"The hell did you eat?" Brock wrinkled his nose, wheeled back as Clay hung his head over the trashcan.

"Dunno." Clay sat back, accepted the offer of a damp rag. "Something purple." He wiped his face, then his mouth, slid off his heels, sat on his hip. "Some bark, I think."

"Gonna need another shower." Brock commented but he didn't think there was time for another one now.

Clay blinked, frowned. There was something about a shower that he wanted to complain about but the memory refused to be captured and he let it go, pushed the trashcan away.

"I..." He swallowed, swiped the back of a sweaty hand across his forehead. "Didn't...there's no mess."

"No." Brock agreed, got to his feet. "You're all sweaty though. You done?" He toed the trashcan and when Clay nodded, picked it up and carried it outside.

By the time he'd emptied it, cleaned it and returned, Clay had managed to crawl back into bed, though he wasn't quite lying down, neither on his back nor his stomach.

"Hey, let's change your shirt." Brock held a long-sleeved Henley in one hand, reached for Clay with the other. "Turn around...no, around...sit up. Turn around and sit up."

Clay obeyed, but he faced the wall rather than Brock, reached out with his hand then let it fall into his lap when he didn't see what he expected to be in front of him. - Brock. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He said slowly, sadly. He felt weak and disoriented.

"Woof!" Cerberus jumped up on to the bed, nudged his nose under Clay's arm and when Clay reached to scratch his ears, gave him a kiss.

"What's this about?" Brock unbuckled the sling, let it fall, began to tug the sweat-soaked shirt up Clay's back.

"What Stewie said," Clay ducked and shimmed his way out of the shirt, let Brock pull it over his head. "And I don't remember either." Good God, he was tired. Every muscle and joint and tendon wanted him to lie down, pull the pillow over his head, go to sleep.

Brock smiled, aware Clay had left out what he didn't want to talk about, but bothered him all the same - being given a shower and bath. By Trent.

Clay frequently had convenient memory lapses when it came to what someone on his team did for him - or when he held onto a sleeve or pant leg or sought comfort in the lap of someone he knew - when he was hurt or sick or medicated. At first, it had been cause for alarm, made his team worry, but then, then Eric had Doc assigned permanently to Bravo - at Jason's urging for a doc of their own, no doubt - and the good-natured Doc had laughed jovially when Ray had tentatively brought to his attention, Bravo's concern. Had claimed Clay could well remember everything he wanted to, but he chose not to because it would force him to face his embarrassment and make him the butt of jokes and humiliation.

Bravo had discussed it one night around a bonfire while the kid slept off yet another close call in an infirmary. Clay had a stubborn streak, could be stupidly obstinate. If teased or made fun of, God knew what he'd take in his head to do, so the team, along with Davis, Mandy and Eric had decided never to call him on it.

Brock didn't know how the hell the kid had made it through as much as he had in the Navy before joining Bravo. Either his friend Brian had had his back since boot camp or Clay's issues and problems hadn't happened back then. Brock found it hard to believe Clay hadn't suffered injuries with whatever team he'd been on, but whatever.

"Doc gave you some meds before you went out and some more when you got back." Brock said, tossed the wet shirt, held a towel. "He thinks you're throwing an allergic reaction to tree moss and the antihistamine shot might've left you befuddled."

"Yeah," Clay used the towel to wipe down. "There was a mud puddle. Fucking bird was huge."

Grinning, Brock took the towel, used it to ruffle dry Clay's hair, wiped his face, didn't correct him. "Arm up."

Just the simple act of changing his shirt - with help - left Clay shaking. Once Brock buckled him back into his sling, settled his arm comfortably with an ice pack, he crawled with his knees, pushed with his hip and soon sat in the middle of the bed, facing Brock.

"It's all hazy...after I got back. I remember falling out of the tree." Clay looked baffled, lost, tired. "I didn't leave any evidence and went radio silent, turned off my tracking devices even though Sonny said I ever did, he'd render me a soprano. I hid from the sky and avoided camera's and MP's and snuck back on base and Brock, that fucking bird bit me."

Brock waited, Clay was winding down, eyes drooping.

"But then, I dunno…I don't know what happened after, uh, that."

"Hey." Brock cupped a hand around the back on Clay's head, pulled him forward, pressed their foreheads together, winced at the sweaty heat and foul breath. "You ain't gotta worry about any of that, you hear? All you gotta do is trust us, okay? We're right here. Do what you do best; fight for us and annoy everyone else. Can you do that?"

Clay nodded, didn't pull away, the touch both reassuring and comforting. Finally though, he listed sideways and Brock let him go, got up. Cerberus circled a time or two, laid down at the foot of the bed. Brock found mouthwash in an open duffel on Sonny's bunk, poured a bit into a plastic cup, told the kid to rinse and spit.

"Get some sleep." Brock patted the pillow, guided Clay down onto his side. "Trent did what he had to, that's all. You gotta know by now, we'd do anything for you, and if keeping you on Bravo, from being transferred, meant Trent needed you clean and not looking like you fell out of a tree, just know he'd do it again."

***000***

Brock, Ray and Trent slept restlessly in their bunks, waiting for the knock on the door signaling the arrival of Captain Kneil with permission to talk to Clay. They still didn't understand what any good upper brass talking to Clay was going to do for Five, but there wasn't any way they could stop it.

Blackburn had told them, that if at any time, Five gained proof Clay had left the base to aid him in the retrieval of Bravo, he would likely be taken into custody and remanded to solidarity confinement within other barracks for disobeying orders. He would remain there until a hearing regarding his future could be conducted, with the outcome most probably being: if Clay agreed to the transfer and Bravo halted all efforts to stop it, all 'charges' and 'allegations' would go away.

If may go that far, it may not. Bravo may or may not, get their kid back. He simply didn't know. All he could say was, it was possible this might be the last time Bravo saw Spenser for a while. This shit show had gone above Harrington and the Captain had had no choice but to allow the questioning of Spenser. If Five weren't involved, weren't pushing, then the usual punishment - which, since Clay had been with his team's Lt. Commander, would have been a severe scolding, not even a slap on the wrist - would have been dealt and this would be over.

So, yeah, everyone was tense and on edge. Tempers were short, moods black, patience non-existent.

Clay was sprawled on his back in his bunk, tangled in a fleece blanket that no matter how many times someone freed and spread over him, ended right back up in a twisted, mangled bunch around his hips. Jason and Eric played cards but Jason's mind was not on the game and they were only playing war. No, every time he laid down a card, his mind wandered to some mission or event or time or job where they'd come close to losing the kid but everything had worked out in their favor, Clay escaping serious, career-ending or life-threatening injuries.

How would he deal, he ran with Five? How would Five handle it? What was their medic like? Would they kick him off? Transfer him out? Give him back? Tell the Navy he wasn't fit to serve?

Eric's cell buzzed with a text, he picked it up, read it, put it back down, flipped a card.

"Randy." He said. "They're on their way. Kniel, Carey, Nickson, Rally, Conklin. McCall has Harrington on Facetime." He ran a hand over his face. "We wake him up?" Eric asked Jason as the other three members of Bravo stirred, sat up. Brock dialed Sonny, brought him and Doc into the conversation via Facetime. Stewie waved hello.

"Nope. Let them do it." Trent said, sat up, swung his feet to the floor. "Are we allowed to stay?"

"We'll soon find out."

The knock came, light and repetitive. So, Lisa had brought them.

Eric opened the door and Lisa entered first.

"Eric." McCall greeted easily, using his first name to let Five know whose side he was firmly on. He held a tablet in each hand. "You know Captain Harrington of course. This is Admiral Frey."

Jason coughed, turned away. Admiral? Really? He saw the stunned amazement on the faces of Five, smirked. Oh, he owed Harrington the most expensive bottle of scotch he could afford. An admiral on their side indeed.

"McCall." Eric stood aside as everyone crowded in.

Conklin also held a tablet that live streamed between the current room and three men in dress uniform on a military base back somewhere back home. Apparently, McCall told them, this trio was a 'committee' who would decide if any further action after questioning Clay should be warranted.

Kneil ordered Bravo to step outside but Frey commanded no such action was necessary as long as Bravo remained quiet and out of the way. The trio nodded their agreement, so Bravo obediently lined up shoulder to shoulder against the door, crossed their arms over their chests, stared.

Eric stood beside McCall.

"We are here to….." Conklin began, then sighed. "Let's just dispense with names and ranks and titles, shall we? Where is he? Let's get on with this."

"He's sleeping." Ray snarked with heavy sarcasm. "He's tired, he's in pain, possible ear infection, he's on medication. What do you do when you don't feel good? Oh, yeah, you sleep."

"Pain?" Rally scoffed. "From what? Sniper perch?"

"Let me dangle you off a 16-foot wall, drop you, see what kind of pain you're in." Trent snarked. Oh, how pissed he'd been when that had happened and now he was grateful it had because Doc had used the 'accident' as the reason why Clay was stiff and sore.

"He's that bad off, he should have remained on your home base." Rally shot back.

Tempers, already short, flared. Insults, name calling, threats passed between the two teams.

"Enough!" Conklin cut in sharply. "Master Chief Rally, have Mr. Spenser join us." He ordered.

Trent motioned everyone out of Clay's direct line of sight; everyone took a unified step left. The kid opened his eyes and saw any of them, he wouldn't react the way Trent wanted him to - the way they all knew he would.

"You don't want to do that." Jason lazily warned, slouched against the wall, he crossed his ankles.

He went ignored.

"You might want to let one of his team wake him up." Lisa advised.

She went ignored.

"...Spenser." Rally slapped a bare foot that 'conveniently' wasn't beneath the blanket.

The response he got was instantaneous and predictable – to Bravo anyway. Clay jerked awake with a growl. He lashed out with a lazy slap and two seconds later, Rally was on the flat on the floor on his back, two hands wrapped around his throat, his legs trapped between Clay's who hooked his feet under Rally's knees, effectively pinning him to the floor.

No one from Bravo moved to intervene. Eric hid his smirk – well, thought he did, Harrington caught it, shook his head.

"BLACKBURN!" Kneil roared as Rally bucked and the two men rolled, Clay now on his back, Rally contained against his chest in some kick-boxing wrestling hold, Clay's arm around Rally's throat, tipping his chin up at an awkward angle. "Gain control of your man!"

No one moved.

"Told you not to do that." Jason sneered

"You did that on purpose." Carey fumed. "You set this up."

Nickson stepped forward to intervene but stopped at a threatening growl. He paused, not entirely sure the growl had come from the dog. He stepped left and a palm was flat against his chest, pushing him back. He glanced up, met Brock's steely stare.

Jason shrugged. "What? You thought I'd make it easy for you to try and take one of my men?" He moved forward at a glare from Eric, reached around Nickson, put a hand on Clay's foot, gave it a shake. "Clay, that's enough." He said softly.

"Our team." Ray put in.

"We did warn you." Trent couldn't help but add.

"You call that an order?" Carey exclaimed. "Give him an order and make him obey!"

"He doesn't respond well to what he perceives as a threat." Blackburn said calmly. "He's asleep in his own bed and someone he doesn't know comes slapping him awake, how do you expect him to react?"

Confused and befuddled, Clay responded to the familiar, warm grip on his ankle, relaxed his knees, let his feet uncross and fall. He let Rally sit up, but had to be pulled off and away from him. He didn't resist Jason's two-arm hug from behind that lifted him first off his knees, then put him on his feet and pushed him back to sit on his bunk.

Rally got to his feet, massaged his throat. "We should settle this the old way." He croaked directly to Jason, face beginning to loose its tomato color. "Damn." If this man his superiors wanted was this strong and fast, sick and sore in bed, he didn't want to anger him when he was hale and hearty. "Christ, I'm gonna bruise."

"Bare-knuckle brawl?" Jason challenged. "Who's your best fighter?"

"Mine against yours?" Rally stared him down. He was thinking after this little display, that Spenser was Bravo's best fighter and he was busy sorting through his team to decide who would fare best against him.

"Against me." Jason taunted. "Sure, our best brawler is Quinn, but I can hold my own."

Rally blinked. Spenser wasn't their best fighter? He hadn't expected that. And he was thrown that Hayes was eager to fight. Rally sure as hell didn't engage in a fist-fight over anyone on his team. No, he assigned that duty to the man best suited for the fight.

"There will be no brawl." Conklin said firmly. Kneil and Carey nodded their agreement. Nickson growled, met Ray's flat stare, who wearing a tank-top, shamelessly flexed with a smirk. McCall and Blackburn stared straight ahead. "Now then, Special Warfare operator Clay Spenser…."

Clay sat on his bunk, feet on the floor, the blanket no one had seen him pick up, bunched across his lap. He tangled one hand in his hair, swallowed hard as he breathed through some fuzzy clouds. Strangling Rally had made his shoulder flare up in protest, and wow, he fought to keep his stomach from showing everyone more of the nasty tea Trent had forced him to drink.

Every muscle quivered, every joint ached, his head throbbed and still, he fought to gain some kind of control. Over something, anything.

The room was crowded with people he didn't know. He was supposed to do something, but he didn't remember what. He sighed, struggled to think, everyone was expecting him to do something, so he raised his head and did what Brock had told him to do: focused on Blackburn and said only yes or no.

The trio began by ordering silence in the room and asking Clay simple questions. Once he figured out who he was responding to spoke to him via a tablet screen, answered them appropriately: name, rank, home base, chain of command, his team mates, date of birth, home address, where he was, how he'd gotten there, who he'd arrived with, did he know the date, time, country he was in.

Bit by bit, Trent was able to breathe again. This was the Clay who could fight though anything if one of his brothers was at risk and in danger. Only this time it was himself, and he likely remained unaware of that.

Little by little, Ray relaxed, muscles going limp after the need to intervene between Clay and Rally passed. This was the Clay who would do anything for his team.

Finger by finger, Brock uncurled his fingers from tight firsts. This was the kid, who, even when you didn't think you were getting through, understood exactly what you were saying when it mattered. The kid who'd been told to fight for his team and annoy everyone else.

Inch by inch, Sonny got his feet back under the blankets, relaxed against the plethora of pillows piled behind him. This was the Clay he knew; stubborn, steady, serious. No need to go haring off to the kid's rescue. He glared at his nurse. How come whenever the kid was in the hospital, he got smiles and coos and affectionate pats while they offered him cherry flavored ice chips and Sonny got – Nurse Ratched, who would likely tackle him to the ground and wrestle him into submission, should he attempt to leave? His ice chips tasted like plastic. Ugh. So not fair.

"You've been sick in bed, in your quarters, all day?" Conklin led the questioning when the trio, satisfied Clay was competent to stand trial, turned the proceedings over to him.

Trial, mouthed Ray to Jason, the hell?

"Yup." Clay yawned. After the trio's questions, he was finally showing signs of waking up and becoming coherent.

Trent smirked, well aware of how Clay being confronted by strangers in his own quarters worked to Bravo's advantage. There was no better way to make Clay react then to have him think someone on his team was in trouble.

"Did you get up? Leave your quarters? Go anywhere else?"

"Showers, the gym." He'd been told to keep his answers to yes or no. If that wasn't possible, keep it short and simple.

"Did you go on base to get something to eat?" No one had reported seeing Spenser anywhere on base, not the MP's, the cooks in the mess tent, not even one soldier stationed there.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I..." He glanced at Eric, who winked. "Was confined to Bravo's barracks."

"By who?"

"Bravo One."

"Why?"

"Doc said..."

And Carey pounced. "You were remanded to quarters while your team was on a mission? They left you, in your team's Doc's words, alone, ill and injured and you went all day without anything to eat?"

Clay glared, lip curling in disgust. "The rec room in our barracks has a fridge, microwave and toaster. They left me soup and bread, so no, I didn't go 'all day without anything to eat'." He mimicked sarcastically. "And I wasn't alone, Davis, Doc and Stewie were on base."

Jason's lips twitched as he fought a grin. There. That. That right there. That arrogance. That attitude. That snark. That tone. That sneer. That shrug. That roll of the eyes. That 'I'll blow you off' look. That was who Jason had drafted onto his team. Oh hell no, no one was going to take this kid away from him.

Nickson exchanged a look with Kneil, who raised a brow at Clay's tone. Oh, Bravo had their stories lined up. Just…how the hell had they pulled it off? They matched to a fucking T.

"Are you aware of the actions of your Lt. Commander? The actions he took to retrieve Bravo from the field before Five could set out to lend assistance?"

"Yes."

"Why would he do that? Not wait to go with experienced backup?"

"Bravo had missed their last three check-ins, Davis couldn't raise them on comm's, Randy didn't have eyes on them." Clay spat irritably. "Blackburn was told Five would be up to three hours before heading out." He scowled at Rally. "Time matters, every second counts."

Eric caught Jason's eye. Wow!

"Can Eric Blackburn make that shot?" Conklin waited.

Clay stumbled, unprepared for such a question, though, really, he shouldn't have been. "He'd be a piss-poor Commander if he couldn't."

Not an answer, Rally thought, an insult and an excellent diversion, 'cause it worked to piss off both Nickson and Carey. Rally had never seen Five's Lt. Commander venture into the field for any reason. Had no idea how well the man could shoot or what his capabilities in the field were.

"Even from such an angle?" Conklin waited. "At that distance?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. He had a Reming…"

"How would you know what kind of sniper rifle he had?"

Clay narrowed his eyes, glared. He wanted to rub his forehead, thought about it, didn't.

"I sent him with the rifle Ray would want." He decided to say finally.

"You sent?"

"I helped Davis prepare him. I wasn't allowed to go with him." He looked directly at Eric who nodded, gave him a thumbs-up. He blew his breath out. Right, yes or no answers as often as possible. "I'm a sniper, Blackburn isn't."

Discussion went on all around him. Voices raised, argued, came from computer screens. Moods were tense. Bodies shifted. Bickering commenced.

"Hey," Trent was beside him. "Drink something." He held out a bottle. "Put your arm back in the sling."

Across the room, as best as he could from a cellphone screen, Sonny glared and glowered and watched with Doc and Stewie as Trent manhandled Clay's arm back into the sling. He vowed death to Trent when the kid flinched away from the offered plastic bottle. He growled. What the hell had Trent been making the kid drink, he'd pull away and refuse it? When he got his hands on their blasted medic, he was going to wring his neck!

"Just water." Trent popped the tab on the bottle and Clay took it. "Doing okay?" He found the ice pack, it was still cold, so he slapped it on Clay's shoulder. "Keep it there."

No, he wasn't doing okay. He was dizzy, he fought not to fall left, he wanted to lie down and he didn't understand who all these people were or why they were in his room.

"And your shoulder was hurt during a training mishap on your home base in Virg…"

"When I was dropped." Clay corrected, fisting the blanket in the fingers of his left hand so his leg wouldn't bounce. He raised his hand, squeezed the bottle to spray water in his mouth, still half convinced it would taste like tea or ginger. Nope, just nice, cold water. He rolled the bottle across his forehead. God, that felt so good.

"Virginia with another team within your plat…did you say dropped?"

"I did." Clay drawled disdainfully, all dizziness gone. That whole training episode still pissed him off. He put the pop-up tab to his mouth, drank greedily.

"You weren't dropped." Carey growled. "No one dropped anyone."

"Do you realize what you are insinuating here?" Stunned, Conklin paused.

"I'm flat out stating it." Clay countered, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Just haven't been able to prove it."

"Can you explain those scratches on your face?" Kneil, deciding to move on, asked hastily. "It says in your medical file, when you were given a physical," he paused, looked up. "Aah, yesterday here on base, that you failed," he continued with a smirk. "You bore no bruises, cuts, scrapes, scratches or any other visible injuries."

Clay blinked, caught off guard. Out of the blue, he heard Brock's voice in his head; calm, quiet, steady, reassuring. Recalled and obeyed Brock's previous instructions, slid another sideways glance to Eric who waggled the tip of a finger in the direction of Brock's bunk.

"Playing catch with Cerberus." Obviously, whatever story had been told about his face included the dog.

"Cerberus?"

"Our dog." Clay stated as though he might have to also explain what a dog was. "You know, four legs, fur, tail. Likes to play fetch, tug-of-war."

"You expect me to believe, you acquired those cuts and scrapes throwing a ball to a dog?"

"Obviously you've never played catch with a military trained Belgian Malinois." Clay replied with his customary smirk. "They don't like to let go."

Eric raised a fist to cover his mouth while he coughed, head lowered. He'd told Rally a cockamamie story out at the village about Clay keeping the dog while he'd gone after the team. Had forgotten all about it. Way to go Clay! Woot!

Carey fumed silently. Seemed no one on this fucking team liked to let go. It had been such a simple plan.

1) Cause a minor injury.
2) Have Spenser medically grounded.
3) Take him on simple round up and talk mission.
4) Talk him into a transfer.
5) Take the mantle of 'best elite assault team' away from Bravo.

Who knew that Five would have run into a brick wall named Jason Hayes or that Blackburn would refuse to let them even speak to Spenser or that Bravo's Commander and Captain would have their backs all the way to involving an admiral. Or that their team doc, logistics specialist and supply clerk would remain faithful and unshakable. Not to mention, Spenser's alleged illness, failed physical, orders home. Then, to learn Spenser had disobeyed those orders, he'd thought his plan had no chance of failure. But no, one obstacle after another, all the way up to everyone risking their careers.

Seriously, this had never occurred to Carey. He'd done this before when he'd wanted a certain man to add to his team. He'd gone after Spenser because of his ability with languages and his age and here the sonofabitch sat, looking like he'd just been woken up – puffy eyed and tousled headed. Not like he'd sat in a tree after running in high heat for over an hour, and shooting at people and blowing up guns.

"Woof!"

"Master Chief Rally, when you arrived, was Bravo's team dog with them?"

"No, sir." Rally ground out through clenched teeth.

"Master Chief Hayes? You didn't take your dog, who you claim is a team mate, with you?" Conklin waited.

"It was a routine, non-violent mission to escort a civilian family from a non-combative village. No threats of explosives had been found by Charlie." Jason answered. The fault was not with his team's intel and he wasn't about to let it be said otherwise. "We were advised that it would be a peaceful mission." He paused, tilted his head, curled a lip in a sneer identical to Clay's. "And it was daytime and hot."

"The hell does that mean?" Carey demanded.

"We commonly only take him into the field in hot climates at night, when there is no sun."

"It's a dog!" Rally sneered.

Cerberus lifted his head from where he appeared asleep on the foot of Brock's bed and his hackles went up.

"WOOF!"

Not for the first time, Carey wondered why Hayes had chosen the men he had on his team. If the situation was different, he'd love to have a drink with Bravo's chief, pick his brain, feel him out. Rumors about Bravo ran rampant, but actual facts? Well now, they were hard to come across and very little truth had ever been applied to the many rumors and heresay.

Just how well trained was the dog? And how much of an advantage did having one give a team? Reynolds was the dog handler...did he also train it?

Nickson, who had so far remained fairly silent, spoke up. "Your eyes are red and swollen, watery. Your hair is tangled. You have bruises on your neck."

"Got a mirror?" Clay shot back. "Show me you don't have a bruise somewhere."

"Beg your pardon?"

"I was woken up in my own bed, I don't know how I look." Clay snarked. "Bed head and puffy eyes, sure. Nothing a shower won't fix."

"You have answer for everything, don't you? All of you." Carey seethed. "You think, you all think, that..."

"So, we done here?" McCall cut in, Clay's appearance due to an allergy was something he didn't want Five pursuing further. There was no way to explain the sudden symptoms of an allergy, regardless what it was to, after the physical failed to note any. "We should let Spenser go back to bed."

"We are not." Kneil snapped. "I have heard nothing to….."

"I don't want a transfer to your team." Clay pushed to his feet. "I'm not going anywhere and nothing you say or do will change that."

"You don't know…." began Carey.

"I'm assigned to a team and unless they want me gone or I choose to leave the Navy when my enlistment is up there is nothing you can do to force me to leave Bravo." He stood still though Bravo knew he fought to maintain his balance. "I'd never request a transfer."

"No one has ever refused a transfer to Five." Kneil sputtered. "We have the best team assembled. We have technology and the latest equipment and…"

All four men of Bravo lined up against the door gave a collective snort. Five had the latest technology and equipment? Oh, Bravo begged to differ.

"Captain Kneil, I have heard and seen nothing to warrant your allegations." Admiral Frey said. "You have provided no proof Bravo Six violated team rules or disobeyed direct orders. No one saw him leave or return to base. There is no evidence of a sniper perch. You have nothing." He cleared his throat, addressed the three men on the committee. "Gentlemen, are we agreed? Blackburn was alone."

"We are. We see no grounds for any further proceedings. These allegations, this complaint, this case, is dismissed and closed."

"I want him." Carey hissed.

"You can't have him." Jason countered.

"I intend to get him."

"Not while I still breathe." Jason seethed.

"What he said." Ray echoed.

"You're done here." Frey said from the tablet screen. "I think it is time you vacate Bravo's barracks."

"You can leave on your own," Eric said calmly. "Or Bravo can throw you out."

After a bit more grumbling, another threat or two, a warning that 'this wasn't over', McCall shepherded Five and Conklin from the room, slammed the door shut.

"Woo-Hoo!"

"Now that's what I'm talking about Spenser." Ray crowed. "Well done! Well done!"

Celebrations began. Ray danced. Trent broke out a bottle of scotch. Brock high-fived Davis. Blackburn exchanged kisses with Sonny on the screen. Jason opened a package of disposable cups. Clay began to shake, swayed. His knees buckled and he went down in Jason's arms.

"I've gotcha." Jason said softly, dropped the plastic cups to catch him. He let Clay go down on his knees, held the kid against him. Clay went limp, sagged against his boss, turned his head, rubbed his cheek against Jason's belt buckle. "The hell?"

"He itches." Trent set down the bottle, headed over. "Antihistamine shot is wearing off."

"Give him another." Sonny ordered from Blackburn's hand. "Do it Trent. Do it now."

"I will Sonny. Back the fuck off." Trent replied with an impatient huff. "Christ, gimme a minute, you think I just carry syringes full of medication in my pocket?"

"Yes!" Chorused everyone in the room.

Four men easily took hold, lifted, turned and laid Clay down on his bunk. Davis shook the blanket out, spread it over him, gave it to the feminine impulse of smoothing his hair, an action, effort meant to soothe someone. She simply didn't care what the guys thought.

No one called her on it.

"He left base, didn't he?" Frey said from the tablet screen. "He did it. Holy Christ, he did it." He'd kept an eye on Spenser throughout the entire conversation. "How'd you pull this off?" He'd suspected as much, but hadn't believed it.

"Don't know what you're talking about sir." McCall replied calmly.

"Five is right. He sat in a tree for hours, made those shots. He went with Blackburn, he did everything Five said he did."

"Been a long day sir." Harrington quipped from the other tablet. "Randy is good, but these lines could have ears."

"What difference does it make?" Ray asked.

"He was never there." Brock said, amused. That description was their team motto - we were never there.

"He disobeyed medical orders to return home and went after his team with Blackburn."

"It's late." McCall said. "Perhaps we should let the team get to bed and I'll be on the next flight home to join you and Captain Harrington for a shrimp dinner."

Frey displayed what might have been a smile. "You're buying," and he winked off the screen.

"It over?" Clay asked, sat up, resisted the many hands that tried to push him back down. "I do okay?"

"You did great, get some sleep." Eric told him.

"Hey now, there corn-husker Jim-Bob." Sonny piped up, waved when he was turned to see Clay. "Right proud of you'n'all but kid, you had us worried."

Clay wanted to rub his eyes, push his hair off his forehead, itch his cheek, scratch his beard, but he had one working hand and it was caught and held and the grip was firm, comforting, so he let his hand be held, did nothing.

"Stewie said..." He swallowed. "You were fighting, said not my fault, but was over me." He let himself be pushed flat onto the mattress, head amongst the pillows. "He said..." Now he looked for Trent, gazed at him with wide eyes. "You, uh, got in the shower with me, gave me a bath." He shuddered, still didn't remember it, but the images he could come up with weren't ones he wanted to share. "Figured, you could do that, least I could do was answer a few questions."

Stewart Hart just became Bravo's new, permanent, favorite supply clerk.

"Wanna wash off all this shit you rubbed all over me." Now he looked at Jason. "Gross."

"You want a shower?" Ray asked incredulously. "Now?"

"By...myself." He muttered sleepily. "I itch."

"Just a rash," he was told and he was asleep.

Sure, now it was just a rash. Couple hours ago, it was the reason Bravo feared losing their kid.

"Is this over?" Brock asked, fondling Cerb's ears. "Is there anything else they can do? No one's gonna come take him away, right?"

"They can submit a formal request, asking Spenser if he wants a transfer." McCall said. "Jason can refuse it until Clay's current enlistment is up, but yes, it's over and no, no one can take him away from us."

"And this can't happen again?" Brock pushed. "I can't go through this again. Just when we think there's no other possible way we can lose him, we're proven wrong."

"Five's days of forcing transfers are over." Harrington promised. "Hope Spenser feels better soon." And he winked out.

"Can I come over now?" Sonny asked.

"NO!" Everyone chorused.

***000***

Rally approached Jason in the mess tent with two mugs of coffee. He stood next to the table, waited for Jason to either invite him to sit or tell him to fuck off.

"Black?" Jason asked without looking up.

"Bit of milk." Rally took that as an invitation to sit down. "He went with Blackburn." He put the mugs down, sat, waited.

"Sugar?" Jason picked the canister up from the middle of the table.

Rally shook his head. "How'd you do it?"

"Trent." Jason replied. "You're not going to get him."

"I know." Rally acknowledged. "I don't approve of Carey's actions."

"But you lead his team."

"I'd be happy to have Spenser."

Silence.

"Why?" Rally asked.

"We're a team."

"Team's change all the time. Guys leave, die, teams get new ones."

"He's ours."

Rally was quiet. Spenser was young, younger than everyone else on Bravo, soon, for whatever reason, the team would change.

"You're training him to take over for you." Rally said finally. "Everyone's heard about you."

Jason finally made eye contact. "No one comes after what's mine."

()()()

"Christ, I was like, a teenager when I saw the title to that song." Clay said, without moving. Arm out of the sling, he was sprawled on his stomach, twisted in the fleece blanket, hands curled close to his cheek. "Always sang 'there's a bathroom on the right' in the car with my dad."

He didn't need to see who he was talking to. Hearing CCR's Bad Moon Rising told him Jason was in the room somewhere.

"You do know, everything you do, I find out about, right?" Came Jason's voice from somewhere. He winced at the comparison to Clay's old man! He paused, calculated the age difference, well, yeah, puberty wise, it was possible, but unless he'd wanted to make his mom one of the world's youngest grandma's, he was not old enough to be Clay's father!

"What?"

"Your enlistment?" Jason brought up.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Damn right, you're not."

"You flying out to Malaysia?"

"In the morning."

"I'm going home?"

"Yup, with Doc and Davis."

"Sonny okay?"

Jason laughed. "He's fine."

"He going with you?"

"Yup."

Clay was quiet, drowsy and comfortable. Doc, no longer hesitant about giving him pain meds and relief from the allergy, hadn't been stingy with the medication, didn't care any more about any reaction he might throw.

"Hey boss?" He slurred, almost asleep again.

"Yeah kid?"

"Thanks."

"Get some sleep."

***END***

Okay, I'm ending this now, before I run amuck! HeeHee!