So it turns out it's hard to study with a story sitting half written on my computer. Hopefully now this is out of my head I can get on with things! Set just after Mexico, season 2. All mistakes belong to me. Thanks for reading :)

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Clay hadn't done well in the wake of Stella leaving. He'd been blindsided, the ground pulled from beneath him. No amount of training had prepared him for the devastation that followed, as all of his future plans had unraveled dizzyingly - leaving behind an ache that didn't seem to fade, no matter how much he drank.

But he'd sucked it up, somehow got on with things. Shook it off and poured all his focus into his work. And he'd been doing okay, until Ash Spenser had shown up at his door, casually suggesting they catch up for a beer as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had caught him off guard, much like Stella's exit from his life, and had left him unsettled. Frayed his nerves. Wobbled his precarious tower of barely repressed emotions. He hadn't wanted to meet his asshole father for a drink, but he'd agreed to, against his better judgement - more proof that he wasn't firing on all cylinders.

Their catch up was another punch to the gut.

He should have known that Ash would have an ulterior motive. Clay didn't want to read the manuscript of his father's second book, but he'd agreed to – the words leaving his lips before his brain had a chance to catch up. He should have known that the selfish bastard had only wanted to meet to talk about himself. It shouldn't have surprised him, and yet … it stung.

Clay kicked himself for giving the guy half a chance. What was he thinking? He hadn't been thinking. All the beer in the world couldn't fix their fucked-up relationship.

And then there was the interview.

Clay had felt himself go numb as he'd stared at the bar's television, listening dumbfounded - but hardly surprised - as Ash spoke about his upcoming book, boasting about how he had first-hand accounts of top-secret missions, from an actual SEAL.

Clay's vision had tunneled, his ears ringing sickeningly as a surge of anxiety threatened to tear the bottom out of his stomach. He knew beyond a doubt that it wasn't him who had given up such information, but would others know that? Would his brothers know that? He would be the first to come to mind if anyone asked. And he was sure that at some point, someone would ask. Ash had to have known that.

Feeling ill, he'd left the bar without so much as a goodbye. Once home he'd barely made it to the toilet before his stomach had emptied its scant contents.

It had taken a considerable amount of time for the panic attack to pass, but he'd managed to regain his composure and steady his tower once again. Rein it in, stash it away - just as he'd been taught. He made a vow to have nothing to do with Ash Spenser ever again, no matter what.

And he'd been doing okay emotionally, until today.

Today, as he was sifting through one of his kitchen drawers trying to locate the instructions for the ridiculously complicated juicer that Stella had gifted him a lifetime ago - that he really should get rid of because he hardly used it, and it reminded him of her - he came across an old, bent photo. Curiously he brought it out, rubbed it back into shape, blinked at the image.

It was a photo of him and Brian, from the day they had found out they were accepted into Green Team. Smiling like lunatics. Feeling like they were on top of the world.

And that did it.

With a huff and a puff, Clay's precarious tower of emotions came crashing down, and the resulting tsunami was enough to buckle his legs and send him crumpling to his dirty kitchen floor, photo still in hand.

Tears waterlogged his vision, and they hurt. It felt as if his insides were twisting and wringing them out of his eyes. His breaths came in jagged gasps, as he collapsed into a puddle of ugly emotions – overwhelmed and drowning.

Why did he have to find this photo today? Today, of all days.

He'd been trying not to think about his best friend, who he missed so often. Especially today. Because today –

Today was one year exactly since Brian had died.

Previously unshed grief gripped Clay and shook his shoulders, pulled every muscle so tight it burned. He sobbed uncontrollably, until his tears had wet the collar of his shirt and his chest.

Finally catching his breath, he leaned his head back against a cupboard and squeezed his eyes closed.

Everyone had a breaking point.

Perhaps he'd just reached his.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Clay felt caught between the present and a year ago; that God-awful day when he'd stood out in that damned field desperately searching for his best friend safely on the ground – but knowing in his heart that he wasn't there. Would never be there again. And all the adventures they were meant to have together, all the things they were meant to do, would never be. For the first time since his father had abandoned him as a kid, he'd felt the ground completely ripped out from beneath him.

When he looked back, he had no idea how he'd managed to graduate Green Team. It had been a bittersweet victory without Brian by his side. Clay didn't like to think about where he would have ended up if Bravo hadn't pulled him out of that barrel at the end of SERE. His brothers had done more than liberate him – they'd saved him. In more ways than they would ever know.

Realizing that sleep was going to be hard to come by, Clay took himself out for a drink. Sonny had messaged to ask if he wanted to come hang out with him and Davis, mentioned that they might be able to help Clay get back on the horse and find a nice lady. But Clay had politely declined.

Tonight, he wanted to drink alone.

Grief still shadowing him, Clay sought out a bar that he and Brian had frequented a few times. Not the same bar where he'd met Stella - no, he would avoid that one for a while longer. This one was about a ten-minute drive, close by Sonny's apartment. It was a known hang out for navy personnel.

As Clay entered, he scanned the room quickly, hoping that Sonny and Davis hadn't come out drinking anyway – breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't spot them.

Solemnly, he ordered a drink, silently toasting Brian's memory. He downed it, and promptly ordered another. He and his team weren't required on base the next day, so he could have as many as he liked. And right now, he liked a lot.

Once the clock crept past one AM and he could barely see straight anymore, Clay decided he should probably call it a night. He'd been hit on by a few girls and was growing tired of politely declining their advances. Unsteadily he slipped off the bar stool, held the counter a moment while he gained his balance, and then headed for the door.

He didn't notice the three guys watching him as he left.

Out in the parking lot he fumbled with his keys, dropped them, nearly faceplanted the ground as he went to pick them up. He was far too drunk to drive and planned to sleep in his car until he sobered up. He was barely getting any sleep in his own bed lately – what was a night in a parking lot? He'd slept in far worse places.

He approached his car, squinting at the lock, unable to decide if it was moving or if it was him swaying on his feet. Normally, he was as sharp as a tack. Senses completely in tune with his immediate environment. But tonight, drowning in memories and drunk up to his eyeballs, he wasn't as aware as he should have been.

Which was a mistake.

Clay only realized he had company when a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and a fist connected with his jaw before he had a chance to react.

He went down. Hard.

Boot clad feet kicked at him – his stomach, his ribs, his back. The attack was sharp and fast, and ended nearly as abruptly as it had started, as if his attackers didn't want to inflict too much damage.

"This is a message for your asshole father," a gravelly voice announced.

A heavy boot pressed between Clay's shoulder blades, keeping him down. Not that he could have stood up, even if he'd tried. He could barely catch a breath.

"He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. He's an embarrassment to the Navy."

The boot pressed harder.

Clay tasted blood and felt gravel grit between his teeth.

A few more sharp kicks, and then the sound of footsteps quickly retreating across the parking lot as his attackers disappeared back into the night.

Clay groaned, clutching at his bruised abdomen. With considerable effort, he pushed up on an elbow, grunted, nearly vomited, got himself into a sitting position and scooted back to rest against the cold door of his car.

What. The. Fuck.

Gingerly he reached to probe his left eyebrow. There was a gash above it, seeping blood down into his lashes. It didn't feel deep, but it hurt like a bitch. Clumsily he wiped his vision clear, blinking at the crimson smeared on his sleeve as he lowered his arm.

The guys who had jumped him were nowhere in sight, and Clay didn't expect they would be back. He guessed they must have spotted him in the bar, recognized him and followed him out.

A breathless, bitter chuckle rattled his battered ribs, and he leaned harder against his car, sending his gaze to the cloud-smothered stars above.

Those guys had caught him off guard, sure. It wasn't easy to bring down an elite operator. If Clay was sober he could have easily taken them all out. But tanked up on alcohol, he hadn't stood much of a chance.

They'd thought they were sending Ash a message by beating up his precious son.

Clay huffed another chuckle, leaned to the side, spit blood, held back vomit. "Asshole doesn't give a shit about me," he muttered, split lip twitching, head throbbing. "Never has." He pushed up from the ground, entire body protesting. He scrunched his face in a wince.

"Never will."

He stood, panting against his car. Turning carefully and glancing at his shadowy reflection, he felt anger well within him. But it was short-lived, and quickly gave way to defeat. He wondered what Brian would think of him, going out to drink away his sorrows and ending up with his ass handed to him.

God, he wished his friend was here.

Clay recalled a conversation they'd had when he'd ended up in the bottom five in Green Team. Brian had not-so-subtly told him to pull his head out, given him the verbal equivalent of a smack to the head.

Clay let his gaze drift back towards heaven. He could imagine Brian saying something along those lines to him now, telling him to pull himself together.

And Adam would probably be with him, arms folded and steely gaze.

Shake it off.

Clay drew a steadying breath. Everything hurt, despite the numbing effects of the alcohol. He didn't think anything was broken, and he hadn't blacked out, so he doubted he had a concussion. He would feel it in the morning though. And he wouldn't be able to hide it from his team mates. They would lose their shit.

Split lip quirked again. Clay didn't envy the guy's who'd ambushed him, not once Bravo found them.

Which he had no doubt they would – once they'd given him a stern talking to about how careless he was getting so hammered on his own.

Groaning as he imagined the magnitude of the lecture he would most likely receive from Jason, Clay pocketed his keys and hugged his aching middle. He couldn't quite see straight, but he was coherent enough to know which way it was to Sonny's place.

Brian had been all about friendship. If he were here, he would tell Clay to stop being an idiot - sleeping in his car was a dumbass idea.

So, with that in mind, Clay pushed off the car and wavered slightly, found his balance after a step or two, and staggered through the parking lot back towards the street.

He hadn't leant on his brothers nearly as much as he should have recently. He was stubborn and liked to wallow in his own misery sometimes. Trusting other didn't come naturally to him, and for a long time Brian had been the only one who he'd let in behind his fortified walls.

But he was trying, he really was. He was slowly learning to trust his new 'family'.

Team is all the family you need.

Adam had said that to him, not long after Brian had died.

Clay swallowed jaggedly, eyes blurring with more than just the effects of the alcohol as he recalled his late mentor's words. He'd scoffed, at the time, not understanding the depth of the statement. But now, with all that had transpired, and all that he'd been through, he could appreciate what Adam had been trying to say.

Ribs burning and breath hitching, Clay forced himself towards Sonny's apartment, hoping like hell that his brother was home.

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Sonny glanced at his phone, chewed his lip before throwing the device back onto the couch.

Davis raised an amused eyebrow at him from where she sat beside him. "That's, like, the tenth time you've done that," she stated, taking a sip of her beer. "You're not going through a break up. Clay just wants a night in, that's all." She leaned into him and bumped his arm playfully.

He squeezed a grin, knew she was right. He was just concerned about his boy, that was all. Clay hadn't been right since Stella had left, and despite Sonny's tendency to want to blow things up first and ask questions later, he felt really damned protective of the kid and just wanted to make everything better. But Clay was also … complicated. Push too hard and he'd shut down faster than an illegal poker game in a police raid. It was a delicate operation.

"It's cute, you know," Davis mused, smiling.

Sonny glanced at her, noticing the pretty twinkle in her eyes. They'd decided to stay in and have a few beers when Clay had declined the invitation to go out. 'A few beers' had turned into 'a few beers with benefits', and, well, now here they sat, snuggled up on the couch, half-clothed.

"What's cute?" He asked, leaning forward and placing his empty bottle on the coffee table.

"You and Clay," she replied. "The way you look out for him." She rested her hand on his thigh as he leaned back, gave it a pat. "You're a good big brother."

Sonny laced his fingers through hers, rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "Well, growing up with sisters, you know, I always wanted a kid brother."

"And now you've got one." Davis leaned closer, kissed him gently.

"Yeah," he huffed. "Pain in my ass, though."

"But a loveable pain in your ass."

Sonny grinned, kissed her back. Yeah. He supposed that summed up Clay.

It was going on one-thirty AM. Neither of them felt like drinking any more, but both were reluctant to call it a night.

"I really should go," Davis muttered, half-heartedly.

"Do you have to?" Sonny felt like that was a terrible idea. He leaned in and kissed her neck, her jaw.

She giggled and twisted, hopping up onto his lap, facing him with her arms around his neck.

They stared at each other a moment.

"What are we doing?" She asked, shaking her head, grinning.

"I can think of a few things," Sonny replied. God she felt good.

Davis leaned close and kissed his cheek, bit his earlobe. "I meant," she whispered in his ear. "What are we doing, messing around like this."

He tilted his head to the side, releasing a long breath. "Having fun?" He guessed. Although he knew what she was getting at.

"Playing a dangerous game," she corrected, pinning him with a look. "If we ever got caught …"

"We'll make sure we never get caught," he cut her off, cupping her face gently and feeling her lean into his palm.

She nodded slowly.

But they both knew that if their relationship was ever found out, things would go to shit in a heartbeat. Sonny had run the scenario through his head a thousand times. It absolutely couldn't happen. But, if it ever did …

He'd decided it would be worth it.

They gazed at each other, both lost in thought.

An abrupt knock on the door startled them so badly that Davis nearly toppled off Sonny's lap.

Their eyes met briefly, before they were both scrambling for their clothes, hearts in their mouths.

Sonny edged towards the door, glancing back at her. He motioned with his hand for her to go and hide. He had no idea who could be knocking at this hour. But it couldn't be good.

As he approached the door he heard a muffled thud and a soft grunt. His steps faltered. The hell? Instinctively he reached into the drawer of a small cabinet that stood by the front door, pulling out a knife that he kept there. You never could be too careful. He hadn't got this far in life by trusting people.

Bringing his eye to the peep hole, he scanned the immediate hallway.

No one was there.

A knock from further down the door startled him. Someone was there alright, and they were either really, really short … or they were on the floor.

Gripping the knife, ready for whatever came at him, he opened the door.

A body tilted over the threshold and sprawled in a heap with a grunt.

It didn't take Sonny even half a breath to recognize Clay.

"Holy hell, Bam Bam," he muttered breathlessly, quickly scanning the hallway and dragging his brother the rest of the way inside. "You sure know how to make an entrance." He slammed the door, locked it hastily.

He rolled Clay over onto his back and crouched down, taking in the bloodied face and the reek of alcohol.

Clay's eyes cracked open. He lifted his head and squeezed a lop-sided grin. There was blood in his teeth. "Mind if I come in?" The end of his question was clipped with a cough. He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, scrunched his face and let his head fall back to the floor with a clunk. "I don't feel so great," he admitted brokenly.

Sonny gaped, scrambling for a witty comeback. But worry stole his words. "Clay, dude," he breathed. "What the fuck."

Clay grunted. Cracked his eyes open again and blinked at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, man," he said quietly. "I, uh, went out dancing without you. Ran into trouble." Guilt washed over his features.

Sonny pulled himself together, gently helped Clay sit upright, bracing him as he swayed dangerously. "What sort of crazy ass dancing would land you in this mess?" He inspected the gash above Clay's eye. It had stopped bleeding, wasn't too deep. Thank God. And the blood in his teeth seemed to be coming from a split lip.

There was a sound from behind him, and he vaguely realized that Davis had emerged from her hiding place. She hurried into a crouch on the other side of Clay, her gaze flicking from him to Sonny, looking about as rattled and confused as he was feeling.

"Oh, hi Lisa," Clay said politely, his head lolling slightly. He jerked it back up to smile at her. "I'm glad you guys hung out anyway. Sorry for blowing you off."

Sonny briefly wondered how drunk Clay was, and whether he would put the pieces together regarding the nature of his and Davis' 'hang out'. He scrubbed a hand over his beard.

Davis had a steading hand on Clay's shoulder, was checking him over just as Sonny had, concern plastered across her face.

"Come on," Sonny announced. "Let's get you up and over to the couch, take a proper look at you. And you can tell us exactly how you ended up looking like you've gone ten rounds with the Hulk."

Wincing, Clay shifted and allowed them to help him stand. He wobbled violently, an arm slung around his middle. "Ribs," he breathed, leaning heavily against Sonny. "Don't think they're broken. Hurt like hell though."

Sonny tried to be as gentle as possible. Between himself and Davis, they got the younger man to the couch, laying him down and wedging a cushion behind his head.

"I'll get cloth and some warm water," Davis offered.

Sonny nodded towards the kitchen. "There's a med kit in the cupboard above the fridge," he told her. "I keep some sterile wipes and pads in it."

She was on it.

Sonny regarded his team mate on the couch. It was obvious Clay was more than a little drunk. He felt a pang in his stomach. What on earth had possessed the kid to go out drinking on his own?

Clay blinked at him, as if reading his thoughts. "I, uh -" he began, fumbling for words. "I'm sorry. I just needed to be alone tonight." He drew a jagged breath. "Had a rough day. Needed some space to do some thinking."

Sonny quirked an eyebrow. "How'd that work out for you?"

Clay grimaced. Squeezed his eyes closed again. "Not well," he admitted.

Sonny nodded slowly, let out a breath. "Yeah, see, if you go out drinking without me …" He gave Clay a stern look. "It makes it really damn hard for me to watch your back."

Puppy dog eyes blinked back at him.

Sonny huffed. "Knock it off. I ain't falling for that look."

Clay scrubbed his expression clean, sighed heavily.

"Room spinning?" Sonny guessed, watching the kid's face.

A small nod.

"You gonna hurl?"

Clay shook his head carefully. "No," he replied quietly. "Just feel like I've been hit by a tank."

Sonny bit his lip. At least the alcohol would be numbing some of the pain.

Davis appeared with the med kit, crouched beside Sonny and began fishing through it.

"So," Sonny said, pulling out some alcohol swabs, tearing into the packaging. "You gonna tell us what happened?"

Clay blinked at them, eyelids heavy. He was obviously spent. He drew an uneven breath, let it out slowly. His eyes became suspiciously glassy.

Sonny raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. He didn't want to push too hard.

Davis shifted beside him, placed a reassuring hand on Clay's forearm. Squeezed gently.

Clay cleared his throat, obviously struggling for words. Sonny suspected it wasn't just the alcohol scrambling his memory. The kid obviously had some emotional storm going on inside him.

"I, uh," Clay started. Faltered. Refocused. "I was jumped by a few guys in the parking lot of the bar down the road," he admitted.

Sonny's muscles tensed. He'd expected a bar fight, not an ambush.

"It wasn't exactly random," Clay admitted.

Sonny exchanged a brief glance with Davis. He didn't like where this was heading.

"What do you mean by that?" She asked with a troubled frown.

Clay shifted, winced, sucked in a steadying breath. "I mean," he explained, staring at the ceiling, unblinking, "that some guys targeted me. Must've seen me in the bar, followed me out." A tinge of bitterness settled over his features. "Decided that beating me up would send a message to Ash." He huffed, clenching his jaw. His gaze flicked to Sonny. "I guess the joke's on them, right?" He blinked heavily. "My father couldn't give a flying fuck about me."

Sonny's stomach clenched at Clay's words. He felt torn between anger at the guys who had hurt his brother – and heartbreak at the numbness in Clay's eyes as he'd mentioned Ash's name.

Davis opened her mouth as if she wanted to offer reassurance that that wasn't the case. But she knew as well as any of them that the elder Spenser was an asshole who couldn't see past his own nose. Closing her mouth again, she settled for rubbing Clay's arm gently. "We'll find the guys who did this," she said, her tone convincing. "I promise."

Sonny leaned back on his heels, swallowing the sudden urge to crack skulls. He knew Davis' word was good. The guys would be found, and they would pay. He had no doubt of that. Right now, his priority needed to be Clay. "We'll deal with those jackholes later," he stated. "Swear to God, they're gonna wish they'd never laid a finger on you."

Clay didn't reply, just chewed his lip. His eyes were still glassy, red-rimmed with dark halos. One slightly swollen. Sonny wondered how long it had been since his brother had had a good night's sleep. He kicked himself for not noticing sooner how wrecked Clay looked. He had been so preoccupied with his feelings for Davis, that he'd failed to notice his best friend going under.

"Davis," Sonny said quietly. "Think you could grab an ice pack or two from the freezer?"

She patted Clay's arm, broke the contact and pushed to her feet.

Sonny shuffled closer to his brother, eyed the gash on his forehead and gently dabbed the dried blood away.

Clay watched him groggily, eyes half-mast.

"So," the Texan said quietly. "You want to tell me why you went out drinking solo?"

Clay didn't reply straight away, just blinked heavily.

Sonny gently swatted the kid's arm away from his torso, pulling at the hem of his shirt to get a look at his ribs.

Clay shifted, winced, let the shirt be yanked upwards. Clenched his jaw as Sonny probed.

Sonny released the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Clay's ribs appeared bruised, but thankfully didn't seem broken. He would feel better once he was properly checked over though. Thankfully there didn't seem to be any urgency.

Davis reappeared and knelt down, a tea towel-wrapped ice pack in each hand.

Sonny gently placed one against Clay's bruised ribs, pulling the shirt back down to hold it in place. The other he held against Clay's forehead, just above the gash.

Clay stifled a wince, closed his eyes. Shakily he drew a breath. "Things haven't, um …" he started, voice wobbly. Eyes opened back to half-mast. Cleared his throat. "Things haven't been great lately," he admitted. He fidgeted with one of the belt loops on his trousers, gaze skipping to his friends. "And today …" again his voice trailed off. He slowly gathered it back. "Today everything just kind of caught up to me."

Sonny chewed his lip, lifting the ice pack briefly from Clay's forehead. "Yeah," he breathed. "A messy break up will do that to you."

Davis gently rubbed Clay's knee reassuringly.

But Clay gave a small shake of his head. "No," he admitted, gaze growing more distant. "It wasn't just that." He drew another unsteady breath, blinked rapidly a couple of times. "I realized that it was a year ago, today, that Brian died."

Sonny's gut twisted at the memory of Clay's best friend's tragic death. Of course. He felt guilty for not realizing. So much had happened since Clay had joined Bravo, he'd lost track of time. But it was coming up on a year that Clay had been with them, and Brian had died just before Clay had graduated Green Team. Sonny silently kicked himself for not joining the dots. "I'm sorry, man," he said genuinely. He and Clay were close, but Clay and Brian had been friends for a long time. They'd had a lot of history. It had to have hurt like hell losing a buddy like that.

Davis sighed out a breath, glanced at Sonny. The concern in her eyes was still present, but it now sat alongside sadness.

Sonny squeezed Clay's shoulder gently as the younger man closed his eyes again.

A stray tear escaped and rolled down his temple, into his unruly hair, but Clay didn't bother wiping it away.

Sonny pretended not to notice.

"I think it's probably best if I head off," Davis spoke up quietly.

Sonny felt himself nodding.

"You be okay?" She asked gently.

Sonny sat back on his heels, regarding his brother who seemed to have given up on opening his eyes again and appeared to now be asleep. Yeah. He'd been in much worse situations. A drunk and hurting brother wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He would call Jason, and then get some advice from Trent. He had a feeling that within the hour he would have the rest of his team crowded into his small apartment, once they knew what had happened.

"Who needs sleep anyway, right?" He shrugged, twitched half a smile. But the humour wasn't there.

She squeezed his shoulder, pulled him into a quick hug.

Their playful night seemed like a distant memory.

Propping the ice pack gently against Clay's forehead, Sonny pushed himself to his feet. He felt shaky. There was a heaviness within him that hadn't been there before Clay had toppled over his threshold. The kid was an incessant pain in his ass. Life had been a lot simpler before their rookie had come along.

And yet, he wouldn't trade the cocky little turd for the world.

Reaching the door, Davis made sure she had all her things. With a last glance towards the couch, she stood on tip toes, leaned in close, and pressed a kiss to Sonny's lips. "Take care of our boy," she whispered, pulling away and giving him a warm look, before the warmth faded and was replaced by something harder. "We'll get the guys who hurt him," she stated. Her tone was unwavering – it was a promise.

Sonny gave a clipped nod. "I have no doubt we will," he replied.

She took his hand, squeezed it, whispered good night, and quietly let herself out the door.

Sonny didn't want her to leave, but he knew it was for the best. It would be awkward if the others arrived and she was here. They would no doubt ask questions. And he didn't trust his poker face tonight.

Sighing, he made his way back over to the couch to check on Clay.

The younger man appeared to still be asleep, a slightly pained expression resting over his features, lines pinched at the corners of his eyes. And he still reeked of alcohol.

"Come on Goldilocks," Sonny muttered, leaning down. "Can't have you choking on your puke." Gently he rolled Clay to his side, being careful of his sore ribs and forehead. Just like déjà vu, he thought, recalling their recent drunken night in Mexico. He hoped this wouldn't become a habit.

Resettling the ice packs, he let his hand linger a moment on Clay's bicep, gave it a small squeeze. His little brother was hurting, but Sonny had no doubt that between himself and the rest of the team, they would carry him through it.

Straightening, he gave Clay one last glance before snagging his cell phone from where it rested on the coffee table behind him.

Just about to hit dial on Jason's number, he paused as Clay's groggy voice drifted up from the couch.

"Hey," the younger man said.

Sonny blinked down at him. The kid hadn't moved, his tone was slightly disjointed, and his eyes remained closed.

"I like her," Clay mumbled.

Sonny froze, held his breath.

"Davis," Clay clarified.

Sonny's stomach did a little flip.

Clay's eyelids didn't lift, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Try not to screw it up, okay?" He breathed.

Sonny felt entirely caught off guard. A handful of heartbeats passed. His throat convulsed, and it took a moment to latch onto his voice. "I'm working on it," he replied quietly, his tone genuine.

Clay, for his part, didn't reply. But his expression relaxed slightly.

Sonny watched him a moment longer.

But Clay didn't say anything else.

Sonny wondered whether perhaps he wasn't actually awake. Instead had just been dreaming.

His stomach flipped again.

God, he hoped so.

"Get some sleep, kid," he muttered, refocusing on his phone.

Drawing a steadying breath, he dialed Jason. The guys who had hurt Clay needed to pay. Which meant that he and his brothers had work to do.

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End.

Season 3 is just a breath away - woohoo! ' :) :)