing soothing circles failed to offer any comfort to the one who couldn't breathe, and Jeff wasn't as relaxed as he appeared….his heart thumped and there was deep pit of fear in his belly. If Clay started to panic....
The fuck are you Trent? Jesus Christ, put a pep in your step, light a fire under your ass and haul it here lickety-split.
"The fuck Jeff, you waiting for him to pass out?" Sonny demanded, slapped Jeff's hand down, tried to haul Clay to his feet, was pushed away. "You're not gonna help him, I will, even if I hafta knock you out and carry him outta here."
And Jeff said, "Wait." If Clay stopped wheezing before Bravo's medic arrived, he'd help Sonny carry him to the infirmary.
"His lips are swollen!"
Awash in a muted haze, Clay, having managed to somehow command his hand to obey, pressed his palm to his chest. He wanted to speak, tried to, but getting the breath to do so, was refused. By his lungs. Which were forcing him to inhale breaths through a crushed straw with a crack in it. He managed to lift his head from the table but it was so heavy, he tilted first one way, then the other, trying to find balance.
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeezzzzzzzzzzz…..eeeezzzzzzzzzz….Wheeeezzzzz….
He wanted to stand up, was sitting on a bench bolted to the floor that didn't move when he tried to push back, so he was stymied, didn't know what to do….so he sat, and gasped and wheezed, coughed with blue, puffy lips, both palms braced against the edge of the table, arms shaking from the strain of keeping him upright.
He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a shake, but the haze remained - his vision was blurred, his hearing was slow to pick up sounds, making what he heard, garbled. He tried to swallow, couldn't, raised panicked, pleading blue eyes to Sonny to do something to help him.
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeezzzzzzzzzzz…..eeeezzzzzzzzzz….Wheeeezzzzz….
And pinned with that tortured gaze, Sonny cracked.
"Wait?" He repeated slowly as if he'd never spoken the word before. "Wait? Did you say….wait? As in….do nothing? That kind of wait? Define wait, Jeff." He'd never felt so helpless in his life and those trusting blue eyes were clouding with confusion because he stood there like a dumb fuck with his dick in his hand...and did nothing.
"Just wait."
"Wait? WAIT? Wait for what?" He tried to move next to Clay, was pushed back. "Dude," he warned, stepped forward, was pushed back. He tried again with more force, was pushed back. "Move aside!" He physically shoved Jeff backwards, gathered Clay, whose eyes were rolling, his head dipping forward, into his arms and prepared to lift him off the bench.
"Let him go." Jeff regained his balance, pushed back. Sonny lost his hold on Clay who started to slide under the table. "Leave him be. Gimme…." He stopped Clay's descent to the floor beneath the table where they'd have to drag him out by his feet, left him once again seated on the bench and sprawled over the table. "Stop."
"BACK OFF!" Sonny bellowed, again reached for Clay, was blocked again by Jeff. "Okay, that's it!"
They were seriously scrapping when Trent and Jason arrived, Doc moseying along a bit behind munching on an apple, looking for all the world, like he was out for a leisurely stroll.
"There. That. This." Trent told Doc. "He was doing this out at the camp, but his lips weren't blue."
Ray, Brock, Matt, Randy and Seth joined the party.
"Well," Doc tossed the apple core into a nearby trash can. "Hmmm." And he stood there, head cocked looking at Clay while Sonny threw a stroke. "Huh." He mused, hands on his hips. "Hmmm." And Sonny danced in agitation.
"Do. Something." Sonny seethed and Doc went...Hmmm.
"Or swollen." Brock said with a troubled frown. Oh, he didn't like what he was looking at, at all. Nope. No sirree Bob.
"And you gave him oxygen?" Doc bent over, peered into the visible half of Clay's pale face.
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeezzzzzzzzzzz…..eeeezzzzzzzzzz….Wheeeezzzzz….
"Yup."
"And it eased his ability to breathe?"
"Yes."
Wheeeezzzzz…eeeezzzzzzzzzzz…..eeeezzzzzzzzzz….Wheeeezzzzz….
"The HELL?!" Sonny exploded. "You're just gonna stand there and talk?!"
"Did you lay him flat?" Doc continued as though 'Gonzo wasn't hopping mad' next to him.
"I did."
They'd been over this, more than once, but now that both Doc and Trent were both present to witness a reaction or attack, they were content to go through it again.
EEeEEEe…..EEEEEeee…..zzzzzzz….EEheeEEHee…hee….eeez…..wheezzz….
"….took a bit to calm down though," Trent finished.
Doc was nodding, poking Clay in the shoulder, the back, pinched his neck, tugged on an ear, dragged his head off the table by his hair, held it still by cupping his chin, leaned over until they were eye level, dipped an ear to hear Clay's tortured attempts to breathe.
"Jason…." Sonny went into a verbal tirade against Jeff and Trent, even Doc. Jason nodded, let him rant. "…..you gonna let this go on?"
"…duplicate this." Doc was saying. "See if I can figure out what triggers an attack." He let go of Clay and his head hit the table with a thud.
Sonny was livid. He well knew how sadistic a bastard Trent could be, how abrasive, but this was beyond acceptable. He didn't know Doc's rank or active status, but it didn't matter and he didn't care, the good man was about to get a thorough thumping.
EEeEEEe…..EEEEEeee…..zzzzzzz….EEheeEEHee…hee….eeez…..wheezzz….
Frowning, Brock shifted his weight. He'd never question Trent's methods or call him to task for the way he treated any of them medically, but he didn't like this at all.
Ray stared Jason down, urged the team boss to say, do something. He rarely hesitated to tell Jason what he felt Jason should do, but with Bravo One just standing there, arms crossed over his chest, hands tucked into opposite armpits, hip cocked, he was loathe to say Jason should…well, do something!
"I do say, you're right Trent." Clucking his tongue, Doc walked around Clay another time or two, bent down, leaned across his back, felt for a pulse, shrugged. "Not an asthma attack." He muttered, said something to Trent only Bravo's medic could hear, "Think so? Worth a try, right?" He withdrew a bingo marker and before anyone could move or question what the hell it was, stabbed Clay in the side of his thigh through the fleece of his pajamas.
Every member of Bravo flinched.
"The fuck?" Sonny yelped. "Jesus! The hell is that?"
EEeEEEe…..EEEEEeee…..zzzzzzz….EEheeEEHee…hee….eeez…..wheezzz….
Exasperated, Doc waved a hand of dismissal. "You wanted me to do something." Sonny's face contorted in rage, he stepped forward, hands ready to grab hold and bodily move the good man aside. Doc huffed, rolled his eyes. Alrighty then, the Texan was not in a mood to be teased. "Epipen. Relax."
Stumped, Sonny paused. "For what? He wasn't stung by a bee."
"You really think it's an allergy?" Ray questioned doubtfully. So Trent hadn't just been talking shit. "Really? To what?"
"Don't know." Doc said off-handedly with nonchalant shrug. "Don't know if he does. Clay? Your leg numb?" The blonde shook his head. "Feel any tingling?" Another shake. He could hear multiple voices, couldn't follow any, but he knew his name. "Just trying something out."
Ignoring the chorus of questions and comments, Trent murmured, "He's not following you." Doc nodded.
EEeEEEe…..EEEEEeee…..zzzzzzz….EEheeEEHee…hee….eeez…..wheezzz….
"You don't know?"
"Why give him epinephrine, he doesn't need it?"
"Try something out? What? He's not a guinea pig."
"Again, you can't just experiment on him!"
Wheeeezzz...Wheeezzz...Wheeezzzz...
"Won't it hurt him, you give him that and he doesn't need it?"
"….why'd he need oxygen in the woods?"
"...wouldn't he need it now?"
"…don't need it for an allergic reaction, right?"
"…..not usually."
Wheeeezzz...Wheeezzz...
"….did it work though?"
"…..help him then?"
Wheeeezzz...
"There we go," Doc was nodding, patting Clay on the shoulder. "That's it, getting easier to breathe now, right? No need to panic, you're good."
A flurry of activity, some mutterings and Dutch plunked a metal cylinder on the table. "Had to steal it. No one at the infirmary was willing to part with it."
"Thought you were on that Eric." Doc swirled nozzles and knobs, valves, whatnot on the portable oxygen tank, while Eric stared him down, raised a hand to scratch his beard – with only his middle finger. He put the mask over his mouth, made a face, adjusted a knob everyone assumed controlled the flow, nodded, motioned with his hand.
Multiple hands grabbed Clay, who grabbed for the table but it was a useless gesture, he was moved anyway: He was lifted, picked up, hugged - hugged? - carried, plunked down. He resisted, not knowing what was going on, was in fight mode when strong, warm arms trapped his arms against his sides and a chin kept his head pressed against a strong shoulder that smelled like damp dirt.
His panic started to ease, his desperate attempts to breathe were rewarded, the odd, fuzzy surroundings around him began to settle and he could make out shapes, faces.
"Feeling any better?" he was asked. "You should find it easier to breathe. Deep breaths, just breathe."
Surprisingly, he did. He frowned, his chest was tight, his throat ached and his heart raced, but draw a breath, he could….even if it was a tortured breath. He blinked, squinted, tried to see something else.
He did.
And the sight made him squeeze his eyes shut and hide his face against a sleeve. Embarrassment? Humilation? Horror? Cause even flat on his back, staring up with blurred eyes and heaving chest, even upside down, he recognized Jason Hayes hovering above him.
He moaned...Aww...Fuck.
"Heyheyhey," a quiet voice shushed him, he was held, jiggled and juggled into a more manageable position, his chin cupped, his hair petted…..so many hands all over him – touching, feeling, patting. "Enough of that. Sssh. Stay still."
His ears picked up words, but he wasn't able to understand them. Something tried to cover his mouth, and he ducked. He didn't want anything to hamper his ability to breathe again. Not so soon anyway. Not after having just gotten it back.
"...take this...stay still...hey now...let me...here..I say..."
"Gimme that." Trent said impatiently, swiped the mask out of Doc's hand who raised an eyebrow at Blackburn who smirked. "Dammit Spenser, this is going to help you. It's me, Trent. Trust me."
No matter how many times he tucked and tilted and threw his head, and despite his numerous attempts to thwart what chased him, it was forcibly pressed against his mouth, over his nose, and held there when hands tangled in his hair and forced his head still.
He paused, went still….air….it was blessed air…and he wanted more. He gulped, swallowed, gulped. He needed more.
He tried to raise a hand to grab hold, but he couldn't move. He squirmed, tugged, but was ordered to cease and desist all attempts to: free himself, fight, hide, refuse the mask; was ordered to lay still, relax, breathe. The voice was both authoritative and familiar, somewhat comforting, he forgot it was Jason who held him, whose lap he laid in, and obeyed.
"That's it, just breathe. Relax. Nice and easy, just like that." He was coached by a different voice. "Relax, take it easy. You breathe, just breathe. That better? Hmmm?"
That voice, soothing but unfamiliar, had Clay blinking in confusion. He rolled his eyes in dry, red sockets in complete circles in an attempt to see everything and all around him but the mere, slight motion, succeeded in making him dizzy, and his stomach roll.
Maybe he paled, maybe he groaned, maybe he stopped breathing, he must have shown or displayed some kind of discomfort because he heard a chorus of voices and activity erupted.
"Trent…!"
"….what's wrong…."
"Doc….
"…..with…him?"
"….do something!"
"...is it..."
"….hey now…."
He was jostled, laid flat, the shoulder was now a thigh. A hand cupped his cheek high near his eye, fingers felt his wrist, his neck. The mask over his mouth pressed closer. One eye was thumbed open, an extremely bright light made him wince, swallow repeatedly.
"That's it, you're good, all is okay. You're ok." He mumbled 'no' without moving his lips, but with the oxygen mask, no one heard him. "Breathe, just take a breath. Breathe."
He bit his lip, tongue trapped between his teeth as he panted, fogging the mask. His stomach wanted to heave…he licked his lips, swallowed….his eye was released, the other thumbed up….and...GOD DAMN THAT FUCKING LIGHT!
His head kicked against his skull….the pain positively exploded.
Tears. Blood from a bit lip. More tears, and then there were murmurs of sympathy, demands something be done, both harsh and patient tones telling him he was okay, to breathe through it.
Hands grabbed his shoulders, others went under his arms…he was sitting up, the mask was removed, something cold was applied to his neck, a wet cloth bathed his face, soothing circles were rubbed on his back….then he was lying down again, the floor hard and cold, the wonderful flow of oxygen restored.
The cold, wet cloths, though now gone, made him cold, the hard floor was unforgiving, he shivered, trembled until he was once again picked up, deposited in someone's lap.
"Keep your head down." He was instructed when he tried to lift it. "That's it, keep your eyes closed…both of them, settle down a bit." Squatting next to Clay, Doc looked up at Blackburn. "Can I have him?"
He didn't know where he was, who was with him, what was going on, and whoever they were - one voice was husky, the one annoyingly nattering on, a different pitch – wanted him to remain quiet, still and blind?
Wasn't gonna happen.
But it did.
His head sent shards of pain down his neck the two times he tried to move it, his eyes went slack, the mask was held over his mouth…and though still awake, he knew no more.
Eric waved a hand. "He's all yours."
"Can you run the tests you need here?" Ray asked.
"Most probably not."
Ray opened his mouth to ask why then, Doc wanted Clay for tests if he couldn't do the tests needed to diagnose the kid's problem here at the base infirmary; wanted to know what sense that made; wanted to suggest that Clay be taken to an actual hospital, but an elbow dug sharply into his gut, and with a grunt, he cast his team's Lt. Commander a disgruntled look and remained silent.
Ruffling Bravo One's feathers was one thing, ruffle Eric Blackburn's? Yeah Ray wasn't going to go there.
"I trust I won't encounter interference?" Doc said to Eric in such a dry tone, Bravo's Lt. Commander wrinkled his nose, then nodded, pulled his cellphone from a pocket, stepped away to make calls. "Let's go Trent, keep him on oxygen."
Go? I don't wanna go. There's warmth here, I'm warm, I can finally breathe, Clay thought drowsily. And there was comforting, firm weight beneath his cheek, skin to skin contact on his hands….and he simply wasn't ready to move yet.
"Give him a bit." Jason sighed, loathe to relinquish his hold on his rookie. Maybe they should wait until the kid was breathing without oxygen.
But Doc didn't want him off it.
So yeah, they could just wait until Jason was ready to give him up.