"…'ahght?"

"How much you had to drink today?"

"Uh….some rum, memmbe." He swallowed. "I think." He accepted a tissue from Paula. "Ow." Still on his back, he attempted to blow his nose, erupted in another fit of coughing. "Not….lot."

His arms were grabbed and he was hauled off his back, held while he tried to evict his esophagus. Though the hands on his arms were tight, he was allowed to hold his palm against his chest. He pulled his legs close, shifted his weight to one hip, swallowed, choked and was thumped on his back.

"Not alcohol." Trent sighed, gave him such a shake, his whole body flopped. "And I didn't ask what, I asked how much. Show me your tongue."

"Na'ow!" He whined with a wince, fell forward from a particularly hard thump, was held up by a firm grip. Once he could breathe, he waggled his tongue at Trent, hunched a shoulder to wipe spit from his chin with his shoulder, let Trent use the now dry cloth Paula had left with him earlier to wipe his mouth instead.

"That doesn't really help Jay." Trent scanned the room, saw the bottles on the dresser, left Jason holding Clay to go pick them up. "Cover your mouth, hey…you cough it up, you spit it out." He tossed the cloth towards the bed. Jason easily snagged it, crammed it into Clay's fist. "Use that."

"What's wrong with this tongue?" Paula dared to ask, went ignored.

"Makes me feel better." Jason retorted. "The hell Spenser, you texted me you had a fucking cold."

"Didn't." Clay insisted miserably. "Was…" cough, "Sleepin'….Becca." cough, "Uh...'plied...answer'd…."

"The fuck you doing in bed now?" Jason couldn't help himself, he just couldn't. His hand felt first Clay's forehead, then his cheek. "Jesus, he's burning up."

"Told to." Clay coughed, swallowed, was slapped behind his ear, groaned. "Ow. 'On't"

"Don't swallow." Trent retorted. "Sign of dehydration." He answered Paula.

That still didn't answer her question, and Paula started to say something, object, scold….but yeah, she didn't. This might be her home, but she didn't know these men and neither looked like they would take being reprimanded very well.

"You…didn't..say…that." Clay rasped hoarsely. "Said…ta….spit."

"Same damn thing Sherlock."

"Told to by who?" Jason demanded. "I told you to stay with Vic."

"Ass….shh."

Bottles in hand, Trent moved to stand next to the fire before he throttled the kid. The heat from the fire felt good, the scent of burning oak and the snapping crackle were appealing as well. "You're dehydrated, what's the number 1 rule when you're sick Spense?"

"Ummm...tell...you..."

Jason chuckled at the look to cross his medic's face as he fumed, jaw clenched so tight, a visible vain throbbed in his forehead. Paula expected him to grow red-faced and have a stroke – he didn't. Battle not to strike out lost, Trent bopped Clay atop his head. Paula winced at the sound of the smack...that had to smart. Jason moved him back by a hand to the chest.

"Your ole man?" He addressed Clay, tugged on a damp curl. "Hey," he snapped his fingers, "Talking to you. Since when do you listen to that asshat?"

"Rule number 2 then," Trent seethed. "Drink plenty of fluids. Remember that? I swear you dehydrate just by pissing."

"Yuh-huh." He coughed into the cloth in his fist. "...'Kay."

"Why are you taking Nyquil in the middle of the day?" He managed to ask once he had control of his temper. This night was not turning out as expected. They weren't supposed to lose Clay in a god-damn house. "You brought this with you, no Dayquil?"

"...'s what Beck bought. She…said…" He finally stopped coughing long enough to take a cup of water from Paula. "Tha…thanks." He sipped, coughed so hard his body shook, spilled the water. Jason took the cup. "...would...help me…sleep."

"Ash drive you here?" Jason asked as he waited for his rookie – for that is what Clay would always be to him – to stop coughing, expected to see a lung. "Hey!" He tapped his fingers under Clay's chin. "Talk to me."

"Don't swallow." Trent advised again. "Your head hurt? Spense? Hey, do you have a headache?"

"Yeah." He nodded, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Needed….a ride…I'm gonna lie down, 'k?" But he didn't move. "Uh, no….head's not hurting." Paula winced at the deep cough that left him panting. "Ow."

"Use the towel." Trent ordered. "Yeah, no, don't think so. Where did you get this cough syrup?"

"Not from you?" Jason asked.

"No. Not Doc either. The label would be different, have his name…..Clay, did that twit from D.C. give you this?"

"Yuh-huh…..OW!" He reached for his abused ear being cruelly twisted by his boss. "Letgo!"

"Didn't we go through this with Stella?" Jason gave his head a shake by his grip on his ear. When it set Clay to coughing, he eased up, guided the hand with the cloth to his mouth when Trent again ordered him not to swallow. "Spit it out."

"Gonna let Sonny thrash you again. How many times 'til you get it?" Trent sighed. "You don't take medication given to you by people you don't know."

Still befuddled, his eyes widened. He stared for a moment, dropped the cloth, reached for the blankets. "Not a stranger….uh….dating her."

"For what, month or two? You don't know her." Jason scolded. "She's not on the list of people allowed to give you medicine."

Paula gulped, eyed the bag of items she had bought at the drugstore. Maybe she could sidle over, make it disappear.

"And you mixed medicines." Trent clucked his tongue. "Dumb ass. Gonna make you tread water with Vic."

Jason snorted. "Like Sonny won't go out in the middle of the night, get him back? Could catch him on camera in the act and he'd still deny it." He let go of Clay who laid down, dragged the blankets mostly over himself and after a second - or four - of wiggling and squirming, was once again, completely hidden under them.

"I just stood here and watched him do that, still have no idea how he did it."

"Hey, no." Jason tugged the blankets but Clay held firm from underneath, was dragged to the foot of the bed. "Come here, you little runt…hey…don't you…..Trent said...the hell you doing?"

"Tryin' to sleep." Clay moaned. Having lost the tug-of-war with the blankets, he sat up, blinking against the light that really wasn't all the bright. "Go 'way."

"Why did you even come?" Trent made the bottles disappear. "You belong home in bed."

"S'ere I wanna be. Didn't wanna come." He rubbed his eyes, pulled the blanket over his legs, tried to pull one end over and around his shoulders, sat cross-legged on the mattress. "Boss…made...me."

"Later." Jason warned, Trent smirked, but before the medic could say a word...…..

Clump, thumb, ssssh, bang…..and Bravo barged in.

"Where is he?"

"You find him?"

"Janine said she saw him."

"Do I gotta kick his ass? Lemme kick his ass."

"What'd he do this time?"

"How's he do that? Looks like he's wearing a toga."

And behind the five men of Bravo, came…..

"Wow, nice room!"

"I love the fireplace."

"How charming!"

"Wow, that bed big enough? Where do you find sheets to fit it?"

"Bed? Heeeeyy! That's my bed! Pahl….lah!"

Both Jason and Trent glared at Janine who smiled and waved from the doorway. "What? You didn't want them up here, you should have been the one to go downstairs and tell them."

"RAY!" Jason growled.

"Really?" Trent accused, glared at Ray. "The women too?"

"They wanted to see the fireplace." Janine chirped. "Relax Trent, you're in Virginia with immediate access to medical care. Hell, all Blackburn has to do is make a phone call and you won't even have to wait in the ER."

"Really Paula? My room?" Pam whined. "You put him in my room?" She looked around, "In my bed? My bed? Why my bed?"

"You buy him anything?" Metal eyed Paula. "Make him not cough all over my bed?" He added scornfully. "Dude, seriously, get outta my bed."

"Shut it." Jason warned, glared at the bed. While he'd been distracted watching everyone file into the room, Clay had once again laid down and disappeared under the blankets. He threw his hands up, turned to glare at Trent whose shit-eating grin made him clench his fist.

"Hey, I ain't the reason he's here." Metal shot back. "He is." He shoved Vic, who pushed back. Ray broke it up.

"Then you should have given him another place to lie down." Paula told him sternly, picked a pillow up from the floor, resisted the urge to throw it at him. "And he's not in your bed, he's on it."

"What we got Trent?" Katie asked, made her way to the medic's side. "Hey Clay, hi-ya. You under there somewhere?"

"Kate?" voice muffled, Clay's matted hair appeared. "Katie, I feel…awful," sneeze, cough, sniff, "…. like shit."

Trent fumed. Really? Really?! The little prick HID from him, responded to Katie? The hell was that shit?! "Then you should have stayed home in bed."

"Cough sounds pretty rough there Clay." Katie cooed. She'd been drinking coffee, but yeah, she'd had quite a bit to drink that night. "Trent's right, you should be home in bed."

"Wanted to...Boss…made me come." His forehead appeared, then his nose. "I….smell….chicken soup?"

"You're hungry?" Trent asked dubiously. "Really? You?"

"How come he reminds me of Sheldon?" Naima laughed.

Clay blinked, frowned. Why was Naima here? Why was everyone? Who was Sheldon? Did he know a Sheldon? He didn't think so.

"Okay, yeah…you know what? He's been found. Everyone out." Jason ordered. "Back downstairs, you're at a party."

He went ignored.

"I'll hang." Brock offered, stoking the fireplace. "Found him, yeah. Let him outta my sight? Not ready to do that yet." He added a log, replaced the screen, warmed his hands. "We'll babysit." Katie nodded, wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggled close.

"Just…wanna, sleep." Clay yawned, coughed. "Go 'way, lemme be."

"Thought you wanted soup?"

"Trent?" Jason indicated with his head for the medic to step aside.

"Check him out, give him meds, see if his fever comes down."

"That's it?"

"See Doc in the morning."

Jason pushed a hand through his hair. Clay's text has said he had a cold, wanted to stay home. He had not said he was sick. Jason had ordered him here and the kid had been so miserable, he'd called Ash a ride! And the asshole had actually driven him all the way out here. That told Jason, Ash had thought Clay to sick to drive.

"…ER tonight?" Someone was saying, or asking Trent who replied with, 'doubt it' followed by, 'we'll see'.

"….he ever mixes meds like that again…."

"Harmful?"

"Not to a normal person."

"I'm'omal." Clay slurred. The noise and activity in the room was giving him a headache. "My….soup?"

"Sit up." Katie took the bag from Paula who was holding it out, withdrew the cardboard container, accepted the spoon. "Smells wonderful." She pulled the plastic sleeve off the spoon, inserted, stirred. "Mini-mart, this is not. Look at those chunks of chicken!" She took a taste. "Mmmmm, homemade noodles too." With a hit and chop from the spoon, the chunks easily broke into smaller bits and she thoroughly shredded every piece. "Clay, hey there, sit up."

Swallowing without chewing would likely make him choke. Wouldn't Trent just love that! The look he'd give her would make her feel she should run hills, in full gear, on a hot day.

"No….crack…er." Clay batted his way out of the blankets, pulled his legs together, pushed with his heels until he was sitting up. Someone draped the afghan around his shoulders. He held his head between his hands, palms against his ears, chin to chest until he stopped coughing.

"You have something to give him for that?" Natalie asked – well, anyone.

"She brought crackers." Naima told him, ruffled his hair. He shook his head at the offer. "Want them crumbled?"

"Don't…want them…."

"Homemade?" Trent asked Paula, who nodded, told him Mrs. Manikowski owned the diner and was an excellent country cook. "Easy on the salt?" He frowned at Clay as Paula shrugged. She'd bought it, not made it, so she had no idea. "You don't want crackers? You? Hell Clay, there ain't a cracker you don't eat."

"Med bag?" Brock asked. "He doesn't want crackers, then his throat hurts."

Clay nodded, rubbed one eye with the back of his hand. "It does."

"You want some ice cream?" He was offered. "Milkshake?"

"No…want…something hot."

Hands grabbed hold of his arms, knees, ankles, dragged and lifted him back to the top of the bed where a multitude of pillows waited for him.

"Wait...you brought your medical kit?" Vic asked, Trent nodded. "Here?" Trent glared. "Your med bag?" Trent gave him a WTF look. "Field bag?" Trent bared his teeth. "Seriously though? Your field, med bag?" Trent moved, Ray stepped between them, forgot how fast Trent could move, stumbled against the dresser before regaining his balance. "I don't get..."

"Vic." Ray breathed. "Seriously dude, shut up before he throws you through the window."

"Or into the fireplace." Metal added.

"Through the window?" Pam echoed. "Through it? Not...out it?"

"He ain't gonna take the time to open it."

Pam squeaked.

"Don't leave home without it." Janine quipped, breaking the tension. "Have to have a trunk big enough for the stroller and his med bag."

"Metal, be useful, go get it." Trent ordered.

"You don't give the orders around here."

"I do." Jason barked. "You know your way around this house. Go get his bag."

So, Paula noted as Metal tossed out a mild threat, stomped away, there was someone who could make Metal do something he didn't want to do. Or thought it wasn't his chore to do. Interesting.

"….not too hot." Katie was saying, sitting on the bed next to Clay. "You sure you want this? What are you…..oh…hey…no…don't drink, use the spoon….okay then." She let him clasp the container with both hands, guided it from the bottom when he raised it to his lips. "Sips Clay….small sips….smaller." She used a napkin to catch what he dribbled down his chin. "Chew…you have to," she scolded gently when he muffed 'no' at her. "They're noodles, so chew." She rolled her eyes, sighed when he asked why he had to. "Because I said so."

He peered at her over the rim of the container that was against the bridge of his nose, pulled a pout, drank some more – made an obnoxious gesture of chewing. His smug attempt at poking fun at her was disrupted by a bout of coughing so violent, she took the soup away from him before he spilled it.

He uncurled his legs, soup forgotten, disappeared among the pillows that had been fluffed and stacked for him, exhausted.

"I've….cough syrup…" He fought the fluff, went up on one shoulder, looked around. "Gimme."

"No."

Clay blinked, twisted to see who had dared denied him what he wanted – Trent. Figured.

"Why?" Was all he could say. "It...helps."

"Because I don't know what it is."

"Pre….script….schun."

"Whose?"

"Uh." He coughed into his shoulder. "Dunno." He collapsed back into the pillows, pulled the fringe on the ends of the afghan together, shivered. "I'm cold."

"Uh-huh." Trent dismissed him, but Katie shook out the comforter, tucked it around him.

"Better?" She asked. "More soup? No, ok. Can I get you anything else?"

"Cold cloth?" He asked heavily, palm splayed over his chest. "It's hot….I'm…hot...why's'it hot?"

"I've got it." Paula told Naima when she looked questioningly, motioned. "Bathroom, linen closet."

"Jesus Trent, you've spoiled him." Sonny sputtered. "Lookit him!"

"Say that again?"

"You have him all tucked up in a big ole comfy bed with a cozy fire and fluffy pillows." Sonny complained. "Soup, cold cloths." He dumped the contents of the bag Paula had set on the dresser. "Vicks Vapo Rub. Cough drops. Delsym."

"I've spoiled him?" Trent managed to get out. "Me? You sure about that?"

"Thinking maybe you have Trent confused with Paula there." Ray grinned.

Blue eyes were visible over the edge of the comforter Clay had tucked up to his chin. With damp curls on his forehead, flushed cheeks and wheezy breathing, he looked utterly miserable.

Naima handed Katie the jar of Vapo Rub, helped her convince Clay to relinquish his grip on the comforter, patted the sweat from his forehead and cheeks with a cool cloth while Katie rubbed the medication on his chest.

"You sing Soft Kitty, I'm outta here." Sonny warned. The girls giggled, ignored him. "Why they all gotta coo over him? I don't get it?"

"Why can't he have the cough syrup?" Vic spoke up.

"Codeine."

"It's a narcotic."

"You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but he wasn't coughing like this earlier." Vic argued. "It musta helped him."

"You had him, how long? What? Ten minutes?"

Sonny coughed, waved a hand. "I get a cold, you all drag my ass outta bed, drive me half way across the state and make me paddle a rubber boat upstream in the dark, pouring rain, raging current in a flood to find…" he paused for dramatic effect, pointed a finger at the bed. "…him."

"If I recall, you did very little paddling."

"Yeah, you did more complaining than paddling."

"No one tucked me all up comfy-cozy in bed, waited on me."

"You didn't have a 104 fever."

"Neither did he! I was sick." Sonny reminded everyone. "He threw a reaction to a shot."

"Second time he did that."

"We know better now."

"He was helping rescue stranded citizens from a flood, nearly drowned."

Sonny scoffed. "You make it sound like they were all crippled, wheel-chair bound old geezers on oxygen."

"Here you go." Naima said, folded the cold, wet cloth oblong. "This feel good?" She laid it across Clay's forehead. He raised a hand to press if firmly against his hot skin, murmured a slurred thanks, went limp against the pillows.

He was tired. There was too much activity, too much noise, too many people and he wanted everyone to go away and leave him alone. And he didn't like all these damn pillows. They were too soft and he sank among them. Everyone needed to leave so no one would see him try and fight his way out of them.

But no.

Jason ordered the women out, Pam included. Paula didn't annoy him and it was her house, so he simply ignored her. Metal and Vic, who he was pissed at, were sent away with the women, but the rest of Bravo was allowed to remain.

Well, shit.

Something heavy was plopped next to his hip, made the mattress dip sharply to the right and he rolled. He was grabbed, held, pulled left, settled once again among the abundance of pillows.

He squirmed uneasily, wanting his solitude and silence, save the snap, crackle, pop of the fire, but was told to shush and stay still.

The comfy, warm blankets were gone. He lost the tug-of-war to keep the afghan around his shoulders. The pillows disappeared and he was pushed flat onto his back. Fingers pressed and palpated behind his ears, under his chin, along his neck, across this throat. His hoodie was unzipped, his t-shirt lifted and despite the warmth in the room, his skin goose-bumped and he shivered. Hands went up his rib cage, warm yet cold to his hot skin, felt his arm pits, made him arch his back, came across his shoulders and down his sides, crossed over his belly, unbuckled his belt.

"Your crotch hurt?"

Startled, Clay blinked then stared wide-eyed. Thought about it, slowly knocked Trent's hand away.

"No."

Trent didn't push. Though there was slight swelling in his lymph nodes either side of his neck and under his jaw, Clay hadn't so much as flinched when he'd pressed against them, so he gave his knee a friendly pat, let it go.

"What's that mean?"

Trent shrugged. "Slight swelling in his glands."

"And…that means, what?"

"Strep, mono, tonsillitis, bad cold, bronchitis, pneumonia, some kind of infection." He opened a flap. "Rare cases, swelling can be caused by medication."

"Rare? It's Clay."

Paula eyed the backpack she doubted she could lift, let alone hoist onto her back, but seated in the recliner near the fire, she remained silent. There were numerous pockets, flaps, zippers, clasps and snaps and not only the medic knew what was in every spot...they all did. Because whatever he wanted or asked for, was handed to him.

Was that….it was! It was a stethoscope. Oh, right. Medic.

Clay was told to sit up, hands reached to help him. He flinched when the cold bit of metal touched his skin. He was told to breathe deep, cough, blow his breath out, hold his breath, breathe deep. The stethoscope moved to his back and the process was repeated.

"Chest hurt?"

Clay nodded, shrugged, shook his head.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" Trent continued. "No? Cough? Any nausea? Vomiting?"

"No." Clay muttered weakly.

"Pneumonia?" Sonny asked.

"Can't tell without an x-ray."

"You just listened to his lungs."

Trent shrugged.

"Bronchitis?"

"Not likely."

"So, pneumonia?"

"Walking maybe." Trent asked for and was handed a thermometer. She'd never seen such a model before, doubted it had come from the corner Walgreen's, watched him press it against the middle of Clay's forehead, pause, then roll it to his temple.

"100.7" A twenty hit the nightstand.

"101.3." Another twenty.

"100.2" Two tens.

"102." A fifty hit the pile and a twenty and a ten was removed.

Really? They were placing bets on a man's temperature? Paula shook her head. Men.

"103.2" Trent announced. Jason pocketed the money.

Ray whistled, shook his head. "Higher than I wudda thought."

"Ibuprofen will bring it down."

"Remember the last time he ran a high fever? He tried to shoot Summer."

"Don't blame him."

"Wasn't that high."

"That hippie wudda deserved it."

"Still dunno where he got that gun from."

"But he had a fever."

Paula played with the frilly fringe on the decorative pillow in her lap. Guns? Shooting?

"Remember that time Seth broke his leg? We got that goober, Leonard…."

"Lance."

"….kid ran a high fever…."

"No fever."

"….we had to give him a bath…."

"We?"

"Don't recall you being there Son."

"…..cool him down….."

"Just a precaution."

"…..Clay didn't recognize him, tried to shoot him."

"He ran a fever when he was trapped in that building with whatshisname…"

"Wes, and that was because the dumb ass was stabbed in the leg and ignored it."

"Did not." Clay protested, squirmed. "Wanna go'leep."

"Not yet." Trent palmed his forehead. "Need you to open wide as you can, say aah."

"Don't wanna."

"Hard to believe, he'll blow your head of 'n-won't bat an eye, but whines like a two-year old when he doesn't want to do something."

Trent held Clay's chin, nudged his lips with a tongue depressor, wedged his finger between his teeth, pried his jaw open with little trouble, held his tongue down, flashed a light.

"What ya see? You see anything? What can you tell? Strep? Tonsils? Tell me."

"Sonny, back off."

Paula and Pam were as close as sisters could possibly be. Metal and Pam had been on and off since Paula's kids had been born and he was just….well, her stone-faced, goofy, common-law, brother-in-law.

He'd been in the Navy when she first met him, was away a lot and when he was home, he was always training, running, lifting, working out. She'd seen him at the beach and in the pool, the man was built. And while these men were fully clothed, the chest and belly on the man in the bed were exposed. Six pack abs indeed.

She swallowed, the taste in her mouth suddenly sour. Navy, military, whatever, she'd just…. never let herself imagine he killed people.

"Can you swallow these?" Trent shook a bottle of ibuprofen. Clay, who had slumped against Jason's arm, usually roused to the sound but he didn't even roll his head. "Liquid Tylenol, you prefer?"

Clay just wanted to be left alone. Wanted everyone to go away. He was hot and miserable and he didn't feel well and…..eewww, he hated the taste of liquid Tylenol. Add it to a shot of JD, maybe he could drink it.

He pulled his t-shirt down, fumbled with the zipper on his hoodie, gave up when his hands were slapped.

"Keep it up, you'll get a shot." Trent warned when Clay snarled, curled a lip, slapped back. "And you won't like where I stick the needle."

Clay stared, his eyebrows met. Trent would give him a shot when and where he wanted to, regardless of what Clay said or preferred or wanted.

"What we doing?" Jason asked, stopped Clay from laying down. Trent offered him three ibuprofen with the cup of orange juice Paula had carried up, watched Clay swallow them, seemed satisfied, handed him another pill. "Antibiotic?"

"Yup. Gonna let him sleep, give the meds time to kick in."

"So, no ER?"

Jason finally let him lay down, was covered by the afghan and comforter, snuggled into the warmth, plopped his head thankfully, on only one pillow. He didn't want the others back either.

"Nah." Trent was putting shit back into pockets and flaps. "Not tonight. I have antibiotics, his fever should respond, come down within an hour. Congestion in his chest is lose, he can cough it up."

"Swollen glands?"

"Uh, antibiotics?" Trent reminded everyone. "Take him to Doc tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What about tonight?"

"Any of us fit to drive home?" Trent asked. Silence. "So, couple hours then, right? Soon as we've had something to eat, more coffee and the meds have had time to bring his fever down, we'll head home. 'Til then, let him sleep."

"Send Katie up, we'll keep an eye on him." Brock told Ray.

"You just wanna snuggle in front of the fire." Sonny accused.

"Something wrong with that?"

Trent picked up the box of Delsym, opened it, removed the bottle.

"You don't have cough syrup in that bag?"

"I do, trying to keep him off strong meds." That made no sense to anyone but Trent, but no one questioned him. He removed the protective wrapping on the bottle, waggled it. "This will work, thin the mucus, easier to cough up."

"Yeah, but will he stop coughing?"

"Who's the medic here Sonny?" Trent countered. "You? Or me?"

"Hey, I know first aid."

"Should we take him to the ER before we head home."

"No. I want him to sleep, see if his fever comes down."

"If it does?"

"We'll take him home."

"If it doesn't?"

"Jesus, this isn't the first time he's been sick." Trent huffed. "If his fever goes up, if the congestion doesn't break up in a couple hours, we'll call Blackburn, take him to the ER, get a chest x-ray but I really don't think it's going to come to that." He took the bowl of ice, went into the bathroom, added warm water. "He sweats, cool him down, help break the fever." He told Brock who nodded, slung the backpack over one shoulder.

"Cold cloth?" Clay asked, grunted when one was slapped across his forehead. "Ugh...'thanks, guess."

Paula collected the soup container, the bag it had come in, what trash Trent had made. "He's more than welcome to the room." She said. "The house has plenty of other bedrooms if Pam and Metal want to go to bed. No need to make him move."

"Her, I like." Sonny announced.

"I'll send Katie up. Need me, call me, but I'll be back in an hour." Trent told Brock, handed him the bottle of syrup. "Few sips whenever he wants it, don't let him guzzle it. Doubt he'll want to drink much water, but if you can get him to, great."

"Aye-aye, sir." Brock clicked his heels, saluted him.

By the time everyone except Brock had filed out, Clay was stirring. Paula lingered by the door, waiting to see if she would be needed for anything, but Brock sat down on the bed, murmured quietly, patted a knee through the blankets and Clay settled down, went back to sleep.

Within a minute, Katie was there, picked up the bowl of lukewarm water, sat down on the bed opposite Brock and Paula went on her way. Clay was in the capable hands of his friends, he'd be fine.

()

"...Before scarves were a fashion accessory…" Trent was saying as he pulled and tugged and wrapped and tucked the strip of yarn around Clay's throat and neck. "…made of silk and fringe, they served a purpose." Clay swore the yarn scarf was longer than he was tall but yeah, Trent wouldn't appreciate the observation. Trent had it wrapped snuggly, but not tightly, twice around his throat and was zipping his coat over the rest that covered his chest. "In weather like this, keep your head, throat and chest covered." And a hat was pulled over his ears.

"Your mom knit these?" Clay snarked sarcastically. The yarn was soft, not itchy, but Trent was being ridiculous.

"Crocheted." Trent corrected. "And yes."

"Bit over the top, don't you think?" Clay asked even though he'd stood there and let the medic dress him to go outside like he was five.

"I dunno Clay, you tell me." Trent shot him a dark look that just dared him to argue. "I'm not walking around with pneumonia. I've never even had bronchitis."

Clay huffed, rolled his eyes. "I have a cold, you dickwad, not bronchitis, not pneumonia, you said so….it's a fucking cold."

"Where's Rebecca?" Trent asked.

The abrupt change in subject had Clay was instantly on guard. "Why?"

"Few things I'd like to say to her."

"No." Clay pushed through the wall of protective teammates, started down steps, realized he had nowhere to go, turned in a circle with curse. "Anyone call Ash to come get me?"

"I called him." Ray stepped forward. "To tell him you had a ride home, you were no longer his concern."

"We've got you." Katie said easily. "You get to stay with us for a few days."

"What? Why?" He rubbed his hands together. "No."

"Cause Sonny gets a cold, he paddles a boat, up river, against strong current to retrieve your ass. You get a cold, you go missing at a fucking house party."

"Get in the car." Brock teased. "Staying with me ain't all that bad, is it? You can stay with Sonny, you want."

Clay got in the car.

He settled into the back seat, pulled the blanket on the seat across his lap, snuggled into the depths of his coat, got comfortable. The car was idling, the interior warm and combined with the medication Trent had given him, he was soon asleep.

***END***