I wont make any excuses - the purpose of this story is fluffy whump. Aside from the bromance between Clay and Sonny, the unofficial father-son relationship between Jason and Clay is my favourite. So I decided to take all the bits of ideas floating in my brain, and mash them together into this. All mistakes are mine, as well as medical inconsistencies. This story is set early season 3, before Natalie. I hope wherever you are, you're safe and well. Thanks for reading :)

And for Maya - All good x

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason sat down on the couch, blowing out a long breath. He cast a look towards his bed, where Clay was finally sleeping – rolled onto his side, one arm tucked under the pillow. The blanket was pulled up just over his shoulder, which rose and fell gently with each breath. And a pad of gauze was just visible, taped between brow and hairline, half-covered by a few haphazard curls.

Jason positioned his own pillow on the couch. There was a folded blanket beside him, but he wasn't quite ready to lay down just yet. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he shot Trent a quick text.

He's finally asleep. All good. Will call if I need you.

Leaning forward, he tossed the phone onto the coffee table, rubbed at his tired eyes. It was past midnight, but he needed some time to decompress. Eyes finding their way towards his youngest team member once again, he couldn't help but huff, quirk a lip.

Just when, exactly, had Clay gone from being his hot-headed, stubborn-ass, pain-in-the-ass rookie; to something more like a son?

Jason wasn't entirely sure, but there was no denying that somewhere along the way, it had happened.

Remaining leaning forward with elbows on knees, he let his eyes slip out of focus as he stared at his phone. The screen lit up with Trent's response, which he glanced at, before letting his gaze lose focus again. Chewing his lip, he toppled into thoughts.

If he had to guess, he'd say that his attitude towards Clay had begun to change the day he'd drafted the kid, after Adam had subtly pulled him aside …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"I'm glad you chose Spenser," Adam said, keeping his voice low as they stood in the corridor outside Bravo's cage room.

Jason folded his arms across his chest, leaned a shoulder against the wall. "Wouldn't have heard the end of it from Ray, if I hadn't."

Adam pinned him with a look, as if seeing through the lie. "He needs someone like you," he stated. "Not Beau. Not anyone else."

Jason narrowed his eyes, studying his old team leader's face, sensing there was something Adam wasn't saying. He raised a questioning brow.

Adam's expression shifted subtly. Eventually, he sighed. "Look out for him, would you?" His tone was sincere, lined with a hint of something heavy. "Kid needs someone firm but fair, who'll kick his ass in line if need be. He's been through a lot recently, losing his best friend the way he did."

Jason swallowed roughly. Despite his harsh words at the time, he'd never forget the look on Spenser's face that morning in the base mess hall when Adam had announced Brian Armstrong's death. He shook the memory free. "He needs to shake it off, just as we all do when we lose someone." Nate's death still stung, in ways Jason truly didn't have words for.

Adam held up a hand, understanding. "Not suggesting he hasn't. Spenser's a pro when it comes to compartmentalizing." He paused, sighed. "Which is half the problem."

Jason readjusted his weight against the wall. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Adam continued, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, "he's an exceptional operator, despite the shit that's constantly being flung at him."

Jason had no idea what Adam was on about.

"That kid has fought tooth and nail, to get to where he is today," Adam explained, almost bitterly. "Being Ash Spenser's son isn't exactly a blessing – it's a fucking ball and chain. Clay cops flack from peers and higher ups alike, just because of who his father is."

Jason huffed. "Am I meant to feel sorry for him?" Because he wouldn't. Although there was a part of him that acknowledged his own guilt in initially judging Clay based on his asshole father.

Adam levelled him with a look. "Clay fights harder than anyone else I know. He'll always put his team mates first, even if they treat him like shit."

"That's not how Bravo operates -"

"I know," Adam cut in. "That's why I'm glad he's got you." He paused, waiting as a group passed by, before continuing once they were out of earshot. "He needs a mentor, not just a team leader."

Jason leaned his back fully against the wall, chewing his lip as he chewed over Adam's words.

"He needs guidance, not just someone to throw orders at him." Adam joined Jason leaning, shot him a side glance. "You're the right person for that job. Clay has had to watch his own back for a hell of a long time. But I know, without a doubt, once he learns what it truly means to be a part of a team, to have a family, he'll come through for you in spades. You wont regret choosing him."

Jason huffed. "I'd better not."

A moment settled between them.

"Look out for him," Adam repeated. "He hasn't had a lot of experience with that."

Jason blew out a breath, raked teeth over his bottom lip. Eventually nodded.

"He's not his father, Jase."

Jason knew that. "Wouldn't have drafted him, if I'd thought that."

Adam twitched a smile. Patted Jason's shoulder. "Good. Don't forget it."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason swallowed against the lump in his throat. Thinking of Adam still hurt, despite the time that had passed. God, he missed his old friend; his old friend who had been right about Clay, from the get-go.

Jason shot a glance towards his peacefully sleeping boy.

Clay had proven very early on that he was a lot different to his old man. It hadn't taken long for Jason, and the rest of Bravo, to want to kick some serious ass whenever they heard anyone say otherwise.

After joining the team, Clay's layers had very gradually begun to peel away, one by one. And though his walls had remained firmly in place, Jason had started to catch glimpses of the young man behind the bravado – a boy, trying to beat his own path out from behind his old man's shadow, carrying a world of hurt and constantly feeling like he had to prove his worth.

It was about three months into Clay's time with Bravo, when Jason sat down with him and explained that he'd already earned his place on the team – and that no matter how many times it may have happened to him in the past, he wasn't about to be cast aside at the drop of a hat …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

It happened so quickly. One second, Jason was wrangling a shaking, sobbing hostage towards the basement stairwell – the next, he was spinning at the sound of Spenser's sharp warning.

"Look out!" Clay yelled, shoving Sonny roughly out of the way and lunging towards a sparking wire that had suddenly dropped from the ceiling.

The building above them had taken a beating in the firefight to get to the hostages, pipes bursting in the basement ceiling and spilling water down onto the concrete floor. Of course, their luck would have it that electrical cables would join in the mayhem as well.

Sparking wire, whipping down and around like a panicked snake - it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and realize that, with water under their feet, they were all about to be fried.

Clay was the closest to the wire, and he grabbed it without a second thought – pulling it away from the water and managing to hook it behind a fallen piece of mesh.

For a moment, Jason didn't realize anything was wrong. His breath had caught as soon as Clay had grabbed the wire, but the boy's crazy-ass move appeared to have worked, so the lecture could wait.

Only, Clay didn't drop the wire straight away. His hands remained attached, his body rigid.

In one horrible heartbeat, Jason processed what was happening.

Clay's hands came free, and he immediately crumpled – the wire suddenly sparking out, still safely tucked behind the mesh.

"Clay!" Sonny rushed to the kid's side, skidding to his knees.

And Jason all but threw his hostage into the wall, closing the distance with his heart in his throat. "Trent, get in here!" he yelled through his comms to his medic, who was upstairs with Ray and Brock.

"Clay?" Sonny was gently turning Clay over.

Clay's eyes were closed, expression blank.

Jason's horrified gaze traveled over the kid's motionless form, snagging on his gloved hands. There were burn marks in the heavy-duty material, but it was difficult to see just how badly off the skin was underneath. Jerking his attention back to Clay's top end, he reached a shaking hand to check for a pulse – while Sonny muttered pleas for their boy to open his eyes.

Jason shifted his fingers. God-fucking-damn-it Spenser, don't you fucking dare –

"No pulse," he reported stiffly, briefly meeting Sonny's shell-shocked gaze, before he set about roughly stripping Clay of his vest.

Trent appeared, quickly assessing the scene, color draining from his face. In one swift move, he pushed aside any panic, switching seamlessly into competent medic-mode. He knelt by Clay's unmoving form, placing his hands center-chest. "Starting compressions. Jase, breathe for him. Sonny, make sure there's no other cables set to come down on us."

Both Jason and Sonny hurriedly obeyed. At times like this, Trent took the lead.

Pump – pump – pump –

Jason forced himself to follow Trent's count, rather than focus on the fact that Clay's lips were starting to turn blue. Once they reached thirty compressions, Jason pinched Clay's nose, leaned in - breathed.

Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon –

It was the longest two minutes of Jason's life. He barely managed to keep the panic at bay as it threatened to seize his chest, blur his vision.

But then, through some miracle, Clay gasped. His eyes fluttered, back arching.

Trent quickly repositioned, smoothly rolling the younger man to his side and leaning in close with a hand on Clay's trembling shoulder. "You're okay, just breathe, that's it."

Jason ricocheted between wanting to cry and wanting to scream. He settled for sitting back on his heels, raking both hands through his hair.

Sonny looked about two seconds away from hitting the deck, reaching out to steady himself against a pipe as his knees threatened to buckle. "Holy fucking hell, Spenser …"

Trent was still muttering reassurances to Clay, doing his best to keep the kid conscious while he checked pulse, pupils, respiration.

Jason placed a grounding hand against the wet concrete, pushed unsteadily to his feet. Ray's voice suddenly buzzed through their comms. "One, this is Two. Getting a little hairy up here. What's your status?"

Jason swallowed against the tightness in his throat, voice AWOL. He keyed his comms, took a moment to find his words. "Six is down. Nasty shock from some live wire. Got him back."

There was a very weighty pause, before Ray returned. "Copy that. Standing by."

Jason's gaze skipped between Trent, Sonny, and Clay's unnervingly still form. "We gotta move," he stated, dropping to a crouch beside Trent again.

Clay's eyes were half-mast, gaze catching nothing.

Trent grunted a reply, something about getting the kid to a hospital, or they might still lose him.

Jason didn't wait for further instruction. Snaking a hand behind Clay's shoulders, he lifted the younger man upright, pulling him close and sliding his other hand beneath Clay's knees. Wavering slightly, he stood, taking a moment to reposition the dead weight in his arms. "Let's go," he ordered, starting towards the stairs.

And then, dropping his voice, he tilted his face down towards Clay's. "I got you buddy. Hang in there. You're gonna be okay."

…

Clay was in hospital for a week, treated for relatively minor burns to his palms (thank God for military-grade gloves) and his heart monitored for any permanent damage – which, miraculously, he'd escaped. He was cleared to return to full active duty within five weeks.

"If that's not a sign that someone's watching over him …" Ray stated.

Jason didn't want to go there, didn't want to think about how damn close it had been. He was no stranger to close calls, but this one felt like they'd avoided tragedy by the skin of their teeth. He dwelled on it, lost sleep over it - when he looked in the mirror, he was sure he'd gained more grey stubble and forehead creases because of it.

Eventually, on Spenser's second day back, he cornered the kid in his cage.

"I want you to promise me something," Jason said, leaning against a shelf, pinning the younger man with a no-bullshit look.

Clay's hands stilled, part-way through cleaning his weapon. He sat on a plastic chair, rifle in pieces around his feet. His eyes were impossibly blue against his questionable pallor.

"Promise me," Jason continued, "that if you ever pull a stunt like that again -" Because, of course, at some point it would happen again. "- you fully understand that you're not expendable."

Clay's brow creased.

Jason didn't give him a chance to talk. "Promise me that you understand our call signs don't rank us in terms of our level of importance. You don't need to prove your worth to the team, by doing crazy-ass hero shit that could get you very, very dead."

Clay opened his mouth, but once again, Jason cut him off.

"What you did, grabbing that wire - it was a barely-calculated risk." Jason shook his head against the rattling memory. "It was reactionary. Suicidal. And I'm pretty sure -" He gestured towards his number four, who was busy in his own cage. "I'm pretty sure you damned near broke Trent." Damned near broke me as well, is what he left unsaid.

Clay swallowed roughly. "Jason, I -"

"You saved our lives," Jason filled in soberly, holding Clay's gaze. "If it wasn't for your quick thinking, you, me, Sonny, the hostages - we probably wouldn't be here today."

The confusion that had lined Clay's expression loosened a little, and his shoulders relaxed marginally, as if he'd been braced for a full-blown lecture.

Jason wasn't going to lecture the kid for saving their asses. But, he did want to make sure of one thing. "We owe you a case of beer. So long as you understand what I'm saying." Leaning a little closer, he repeated his previous warning, speaking slowly and carefully. "You do not have anything to prove."

Clay shifted in his seat.

"Perhaps you've felt that way in the past," Jason speculated. "Perhaps you've had your motives questioned. Or felt like you've had to earn your keep."

Clay's gaze briefly flitted away, betraying the truth of the comment.

Jason would have preferred to be wrong. "That's not how things work within my team," he said pointedly. He dipped a nod towards the Bravo patch on Clay's sleeve. "You earned that, the day I drafted you."

Clay's gaze traveled to the patch.

"So, if you're gonna put your ass on the line for the rest of us," Jason finished, "make sure you truly understand that any one of us would do the same for you. It's what brothers do – we have each other's backs."

A moment settled between them.

Eventually, Clay nodded. Though Jason caught a hint of shadow in the younger man's expression – perhaps some lingering doubt. It made him realize that he still had a lot of work to do, getting the kid to fully understand what it meant to have a team – a family – at his back.

And, for the first time, he felt a spark of genuine anger at Ash Spenser - not just for being a complete dick, but for being an incredibly shitty, perpetually absent parent.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason eyed his pillow. He was tired, but still not quite ready to sleep.

Clay shifted on the bed, stirring restlessly in dreams. He tossed one way, and then the other, face scrunching.

Jason tensed, watching and waiting, hoping that a nightmare didn't rear its head.

Thankfully, Clay stilled, his expression once again relaxing. But his movements had relocated the sheet and blanket, exposing his top half to the cold.

Jason sighed, pushed up from the couch. Approaching the bed quietly, he gently re-positioned the covers, letting his hand linger a moment on Clay's shoulder.

He recalled the first time he'd felt an ounce of fatherly protection towards his youngest team member. It was during a spin-up, just after their first deployment. They were in a very basic base camp in Indonesia, and Clay was sprawled out on a bed, tossing and turning - drenched in sweat with a raging case of dengue …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason clutched the cold compress, watching helplessly as Clay moaned – the kid twisting and turning against the sweat-drenched sheet upon the creaky bed, lost in fever dreams.

The younger man's curls were plastered to his forehead, his eyes squeezed closed. He was stripped down to his boxer briefs, an IV snaking from his arm.

Trent leaned over, trying to keep the IV line from getting tangled as Clay thrashed about.

"There's nothing else we can do for him?" Jason asked, although he already knew the answer.

Clay had fallen ill quickly, causing them to delay their flight home until the morning – long enough to send off a blood sample to the local medical center, and have it returned confirming their boy had dengue fever.

"Just keep his fluids up, as best we can," Trent replied tensely, pulling a thermometer and chasing Clay's moving forehead with it, trying to get a reading. "Tylenol, which I've given him." He pursed his lips at the too-high number, shoved the device back in his pocket. "Not much more we can do than that, just try to keep him comfortable."

Jason winced. Clay looked about as far from comfortable as he could possibly be – moaning, muttering, the occasional delirious whimper.

"We're cleared to fly at 0700."

Jason jumped at Blackburn's voice, unaware that their commander had appeared behind him. He cast a look over his shoulder, caught Blackburn's worried gaze as their CO watched Clay.

"I trust you'll let us know if we need to get him to a hospital sooner." Blackburn glanced at Trent, who nodded grimly.

"It's going to be a long night," the medic sighed, once again untangling the IV line from Clay's constantly moving arm.

Jason swallowed jaggedly, dipping the cloth into a bowl of cool water at his side. Wringing it out with slightly trembling fingers, he leaned forward, pressed it against Clay's forehead.

Clay moaned, twisting away from the touch.

"Shh," Jason soothed, following Clay's movements to keep the cloth on his fiery skin. "Easy, buddy. Just trying to help."

But Clay didn't hear him. His eyes were slits of blue in the dim, but he wasn't seeing. "No," he moaned. "I swear … I latched the coop." His mind was off, somewhere far away.

Jason wiped wet curls from his boy's brow, shushing again. God, Clay looked startlingly young, fragile and vulnerable. Jason couldn't help but think of the many times he'd done this for his own children, when they'd been sick. His parental instinct was in overdrive, and he felt Bravo One subtly switching out with the more fatherly version of Jason Hayes. He made a half-assed effort to stop it, but deep down, he realized perhaps he didn't want to.

"You're okay," he repeated, as Blackburn sighed and moved off.

Clay tried to bat the cloth away, but thankfully Trent intercepted, gently holding the younger man's wrist.

"I saw the cat." Clay's slitted eyes opened a little wider, and he pinned Jason with an intense, almost pleading look.

Jason's heart broke a little. Clay was a completely competent, hard-ass, grade-A pipe-hitter. He played his cards close to his chest, and seeing him this exposed felt all sorts of wrong. It was a peek behind the wall, without Clay's permission. "Shh," Jason tried again.

But Clay cut him off, tone desperate. "I saw the cat," he repeated, shaking his head this way and that against the thin pillow. "I know it got them … somehow … I swear I latched the coop."

"Okay, buddy," Trent spoke quietly, intervening as Clay wriggled close to the edge of the bed.

Jason replaced the cloth in the bowl, squeezing out the residual heat from Clay's burning hot skin.

The Jakartan night was thick with warmth and humidity, and the single aircon in the dorm-style room rattled with the effort to even take the edge off.

Clay whimpered, face scrunching. Was he crying?

Jason quickly leaned forward, wiping the semi-cool cloth over fever-flushed cheeks.

"It's my fault we lost the chickens," the younger man whispered brokenly, squeezing his eyes closed as more tears leaked free.

Jason shushed him again, gently held the cloth against his neck.

Clay's breathing was erratic, short and sharp, chest hitching. Whatever hallucinations he was having were causing him distress.

Cat? Chickens? Jason struggled to get a read on Clay at the best of times. The hell was going on right now in that head of his? Repositioning the cloth on the other side of Clay's neck, he felt his chest constrict as the kid arched and moaned.

And then, Clay started yelling, in a language none of them understood.

Trent gently restrained him, bracing his shoulders.

Sonny drew closer to the bed, face twisted in worry.

Jason's gaze darted across the room to Ray. "Got any idea what he's saying?"

Ray just shook his head grimly. "He grew up in Liberia. My guess is one of the local dialects."

As quickly as Clay had started, he stilled again – returning to twisting and moaning pitifully.

Brock entered the room, flinging the door open and announcing that he'd found some ice. It was a small amount, but it was better than nothing.

Jason grabbed the water bowl, twisted and held it out for his number five to drop the two cups worth of cubes in. Replacing the cloth in the water, he felt relieved that it was finally cool, as opposed to lukewarm.

Brock lingered a moment by the bed, watching helplessly as his little brother writhed around.

Jason squeezed out the cloth, reached forward and dabbed it once again across Clay's hairline.

Fatherly concern pulled once more at his gut. He found himself wondering – as he'd done many times before– about Clay's childhood. From what he'd gathered, Ash Spenser had abandoned his son pretty early on in the piece, and Clay's mother had sent him to live with her parents in rural Liberia. Clay had stayed there until he'd enlisted, which, at a guess, worked out to be about twelve years.

Twelve years.

Twelve years was an awfully long time.

Jason gently smoothed Clay's hair back from his forehead, studying the younger man. Who had done this for Clay, whenever he'd been sick as a child? His grandparents, most likely. Jason didn't doubt they were good people, but still … It hurt to think that Clay's parents hadn't cared enough to fill that role for their little boy. One of the hardest things, for a parent, was seeing their child sick. Jason knew from his own experience that he would drop everything whenever either Emma or Mikey were ill. Had anyone done that for Clay?

Jason found himself shushing again, quietly soothing. "You're okay, buddy, take it easy. We're here."

I'm here, was what he really wanted to say.

And some time, over that very long night, Jason's urge to not just mentor Clay but protect him, as a parent protects a child, gathered and grew substantially.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Releasing a breath, and allowing the memory to dissipate, Jason stepped away from the bed and made his way into his small kitchen.

That time, just after Clay's first deployment with Bravo, was one of the worst periods of Jason's life. The deployment itself had been a shit show, what with the helicopter crash, and his concussion. And then, Alana …

Grabbing a glass off the sink, he twisted the faucet and half-filled it. A painful lump threatened to close up his throat, but he swallowed it back down with the water, pushing the memories away.

He was half-successful.

Straight after Alana's death, when he'd still been horribly raw with grief, Adam had been killed. And it was then, after his old friend's funeral, that he'd caught his first real glimpse behind Clay's normally impenetrable walls …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

They'd sent Adam off with a bang. But night-time drunken golfing aside, the pain still lingered, eating away at all of them in different ways.

Jason was still reeling from losing Alana, trying desperately to find his feet with his empty new normal – navigating the aftermath, trying to be both father and mother for his children.

Going back to work, after Adam's death, felt right. Of course, he was far from healed, but his job was the only predictable aspect of his life that he felt he still had some semblance of control over – and that was saying something.

As things would have it, he was glad he returned when he did. His team needed the sense of unity after such a hard loss. And it allowed him the time to notice that Clay was a little less 'fine' than he claimed to be.

It was the little things that tipped Jason off – perhaps because, in his own way, he wasn't coping so well, either. If the others noticed, they didn't say anything. And perhaps Jason wouldn't have said anything either, if his Dad-instincts hadn't been so incessant with their niggling.

Clay reminded him a lot of Emma, in many ways. Over the time he'd been working alongside the kid, he'd noticed the similarities. They were both strong-willed, driven, seemingly unshakable. But inside, they carried a host of insecurities, a deep-set fear of vulnerability.

Jason noticed Clay's cracks showing, much the same as he usually sensed when there was something bothering his daughter. A little less bravado, a little less spark – reinforced locks, walls fortified, and too many one-word answers. Clay also seemed to be having trouble with eye contact, and he appeared to be avoiding Jason as much as possible. Which, obviously, meant that Jason had to corner him and get to the bottom of what was going on.

It was a Friday afternoon, and Jason had overheard Clay say that Stella was away for the weekend. He decided to swing by the store, grab a six-pack of Clay's favorite (God-awful) beer, and turn his truck towards the kid's apartment instead of his own horribly empty-feeling home.

Second thoughts bumped against him, as he stood at Clay's door. But he ignored them. Rapping his knuckles, he drew a grounding breath, waited.

Footsteps could be heard, approaching the door on the other side. There was a moment's pause, and Jason plastered a tight smile, assuming Clay was peering through the peep hole.

There was the sound of a chain unlatching, and the door opened.

They'd left the base less than an hour ago, yet somehow, Clay's appearance and demeanor had grown worse in that time. He'd showered and changed, but it was like he'd also removed his stoic façade and had forgotten to put it back on – his shoulders slumped, and his eyes were more shadowed. His gaze flitted away, barely skimming Jason's face. "Hey," he greeted flatly, managing to suppress most of his surprise at finding his team leader standing outside his door.

Jason studied the younger man, feeling even more unsettled than he had done previously. He lifted the beers, squeezed a half-smile. "Feel like company?" He guessed that the honest answer was probably no.

"Sure." Clay was a terrible liar.

Jason didn't take offense. He stepped inside the apartment, as Clay moved to let him through. His gaze darted around the basic space.

Stella's presence was obvious here and there, with a few items strategically placed to brighten up the area – colorful cushions, a couple of pot plants along the window sill. An ache traveled through Jason's heart, as he wondered how long it would be before Alana's influence wore off in his own home. Already, he could feel it fading, bit by bit with each day that passed.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he moved towards the kitchen, placed the beers on the counter. Not hesitating, he tilted two out from the cardboard loops, popped their lids and handed one to Clay.

If Clay didn't feel like drinking, he didn't mention it. Just plastered a look of gratitude on his face as he eyed the bottle. Mechanically, he reciprocated the offered cheers, tapping the neck of his bottle against Jason's with a soft clink.

They stood, each taking a sip, then two. Silence gathered, and Jason wondered whether he should wait until Clay asked why he'd come, or just launch into it. Picking anxiously at the label on the bottle, he settled for the latter.

"It's not your fault, you know." The words fell heavily between them, despite Jason's gentle tone.

Clay didn't reply, chose instead to take another long sip of his beer.

Jason stepped a little closer, drew an uneven breath. "I need you to understand that," he continued. "Because I feel like you're blaming yourself, and that's not okay."

Another heavy silence settled. Clay's gaze fell to the floor.

"It's not okay for you to be carrying that weight," Jason explained, ensuring his tone remained soft, non-threatening. "It's not okay for you to assign the responsibility of Adam's death to yourself."

Clay blinked rapidly. He backed up, leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes glassy.

Jason sighed. "God knows, I understand the weight of the what-if's." He placed his beer upon the counter top, scrubbed a hand over his stubble. "I've lost count of how many times I've replayed the events that led up to Alana's death, trying to figure out if I could've done anything differently."

Clay's gaze finally swung around. It was horribly broken.

Jason shook his head. "Just like I wonder what might have been different, if I hadn't stepped down. If it'd been me in Mumbai, instead of Adam."

Could he have changed the end result? Or would he be the one in a box, leaving his children to grieve both their parents?

"It's a pointless merry-go-round," he muttered, more sad than bitter.

Clay's throat worked, but he didn't seem to be able to find his words.

Jason fished for something else to say as heavy silence engulfed them once more, but he came up blank, too busy battling his own churning emotions.

Clay finally found his voice. Lifting teary eyes, he offered a very quiet, very fragile apology.

Jason felt his throat constrict. Clay looked small - too small. Too young. For a moment, he felt like he was talking with one of his own children. He shook his head, rejecting the apology. "Don't you dare," he countered – though there was no anger in his tone, simply gentle rejection.

Clay's expression crumpled even further, misinterpreting.

Jason quickly clarified. "Don't you dare think that I would ever blame you."

A stray tear escaped, traced a path down Clay's cheek. He wiped it away, but not before another had leaked from the other eye – and then another, and another.

"Adam meant a lot to me," Jason continued, voice starting to lose its steadiness. "Just as he meant a lot to you."

Stepping closer to Clay, he reached out and took the kid's bottle, relocating it to the counter. "But what happened was a tragic accident." He placed his hands either side of Clay's shoulders, felt them trembling. "Just like what happened to Alana." He swallowed roughly. "And just like what happened to your friend, Brian. We look to blame someone, and the first person we find is ourselves. Blaming ourselves is easier than accepting what happened, but it's not right, and it doesn't fix anything."

Clay covered his face with his hands, pressing palms against his eyes as if he could stop the tears.

Jason normally followed a strict no-hug policy, but now seemed like the appropriate moment to cast that aside. His hands were still on Clay's shoulders, and he quickly gathered his boy against him without a second thought.

They stood like that for a long moment - Clay sobbing, hands still pressed against his face as he leaned his forehead upon Jason's chest.

Eventually, Clay said, in a choked whisper, "People I care about keep leaving me."

And didn't that just shatter Jason. He held on tighter. "Not all of us, buddy." He swallowed thickly. "Not all of us."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason returned to the couch. He took his pillow, positioned it against the arm rest. Shaking out the blanket and spreading it over him, he lay down, eyes to the ceiling.

Fine cracks traced lines around the single light bulb. The paint was discolored and peeling. The whole apartment was in desperate need of some TLC – much like himself.

His thoughts swam, drifting through the events of the past year.

It hurt, thinking how much Clay had been through, in such a relatively short time.

After Adam's death, the kid had lost Stella – and Jason would never forgive her for the way she dropped him on the tarmac, right before their spin-up to Mexico.

Then, they'd nearly lost Sonny to that God-damned torpedo tube. The heart-wrenching despair on Clay's face that day, believing he'd lost his best friend, had been enough to tear Jason apart.

Then, came the Gucci mission from Hell, when Clay had nearly lost his legs to a bomb – and Jason had nearly watched his boy bleed out on that filthy Manila street.

Then, as if all that hadn't been enough, there was Swanny.

Jason's chest tightened. He blinked at the ceiling.

It was so much. Too much. Clay wasn't even thirty, and already he'd been dealt so many blows – again and again and again.

Jason's eyes drifted towards the bed, and he watched the gentle rise and fall of the blanket across Clay's shoulder.

The kid had been through so much, and yet, somehow, he kept picking himself back up again, kept on fighting.

That horrible time when Jason and the rest of his team had been separated from Clay, after the bombing, had been torture. Especially after Swanny's death. Jason's sense of urgency to get home to his boy had skyrocketed, knowing that Clay was left to deal with that alone. And yet, on the day of Swanny's funeral, after their return, Jason had witnessed a strength in the kid that was both surprising and admirable. It had caused something very similar to fatherly pride to spread through him, and, despite the difficulty of the day, it wasn't an unwelcome feeling …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

After the service, and after the casket had been lowered into the ground and each of them had solemnly thrown their handful of dirt into the hole, Jason sought Clay.

The kid was standing, staring at the still-open grave. Each of the others had offered shoulder squeezes alongside supportive, quiet words. Naima had gathered Clay against her, as she did her own children, and had allowed him a moment to cry privately – before offering him a tissue, and a warm motherly smile with whispered reassurances.

Jason stepped up beside his boy, hands in his pockets, and joined him in staring down at the half-covered casket.

It hadn't escaped Jason's notice that Ash Spenser had made himself scarce after the service. It was as if the man had come to keep up appearances, rather than to support his own son. But then, that shouldn't have been surprising. Ash was all about doing things if there was something in it for him. Honor was a foreign concept - as were parental instincts and genuine care.

"I'm proud of you," Jason said, after a moment, words gentle and sincere. He darted a side glance at the younger man.

Clay stood, rigid, cheeks blotchy from tears. In the absence of stubble, or the scruff of unruly curls, he looked a hell of a lot younger than his years – though his shoulders sagged with more than a lifetime's worth of weight. He'd insisted on being one of the pallbearers, but the time on his feet was beginning to take its toll, and Jason noticed the barely-masked discomfort on his face, the way he favored his good leg.

Clay shook his head, rejecting Jason's words. "I didn't get Swanny what he deserved," he replied sadly, meeting Jason's eyes. "What's there to be proud of?"

Jason let out an internal sigh. Clay still had a lot to learn about self-worth. "You fought for him," he countered. "You gave him, and many others like him, a voice."

Clay's forehead creased, and he shook his head more firmly. "It wasn't enough."

Jason recalled the emotion that had shot through him, as Clay had placed his own purple heart upon the casket. The kid was constantly putting others above himself. He gave a shit, when no one else could be bothered. He fought for justice, even when others opted for the too-hard basket. Clay was more than double the man his father was, and in all honestly, Jason questioned how the two Spensers could possibly be related. "That's not what it's about," he replied levelly.

Clay went to argue again, but Jason cut him off.

"It's not always about whether you win or lose," Jason explained, pinning the younger man with a weighty look. "It's about having the balls to step up to the plate, your reasons for doing so."

Clay's expression softened, just a little bit, with Jason's words.

Jason released a long breath, reached over and pulled Clay gently into a side hug. He wanted so badly to take the kid's pain away – just as he did whenever his own children were hurting. But he couldn't. He could only try to lessen the load, help him through. "I'm proud of you," he repeated, not even bothering to hide his emotions as his words frayed. He hoped that the sincerity in his tone would help Clay understand just how much he meant it.

Clay held back his response, choosing instead to bite down on his trembling bottom lip.

Jason pulled him marginally closer, the action helping take a little more weight off Clay's bad leg. Jason could only hope that the gesture might also help to absorb some of the emotional weight the kid was carrying, as well.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason blinked at his cracked ceiling for another few moments, before allowing his tired eyes to finally slip closed.

Perhaps there was no singular point, over the past few years, that his attitude towards Clay had changed. Perhaps it was more of a collection of small, subtle moments, that had led him to view Clay as a son, rather than just a team member.

Whatever the case, it wasn't unwelcome. Though he still wasn't quite ready to acknowledge it out loud.

It wasn't a coincidence that the events of tonight had stirred these thoughts inside him. He would admit that he fathered Clay, just a little bit, but the kid had never really advertised the fact that he'd been looking for someone to fill that position. Clay had never hinted that he viewed Jason in the same way – at least, not really, until tonight.

Jason had just been about to take a bite of his dinner, when he'd received a call from the local hospital, informing him that Clay had been involved in a car accident …

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Despite the nurse's reassurances over the phone, Jason broke more than a few speed limits to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Part of his reaction was post-traumatic stress, triggered by the mention of a car accident – and the other part was simply because it was Clay.

His heart pounded as he made his way into the ED. His voice trembled slightly, as he spoke with the triage nurse, explaining that he'd received a call about Clay Spenser.

The nurse was kind, with friendly eyes. Perhaps she picked up on Jason's anxiety, because she hastily reassured him that Clay was okay, as she led him through to see his boy.

Clay was seated on the edge of a bed, white shirt speckled with blood around the collar, a patch of padded gauze taped to his forehead. Another nurse was with him, an older lady who glanced at Jason as soon as he slipped in behind the curtain.

"Ah," she said to Clay, "is this your father?"

Clay shot a look at Jason, quirked a lip, and answered before Jason could get a word in. "Close enough."

And Jason felt something spark through him, dispelling at least a little of his anxiety.

Close enough.

A light smile brushed his lips, as he assessed the younger man, grateful beyond words that the nurse hadn't been lying and the kid was indeed in once piece. "You okay?" he asked, steadying his voice.

"He's got a very mild concussion, some bruising from the seatbelt," the nurse offered. "He can go home, so long as he stays with someone for at least the next twenty-four hours."

Jason ignored Clay's half-apologetic, half-pleading look. Of course Clay could stay with him. "What happened?" he asked, taking a seat on the bed beside the younger man, letting the question hang between them.

Clay rubbed at his eyes, waved a hand. "Driving home from the store, someone clipped me, spun me into a post."

Jason felt his heart hammer, brain unhelpfully throwing all sorts of could-have-been-worse scenarios through his head.

"Car's fucked," Clay sighed.

Jason pinned him with a look. "Cars can be fixed."

The nurse pursed her lips, regarded Clay with a look equal to 'your close-enough father has a point.' She handed Jason some paperwork and a pen. "Sign here if you're happy for us to discharge him."

Clay's eyes were pleading.

Jason knew how much the kid hated hospitals. He nodded, scribbling his signature, huffing when Clay visibly relaxed.

"Tylenol, rest, and keep a good eye on him," the nurse instructed, taking back the form. "He's got a few stitches, so he can come back in a week to get them removed, or you can organize that with your own doctor, up to you."

Jason nodded. Trent would see to it. Chances were, their medic wouldn't wait a week. He pushed up from the bed, extending a hand to help Clay.

Clay waved him off. "I'm good."

Jason thanked the nurse, and they made their way out of the ED. He stuck close by Clay, despite the kid's insistence that he was fine.

"Sorry," Clay offered, as they approached Jason's truck.

Jason opened the passenger door for him, helped him up. "What for?"

Clay leaned his head back against the seat, eyes heavy. "Should've told you I put you down as my emergency contact."

Jason shrugged, masking just how deeply that information hit him. It hadn't crossed his mind, but the reality was that with Stella out of the picture, Clay didn't have any family other than his useless father. He allowed a small smile. "As your close-enough Dad, I'm okay with that."

Clay huffed, appreciation settling over his features.

Jason went to close the door, but Clay cut him off. "Jase?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Think you can wait til tomorrow, to tell Trent?"

Jason nearly laughed. "Been prodded and poked enough tonight?"

Clay pulled a face, nodded.

Jason agreed. He would message the others to let them know what had happened, but would request that they hold off descending upon his apartment until the morning. He went to close the door again.

Clay once again intercepted the motion. "Jase?"

Jason nearly rolled his eyes, pausing. Raised a brow.

Clay flicked a genuine smile. "Thanks. For coming to get me."

Jason returned the smile. Reached into the cab, patted the younger man's leg. "All good," he replied.

And then he closed the door, before Clay could stop him again.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jason rubbed at his eyes, pushed up from the couch. He told himself he was just getting up to turn off the overhead light, but he took the opportunity to check on Clay once more.

The younger man was snoring lightly, face peaceful with sleep.

Given all the shit that Clay had been through, a lot of it in the relatively short time Jason had known him, it was nice to see such a relaxed look on his face. The kid obviously felt safe here, comfortable. And that was more than Jason could ever have hoped for – though, of course, he would never admit that.

Making his way back to the couch, and laying down once again, he glanced at the time.

1:35am

Draping an arm across his tired eyes, he groaned.

He gave Trent about four hours, before he guessed the medic would be knocking at his door. And no doubt the others wouldn't be far behind – because that's how they rolled; an all-for-one, one-for-all package deal.

Leaning for the coffee table, he snagged his phone, fired off a quick group text.

If his team would all be here to check up on their littlest brother at the butt-crack of dawn, then someone had damned well better bring coffee, and a decent breakfast – or heads would roll.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

~ End ~