There ain't no way but the hard way
So get used to it
I can't bear to lose
I'll be over to fight
Can't drink enough whiskey
To make it all right
You say I drink too much
And that is a problem
But that's how it goes
When you hit rock bottom
Don't need your advice
Or your helping hand

My favorite band - (Airbourne, Joel O'Keefe)...yeah, yeah, I know they sing about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, still some lyrics just make me think of my man Jason Hayes...

"You have no idea how long I've been thinking about you." Sonny sang to his breakfast plate. "Come to papa, you crisp, perfect strips of bacon." He picked up a piece, waggled it about. "Lookit that! Look. At. That. You see that? I tell you, that's what I'm talking about! No rubbery, floppy fat on my bacon. Look! Look, I say."

"Yes Sonny, we see." Ray was adding salt to his grapefruit. "Your bacon stands at attention. Careful now, it's nearly bacon bits it's so well cooked." He shook his head in disbelief. "Surprised it didn't up and crumble when you touched it."

"Well-done bacon is the only meat that should ever be cooked well-done." Sonny stated.

"You call bacon meat?"

"Do they over here?"

"I do. I call ham and pork meat, all from a pig."

"Thought Texans ate steak for breakfast."

"Didn't Clay tell you breakfast as we know it, isn't served over here?"

"You sure that's bacon?"

"Hey now, I asked for bacon, this is what they brought." Sonny looked at his plate uncertainly. "Where is that little dunderhead anyway?"

"Hitting the head."

"You think these are eggs from a chicken?"

"What else would they be from?" Sonny sounded horrified.

"Uh, snake? Reptile?"

"Ya can't eat gator eggs." Sonny matter-of-factorially. "Can you?" He added uncertainly.

"Have some fruit." Ray said. "Can't go wrong with fresh, sweet fruit."

"Can to."

"No telling what kind of water it was washed with."

"Or if it was water."

Ray went green.

"Bread? How about bread? Bread okay?" Jason asked. "What does anyone have to say about bread?"

"Clay would know, he speaks the language."

"How long does it take to piss anyway?" Brock asked. "How long he been gone?"

"Couple minutes." Sonny blew him off. He really had no idea how long the kid had been gone. "Milk? I like my morning milk, you know."

"Think it's from a cow?"

"They don't eat cow over here." Sonny scowled.

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"This butter, you think?"

"Clay would know." Mandy piped up. She was eating crackers from her purse with a bottled water.

"Coffee better be okay."

"Couldn't find a restaurant that catered to foreigners?"

"Clay chose this one, so, yeah it does."

"Yeah, kid knows the customs of the languages he speaks."

Brock pushed back from the table. Clay had chosen the café after rejecting the first two they'd stopped at. Whatever he'd seen on the menu or whatever answers he'd gotten from the hostess had convinced him to get back in the car and drive on. He'd been satisfied with this one, waved the others to park and get out of the vehicles, so yeah, Bravo could assume the food here was acceptable and safe to eat.

It was fun to tease one another, but it was bacon from a pig and the eggs were from a hen because Clay would know and he should be back by now. Time to go after him.

Sonny took a bite of what looked and smelled like bacon. "Tastes like bacon. I'm hungry, I'm eating."

"Muslims don't eat pork." Brock pointed out, half way out of his chair.

Trent shrugged, slathered what looked like jam on a croissant, took a bite. "Tastes like strawberry." Clay had chosen this café and he trusted the kid's judgement. Clay would know the right questions to ask about whether the food was food they were accustomed to eating.

"The two of you trust that kid way more….."

There was a disturbance a table or so over; sounds of chairs being moved, hushed whispers, outraged shouts.

Brock was looking over, Ray was turning to look over his shoulder when:

"You dudes lose something?" A strange, heavily accented voice asked in halted English.

Before anyone could react, such as pull a gun or get to their feet, a bear of a man was slinging something off his shoulder even as he spoke and let it fall onto the middle of Bravo's table.

Dishes scattered, glasses tipped, spilled; food flew and water flowed, but the table held. Every dish, plate, glass and mug on the table was upended. Mandy grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbed the spilt coffee and juice from her blouse and pants. Davis calmly piled large pieces of broken glass, set glasses upright, the damage to her clothing ignored.

"The hell?" Sonny complained, reached for his plate that had once held crisp bacon and was now flooded with coffee.

Trent, croissant wedged between his teeth, pushed his chair back, cursed with a sigh. He got to his feet, having already identified the dirty, smelly, bloody, mangled mess deposited onto their table. "Can't even eat a meal in peace."

Clay, sprawled on his back on the table, didn't move.

"THE HELL?" Sonny roared, standing so quickly, his chair tipped over. "WHO DID THIS?" He whirled. "Oh you better run, you sonofabitch! RUN to Egypt! I'll catch your ass!" Sonny yelled as he bolted after the man, who after depositing Clay on their table, had run away. Ray and Brock were on his heels, Davis on their ass.

Trent had a knee on the table so he could lean over Clay. "Looks worse than it is." He said over his shoulder. "Mandy, gimme your water, need a napkin."

Mandy handed both over, gathering more linen napkins, dirty or not, should Trent need them.

Eric stared at the sky, they were eating on the café's sidewalk, held a silent conversation with the good Lord above, asked; why me, what have I done, do I really deserve this?

He pulled his phone, stepped to the side, hand on the gun in the back of his jeans, eyes everywhere except on the table. Trent had the situation – Clay – well in hand and Jason was already patrolling the perimeter.

After checking Clay's pupils, Trent fisted his hand, rubbed his knuckles gently along Clay's chest, down his rib cage, back up. Clay didn't react, no hitch in his breathing, no gasps of pain, no flinches away and Trent didn't feel any shifting of bones or stab wounds.

"Wet it." Trent ordered impatiently.

She obliged, watching Trent wipe the blood and dirt from Clay's face. She was well used to bruises and blood when the guys returned from the field but she'd never really watched any of them clean up and though she knew first aid, she was impressed how quickly Trent had Clay's face and neck clean.

"Nose bleed?" She commented quietly.

"Can you pinch here?" Trent asked. "No, here. Hold tight as you can. Don't let go."

"Is it broken?"

"Not this time." He managed to continue to eat his croissant without using his hands while he worked. Mandy thought he'd focus on the bloody nose, but Trent was running his hands through Clay's hair, feeling behind his ears, splaying his fingers across Clay's neck, chin and throat.

"Anything? A lot of blood." Mandy glanced over to see Eric on the phone, moving to intercept the approaching uniformed police officers. Jason was herding people away from their table, reached out a time or two – or five – to slap cell phones out of hands.

"Head wounds bleed a lot." Trent agreed. "And he bleeds fast." Something Trent had had to get used to. His stomach no longer knotted when he saw blood anywhere on the kid. "He's gonna come around in a minute, might flail, be ready to duck."

"Is the head wound serious?"

"No."

Clay was groggy, not unconscious and as the voice above him became clear to his clogged ears, he relaxed, knowing he was safe, even if he was in a bit of pain.

"Clay?"

"Yeah." He squirmed uneasily, poked in the hip, something wedged against his shoulder, under his lower back.

"You went to wash your hands." Trent teased, felt tension ooze out of his bones, was able to breathe deeply again. "You ok? Talk to me."

"Not too comfortable, all these, uh, dishes." He raised his arm to reach for his head, waved his hand about when he couldn't gain access, both Mandy and Trent in his way. "Lemme up."

"Not ready to do that just yet." Trent tipped Clay's head up by a firm hold on his chin. "Mandy, hold this."

She bobbed her head but refrained from rolling her eyes. Trent was used to giving orders and being obeyed when in medic mode and though she could, she wasn't about to call him on it. She took her free hand and held the folded napkin against the sluggishly bleeding gash on Clay's forehead with as much pressure as she could muster with her other hand using most of her strength to pinch Clay's nose closed.

"Anything feel broken?"

Mandy coughed. Feel broken? How the hell would someone know? Pain, she guessed.

"No."

"Get mad at the sink?" Trent asked, flashlight in hand as he checked Clay's eyes.

"Uh," He blinked against the light. "Stop. I don't like that."

"How'd this happen?" Trent huffed impatiently. "You went to take a fucking piss and you get carried back by some goon looking like you were run over by a truck."

"Oh." He licked his lips. "Bubba. Where'd he go?"

"He's running to Egypt with Sonny hot on his ass." Mandy quipped.

"Bubba will outrun him." Clay winced. "Trent, come on. Seriously, the light."

"Brock's with him." Trent flicked the light off. "They'll catch him."

"How many were there?" Jason was now hanging over Trent's shoulder. "And you better say at least 5, 'cause if you got taken down by some chump and his pal, I'm gonna blister your feet." He moved to Trent's side, took over for Mandy. "Trent, he good?"

"Lemme guess." Trent nodded at Jason, reached beneath Clay, moved glasses and silverware so the kid could lay flat on the table. "There was a she."

"Lemme up." Clay slurred with a wince. Jason's pressure was much harder and tighter than Mandy's had been. "Ow, you gotta hold so hard?"

"Hey," Jason shook Clay's head by his pinch on the blonde's nose, loosened his hold just a bit when Clay muffled a curse. "Doesn't feel too good, does it? I know. Answer Trent."

"It doesn't matter." Clay sighed.

"She came from behind you," guessed Trent.

"Gonna hafta cut my hair." Clay muttered. He'd been washing his hands when she'd come out of the stall, came up behind him and tangled both hands in the back of his hair. He'd barely registered that she was a she and not a he in a men's room when she'd attacked.

"Banged your head off the sink," continued Trent. "By her hand in your hair. Dumbass."

"So, taking a piss by himself is off the list." Jason joked to Trent.

Clay squirmed, that was exactly what happened. She'd been quick and strong and knew exactly what she was doing. She'd slammed his face against the mirror hard enough to buckle his knees. When he'd staggered, she'd slammed his head against the sink twice before he managed to hit back and free himself from her grasp.

"How strong was she?" Mandy asked dryly.

"She was trained." Clay snapped. "And not alone." Two goons had appeared out of nowhere, and stunned from cracking the sink from the wall with his head, he'd been slow to fight back.

"You fought back muddled-headed." Trent motioned to Jason to turn Clay's head to the side so he could check his ear, then the other side. "Sonny catches Bubba, we owe him a beer or a knuckle-sandwich?"

"Beer." Restless, Clay raised one foot to rest his heel on the table, swung the other. "He only tried to help me."

"Gonna let you sit up." Trent said quietly. "If you're not dizzy, don't fall over or puke, gonna move you to a chair."

"K."

Clay let Trent help him sit but he could have accomplished the act on his own. He felt a bit weak, little woozy, but easily slid off the table and sat down in the chair, Jason behind him still holding the cloth against his head.

"Let go." Trent told Jason who released his pinch on Clay's nose at Trent's direction. "Swallow any blood?"

Clay turned his head and spit. "Bit maybe."

"Ever lose complete consciousness?"

"Don't think so."

"He good?" Eric came over. "Local authorities found no one involved in the attack." He shook his head. "How do you get jumped taking a piss?"

"Got a hard head." Trent replied. "No concussion but he'll have a wicked headache for a couple days."

"Days?" Clay echoed.

"Days?" Jason and Eric echoed.

"Wait," Mandy said. "No concussion? How is that possible?"

"Like when you whack your hand or knee or toe, an elbow."

"Yeah, you hurt nerves or muscle or tendons or ligaments." Mandy scoffed.

"Or maybe you just bruise it and it hurts for a couple of days." Trent found a clean napkin, wrapped some ice in it that had miraculously remained in an upright glass and had yet to melt completely, tied a knot. "For your nose." He told Clay.

"Does that really do anything?" Mandy asked.

"Gives him something to do." Trent was getting testy with all the questions. "And yes." He crouched between Clay's knees, held his chin with one hand. "How's this feel?" He gently wiggled Clay's nose, elicited a wince.

"Ouch." Clay squirmed, thigh muscles clenching to keep his butt on the chair. "OW!"

"Gonna swell." Trent commented, not quite so gruff. "Gonna have black eyes come tomorrow." He gave Clay's knee a pat, stood up. "That too cold?"

Clay held it against his nose, after a moment, shook his head. It was colder than he liked, was gonna make his forehead hurt, but he could handle it.

Trent knew him though, snagged a towel from a waiter who stood by doing nothing, wrapped the napkin of ice in it, gave it back.

"Better?" When Clay nodded, Trent moved to the side of the chair, took the cloth from Jason, waved him off to go talk to Blackburn. "Jesus Clay, did you break the fucking sink?"

"I dunno." Suddenly, he wasn't feeling so good. "Does it matter?"

"Gonna hurl?" Trent scooped some ice out of a glass. "Open." He pressed his palm against Clay's lips, let him tongue the cubes into his mouth. "Breathe through it."

"I'm good." He hunched a shoulder, ducked his head, wanting to wipe what he thought was sweat from his face.

"You will be." Trent corrected. "Don't do that. Sit there, don't move. You get up, I'll knock you out, you hear me?"

"Where are you going?" Eric asked, walked over. "We should get outta here."

"Want to see the bathroom."

"Why?" Mandy asked. "We should just go." She looked at Eric. "Can we?" He nodded. "Then let's go while we still can."

"Because if the sink gave way from the wall, he's good. If it didn't, we're going for a head scan." Trent sent Mandy a glare. "What's best for him might not be what's best for our image." He added with snark.

She glared right back. That made no sense to Mandy but neither Eric nor Jason questioned it or even acted like it was some kind of big deal, so she said nothing. Trent had his weird ways and no one ever said boo about it.

"Watch him." Trent ordered, motioned for Mandy – Jason was off again somewhere – to hold a new cloth against Clay's still bleeding head. "He tries to get up, sit on him."

She opened her mouth but Trent was gone. Clay raised a hand to feel under her palm but she tsked-tsked and pushed his hand away.

"Just sit still, we're leaving soon." Mandy said. "Guess you don't need stitches."

Jason and Eric were done doing whatever is was they'd been doing, came over to get Clay on his feet.

"Hold your head." Jason guided his hand to hold the napkin against the cut on the top of his forehead. "And keep the ice on your nose. Trent, we good?"

"I can walk by myself." Clay said nasally. "Just, which way we going?"

"Don't let him go, he'll either fall down or walk into a wall." Trent was back.

"Will not." Clay said sullenly.

"Hey Spense, what's the last 3 letters of the alphabet backwards."

"Uh, abc." He frowned. "Cbs." He paused. "Nbc."

"Good, great." Trent said sarcastically. "If I'd asked for TV networks in alphabetical order."

"I'll drive." Eric said. "Hospital? Or base infirmary?"

"Base infirmary can run a head scan." Trent said.

"My head's'k." Clay said muffled. "Don't need a…..need a…..can I lie down?"

"What about the others?" Mandy collected her purse, Davis' bag. "I'll pay the bill, meet you at the van."

"Brock has keys to the other truck." Trent said. "They'll find their way back."

"Don't let Sonny hurt Bubba." Clay pulled up short. "Good guy. He brought me back."

"I'll send him a text." Jason promised. Thank God someone had. If the kid had disappeared in the men's room, Bravo would have flipped the café, torn it apart. "This way….you good?"

"Good Christ, for the 10th time, I'm fine." Clay huffed, walking between Eric and Jason who each kept a hand on him. "The alphabet? I know the damn alphabet."

"Sing it." Trent challenged.

Clay blinked, only one eye visible amongst the cloth on his head and the ice against his nose. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star…."

"Nnnnttt," Trent obnoxiously made the sound of a buzzer. "Wrong."

"Same tune." Clay said defensively. "I'm okay Jay."

"Sure, sure." Jason opened the passenger rear door, put a hand on Clay's head, guided him down, helped him duck in and got in beside him. Mandy took shotgun, Trent got in on the other side of Clay.

"So, wanna tell me why you were targeted in a fucking public bathroom?" Jason asked as Eric pulled out.

"I dunno."

"You don't know? No idea?"

"I was washing my hands, she came out of a stall."

"You said she wasn't alone?"

"Two goons were with her."

"Did they see your gun under your shirt? Your dog tags? Anything to make them thing you were U.S. military?"

"No."

"Did they say anything?"

"Take me alive."

"You roll around in dirt?" Jason curled a lip, the kid was filthy.

"They dragged me out of the bathroom, into the alley behind the kitchen." Clay sighed.

"So, they had transport."

"Guess so. Bubba came out a door, came to help." Clay winced at a bump that jarred his head. "They just split, Bubba said his name, asked if anyone was with me….next thing, I'm on a table."

"Did they know you understood the language? What they were saying?"

"I don't know." He licked his lips, tasted blood, felt his stomach curdle. "Can this wait? The motion of the car makes my head hurt."

Jason caught Trent's eye.

"He's good Jay." Trent said quietly, checking the head wound again. "Bleeding's stopped, swelling is starting though, so yeah, he'll have one hell of a headache."

"I wanna lie down."

"Not enough room." Jason said, but that didn't deter Clay. Nope. He went sideways into Jason's lap, moved his feet until they were on the seat and across Trent's thighs. "But you go ahead, don't mind us."

"Head's cold." Clay murmured. "Don't want this no more." He tried to hand Trent the towel of ice.

"Either keep that on your nose or sit up." Trent ordered with a grin at Jason. "Ride isn't long, once you're in bed, you won't have to hold it anymore."

Mandy twisted around to observe the trio in the backseat. "He getting worse?"

Trent shook his head. "He knows he's safe now, he's gonna crash."

But Clay remained uneasy and unsettled. Either he was beyond caring about Trent's threat or he knew the medic wouldn't make good on it, because he didn't obey the ultimatum. Jason caught Trent's eye when Clay let his hand holding the ice fall away and his fingers went lax, letting the towel of ice fall to the floor.

"I got it." Jason said when Trent leaned forward and to the right.

Trent let Jason retrieve the ice, twisted to look behind the seat, snagged a flannel shirt someone had discarded. "Here." He made a pillow out of the folded shirt, covered Clay's head. "Should feel warmer."

Jason held the ice pack in place the remainder of the ride with one hand, sporadically squeezed Clay's shoulder or rubbed his back with the other.

Trent rubbed Clay's calf, felt his pulse now and again, gave his leg a shake every couple of minutes, made the kid groan until he was finally content Clay hadn't lapsed unconscious. If it any time, he didn't get a response from Clay, he would have Eric divert to the nearest hospital.

Eric remained silent, eyes more often in the rearview mirror then on the road.

()()()

It was five hours before the rest of Bravo returned to base. They saw Davis safely to Mandy then hit their quarters to catch up on what had happened while they'd been 'running to Egypt'.

Both Jason and Eric had texted all three of them to tell them Bubba wasn't the person responsible for Clay's condition so even though they caught the giant, they'd grudgingly let him go and returned to the café to ask questions, take photos, watch the surveillance cameras and get a lead on those who were – they'd brought everything back for Mandy and her computer geeks to study.

"How…." Sonny barged through the door, mouth running only to be brought up short by a hand to his chest pushing him right back out the door. "Hey now…let me in. I wanna tease powder puff….."

"Keep your voice down." Jason hissed, pushing Sonny backwards and pulling the door closed behind him.

"Why's it so dark?" Ray asked trying to see over Jason's shoulder before the gap in the door closed. "No electricity? We blow a bulb? Davis is back, she'll get us another."

"Kid's sleeping. Took Trent over an hour to get him down, any of you wake him up, you're running until dawn."

"Dude, it's the afternoon. Dawn's like fourteen hours…." Sonny stopped. "Oh." His expression dimmed and he pushed his hat back off his forehead. "Kid not okay?"

"How is he?" Brock asked quietly. They'd also been texted that Trent had taken him to the infirmary for confirmation he didn't have a concussion. He didn't. No stitches were required and unless he showed symptoms later, no need for anything more than the CT scan he'd already had.

"Has a headache." Jason explained. "Light and sound are killing him."

"Can we let him sleep?" Brock asked, drawing twin 'wtf' looks from Sonny and Ray. "We're not leaving, right? Someone tried to take him, we're not gonna let that go, are we?"

"No." Jason stated firmly. "Mandy and Blackburn are on it."

"Eh, he'll be hoppin' 'bout drivin' us nuts in no time." Sonny said with a smirk. "Right Jay?"

"He hurts Sonny, gonna be a couple of days."

"Days?" Sonny echoed.

"We were eating breakfast." Ray sighed. "How'd it turn into something like this?"

"Working on it."

"Can we go in?" Sonny asked, humor tabled for the moment.

"Keep it quiet. No lights, no phones, no noise. You call home, take it out of the room."

"Where you going?" Ray asked when Jason pushed the door open to let them in but didn't step inside.

"Command, see what Blackburn has. Be ready to gear up, we get a lead, we're on it."

"I'm tagging with you." Ray decided. "Sonny?"

"Yeah," he hesitated uncertainly. He'd been with Ray and Brock when they'd caught Bubba, had returned to the café, asked questions, gathered what little evidence they could find. He wanted to see the kid. "Guess."

"Need me, call me." Brock entered their quarters, had no hesitation about what he wanted to do. He was well aware that even though he couldn't see, Sonny flipped him off with a scowl. Sure, he could go to command with the others, but he wanted to see Clay and since Jason didn't order him to accompany them, he saw no need not to do what he wanted to.

Trent glanced up when Brock entered the room. He sat on the opposite side of the room with a tablet, the sound muted, the room devoid of all light, curtains drawn across the windows.

"How's he doing?" Brock whispered, stopping next to Clay's bed. The kid was sprawled spread-eagled on his back, a position Brock wasn't used to seeing him in. He felt for a pulse, because it's what you did when Clay wasn't doing what was normal for Clay, counted, then moved over to sit down next to Trent. "Talking to Doc?" He pointed to the tablet.

Trent wasn't as guarded with Brock as he was with the others. Was willing to relax more, reveal more, admit more. He loved and trusted his entire team, but he had a relationship with Brock that he didn't have with the others. And it mostly had to do with Clay.

With a nod, Trent turned the tablet upside down, set it aside, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Kid doesn't catch a break." He whispered. "He went to wash his hands Brock, take a piss. Wasn't looking for trouble, didn't cause any. We joke about letting him out of our sight, letting him go somewhere alone, but hell, maybe, we're on down time, we shouldn't do that."

"Sonny's gonna pummel him for letting another woman get the jump on him."

"You'd think a man raised by women wouldn't be so quick to condone violence towards them."

"No one gets attacked by women more than Clay." Brock grinned. "And he will fight back, just, not his first impulse, you know?"

"Should be." Trent confessed. "She didn't do him any favors Brock, he's suffering and there's nothing I or anyone can do to make him feel better."

"How bad?"

"Blunt force trauma, that sink hadn't parted from the wall, he's either dead or in surgery, never right again."

"So, luck."

"Either he fought back, her aim was off or she just wasn't that strong."

"Being sexist?" Brock teased to lighten the mood.

"Just saying, she had the strength of a man, two blows to the head like that and we wouldn't be here, with him whining about the light."

"Anything we can do?"

"Nope."

"Just time, huh?"

"Yup," he hesitated, glanced sideways at Brock. "Maybe, uh, stay close? Noticed he doesn't like being alone so much, when he's not feeling good."

Brock nodded, yeah, he understood. "Can he fly home?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"I'm asking you." Brock said steadily. "You don't adhere to scientific research and proven data. You know him, you know what's best for him, can he fly?"

Trent glanced across the room. "The doc who gave him the head scan says yes."

"But you say no." Brock waited. "Our Doc agrees with you."

Trent nodded. "He doesn't have a concussion but he hurt his head," now he shrugged. "He's had trouble with the pressurization on planes before. A higher altitude increases cerebral blood flow, which in turn causes venous blood engorgement and an increased intracranial pressure. That puts him at a risk for a seizure and while that might not be serious, it's scary as hell watching someone go through one."

"But not all doctors agree, right?" Brock hid a grin, Trent often lapsed into technical jargon when anxious or, you know, worried. He might not completely understand what Trent was saying, but since it was Trent saying it, Brock believed it. "What can we do?" Seizures were always serious in Brock's opinion, and no, he did not want to watch Clay have one or hold him through one.

The myth that you got sick from going outside with wet hair had long ago been debunked, but if Trent said doing so made you sick, then they didn't go outside with a wet head. In Bravo, what Trent said, went.

"Stay quiet, keep it dark, let him sleep."

"Aspirin? Ice? Anything?"

"I gave him a mild pain med given to someone with a migraine. He won't keep ice on his nose anymore, said his head is cold, but he can breathe through it, so I didn't make him."

"And no stitches?"

"Not needed. Gash is from the impact of the blow to the sink splitting his skin, just bled a lot. Steri-strips will hold it." Trent pushed to his feet. "Give it a bit, try a wet, cold cloth, not gonna force anything on him. Fill me in on what happened with Bubba."

Brock did, finished with; "Trent, can he push through it?"

Trent knew what Brock was asking. Given the opportunity – which Trent intended to make sure he got – Clay would stay in bed, sleep until his aching head, swollen nose and black eyes no longer hurt. If he were denied that opportunity, he could and would force his way to his feet and do whatever he had to without complaint.

"He doesn't have to."

Because Trent would protect him, defend him, shield him, let him have the time he needed to recover, let his body heal.

"You missed lunch," Brock said. "Go get something to eat, bring me back some soup."

"Pie or cake?"

"Cake if they have carrot."

"Keep Sonny quiet." Trent advised. "He whispers about as well as he tiptoes."

"He's an ass."

Once Trent had left, Brock went down the hall, took a shower. He wasn't long, was never a good idea to leave Clay alone, returned dressed in clean clothes, combing his hair.

"Hey." Brock entered the room, crossed to Clay's bed who was sitting up, trying to free his foot from the blanket. "What are you doing?" He whispered, laid a hand on Clay's shoulder to still his movements, free his foot.

"Gotta, uh, pee." Clay muttered, foot now free, he forgot about it, held his head between his palms. "My head's killing me."

"Yeah, about that." Brock tugged the blanket twisted around Clay's legs free. "For the next couple days, 'til your head's feeling better, I don't want you trying to get up on your own."

"I'm in trouble?"

"No." Brock said patiently. "You hurt your head, remember?"

"Uh, no." He started to shake his head, groaned, held tighter. "What'd I do?"

"Come on stand up." Brock helped him to his feet. "Feel dizzy? Wanna puke?"

"No, just….ow."

"We're keeping it dark, so how about not going anywhere on your own, okay? Someone will be close by, just call out and wait a minute 'til someone comes to get you, got me?"

"Uh, sure." He was able to stand upright without swaying or hunching over. "That way?" He pointed in the wrong direction of the door leading out of the room, extended both hands to feel his way.

"This way." Brock gently turned him in the other direction. "Keep your eyes closed, that's it."

"I don't need help." Clay huffed, tried, but couldn't open his eyes. "Memmbe I do. Why can't I see? Turn a light on."

"Can't do that." Brock said patiently. "Will make your head hurt, don't wanna walk on your knees, do you?" He caught Clay's hand when he reached for his head. "Don't touch, don't rub, don't hold."

"It's dark." Clay complained crossly. "Let go."

"Then let me lead."

Clay sighed, gave in, let Brock take his arm by the elbow, steer him from the room.