Hello From Under the Bus

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: His focus compromised, Clay finds himself adrift; barely survives a perilous contact; and offers hope to waning faith. These are missing scenes from the episode 'Things Not Seen'.

The attack…the forceful weight bearing down on his back; the onslaught of fists to his face and throat came so sudden and so swift that he did not think of counter actions. Only that…damn, this must be it. All of his training, all that Adam had imparted and Boss hammered home daily, was forgotten in an instant. It was finally his turn.

Like Ray said – everyone has his time. This must be his.

After receiving the order to break away and meet up at the main entrance, he had without knowing it, let his defenses down; mistakenly letting his mind wander to her. As he rushed around corners…shifting and disturbing fine dust beneath his boots, he thought of her at the door returning the key to his place.

As his breath and pounding feet bounced and echoed off the walls he thought of her in his bed…giving him comfort and love. Her…she, was an ache in his heart; admonishing him for fucking it all up. For not taking her fears seriously enough to stop and really listen.

He felt sorry for that.

And as his assailant reached for his neck, grabbed hold and squeezed…he still thought of her. Envisioned her smile, her warmth – the way she laughed from her belly, the way she never took herself too seriously. Stars erupted on the edges of his vision; as simultaneously an aura of bright light wavered alongside zig zags of reds, blues and greens.

His breathing was reduced to wheezing beneath the strong hands of fanaticism and hatred. He had no strength or will to break the hold…his arms leaden and numb. Clay was certain this was his moment. He was going to die here – alone, surrounded by dust, crumbling walls and mounting disappointments.

But then, in a corner of the dilapidated mausoleum – underneath the rays of sunlight streaming from the bombed out hole in the ceiling, there she stood, brows creased - with that look on her face. A sad, sorrowful look…that said in so many words, "I knew it. I told you so. This is how you would leave me. So I left first."

And in that moment between choosing life or death; he chose to live, to prove her wrong. Resolved not to lose the long standing argument between them, he decided to wake up. He remembered his training; gained leverage, broke free and reached for his weapon, hidden beneath his waist band and in one rapid rehearsed move shot his assailant six times in the chest and then once more through the forehead to be sure. To be sure that he was the one surviving today.

Leaning over, Clay grabbed for his throat; coughed up dirt, blood and spittle, then watched in weary fascination as the aura of lights, colors and squiggly lines diminished from view. He felt lightheaded, uncoordinated and knew it was due to lack of oxygen. Standing straight, he attempted to take deep breaths and force himself to relax…looking for her within the shadows of fallen debris – redoubling his side of the argument… calling out into open space, "See, you were wrong. I didn't die here today."

Frowning, he wondered why she did not answer back. Closing his eyes, he pressed them tight. When he looked again…she was gone.

Leaving the ghost of her behind, Clay raced off to meet the team. He was determined this time to remain alert; keep focused…not let his guard down. Not let memories of her distract him. Heart pounding through his chest, Clay felt as if his assailant's tight grip on his throat was still in place – squeezing the life out of him.

Dismissing the sensation, he rounded the corner – glad to suddenly see Boss standing ready at the entrance. With his weapon held high, the man's commanding presence was an instant steadying force to his distress. "Move Spenser!" Boss yelled, as the sounds of gun fire crackled just beyond the door. "You good?" he asked.

Voice dry and hoarse, Clay quickly answered back. "I'm solid. Got contacted on my way down here." And before he could give any more explanation….all hell broke loose.

Just feet away, the helo seemed to be waiting patiently for them. Blades whirling, kicking up dust – the door wide open…Full Metal already there waving for them to keep coming.

Relief was palpable.

They were going to make it. Jenna Robertson was safe in Ray's arms; Trent laughed loud and hard – still on a high after finally getting to rocket launch a VBIED in combat. Brock and Cerberus raced each other to the helo like children running home from school…Sonny at their backs yelling for them to "Go,go,go" and Jason at his side pulling him by the arm to keep up – his legs uncertain and wobbly beneath him.

In the helo – Jenna Robertson's screams of pain above the whip, whip, whip of the blades unnerved him. Hands shaking, he reached for his throat and rubbed at the phantom grip, trying to unloose the hold. Black spots erupted before him…so he closed his eyes to blot out the vision, but they only reappeared beneath his lids dancing like popping popcorn; making him nauseous.

Swallowing down bile at the back of his throat, Clay wondered what was happening to him as sweat trickled from under his helmet, beneath his collar then to slide down his back. His chest felt constricted. Why was it so hard to breathe? He had survived the near strangulation. Was this normal?

Shivering he felt a hand lay heavy across his shoulder. Startled, Clay reached for his firearm, ready to blast away at his assailant once again. Boss grabbed his wrist and twisted the gun free from his grasp. His grip was hard, firm and cold like steel. "You okay?" he shouted over the noise of spinning blades.

Confused, and unable to find his voice, Clay nodded – sure that what he was experiencing was not worth mentioning. He was fine. He just needed to catch his breath.

Boss nodded back, returned his firearm and turned away. His thoughts, no doubt, moved on to what was next. Their mission was almost complete. As the helicopter swiftly lifted from the ground and then gain altitude, a strong push of air entered the cabin like crashing waves. Clay felt as if he were drowning.

Finally aboard the C17, Clay felt a sense of relief overwhelm him. Falling to his knees – the nausea he worked so hard to hold back, exploded without his permission and splattered the floor. Just as the ramp closed up behind them he laid down to rest, with Boss kneeling at his side.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously – pushing wet hair from his forehead; cupping his cheek – bracing his neck.

He really tried; only Clay couldn't answer, his voice gone. The aura back stronger than ever obscuring everything around him in waving bright lights he could not escape.

Hands pushed him on his side, and began to remove his gear. He wanted to help out, but found his arms and legs were too heavy to navigate. He wanted to answer the rapid fire questions Trent screamed above him; but his voice was trapped, suppressed painfully in his throat. Then he could not breathe; his lungs seizing; heart racing. He could feel his eyes rolling back as the vice around his chest tightened and crowded out the air.

Out of nowhere, Boss grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up – shaking him with strength; yelling down into his face, "Don't you do this. Don't you go!"

Thoughts racing, he gained some control over his sight in order to seek out Boss to help him; to explain. To tell him what was happening to him. If anyone would know, he would. "That's right. That's right. There you are. Stay here with me", Boss whispered pulling him in close – so close he could hear and feel the man's heart beating just at his neck.

Only what he asked of him seemed insurmountable. It was just too much work. Maybe she…maybe Stella had won the argument after all.

Or maybe, he just needed to rest. So he let go, Boss murmuring nonsense in his ear.

A sensation of cold wrapped around his neck sent a wave of panic through him. He was back. His assailant was back, bent on finishing him off – proving right her side of their argument.

Reaching up to pull fingers from around his throat and fight him off – a hand prevented him with firm intentions along with a soothing mantra, "It's okay. You're okay."

When he opened his eyes Ray stood over him, as calm and as reassuring as ever – holding onto his hands; pressing his fingers between his…as the hum of the C17 rumbled comfortingly beneath them.

"Your throat swelled up on you. That brace around your neck and those cool packs are there to help reduce the swelling." Ray explained.

Clay nodded, swallowed and winced in pain. His throat was on fire, his neck stiff; his head pounding.

"Try not to move too much or speak." Trent called out from somewhere to his right. "The doctor wants you to stay here in the infirmary under observation for a few more hours to be sure the swelling doesn't lead to an obstruction."

Clay sighed with understanding, and then smiled with relief as each of his team mates leaned over to greet him. Sonny ruffled his hair and roughly called him a dumbass, then turned away just before his eyes grew soft. Davis rolled her eyes with fake exasperation and poked him gently in the side. "If you wanted attention Spenser", she laughed, "you could have found a less dramatic way."

Cerberus barked from a distance and whined when Brock commanded for her to "sit", before she could leap from his hold onto the hospital bed.

Kairos winked and held up his new good luck charm – the detonator that did not detonate; saving all of their lives.

Only Boss stood to the back, separated from the group with a scowl on his face; and arms crossed. Clay thought he looked perturbed. Angry with him, as if he had done this on purpose; gotten himself strangled. He did not want to die. He was not going to die. Was his argument with Stella, now the same with Boss?

Holding on to the front of his hospital gown, he could still fell Boss' hands gripped around his collar – shaking him hard, demanding that he stay. And he did.

Here he was, wasn't he? What did Boss have to be so mad about?

So he scowled back, just as hard – wishing he could open his mouth and give voice to his frustrations.

Suddenly, everyone became quiet and seemed to hear the silent dissonance between the two. Jason's constant guilt and worry about Clay's wellbeing; and Clay's battle to override his Master Chief's overbearing protectiveness, stubbornness and resentments he felt toward the man; resentments he could not understand or overcome.

Looking from one man to the other, Ray shook his head slightly and tiredly rubbed his eyes. He would never fully understand these two men – so much alike, and yet different. Whose stubbornness tested him on the regular. Lately, his faith had been greatly shaken; but maybe today he had turned a corner. Sensing the standoff between the two, he broke through the tension; his voice a warm salve of brotherhood.

Clearing his throat, he commented softly, "Someone reminded me recently, that perhaps miracles can still happen." And when all eyes were on him, added, "I believe here is the proof."

"We are all here; alive; together."

Everyone quietly nodded their assent, lost in their own thoughts; reminded of BRAVO's narrow escape and success of the mission. Jenna Robertson had been rescued, the information she carried…invaluable. They had done good.

Pinning Ray with a look that spoke of gratitude, of always knowing just what to say and at the right moment, Jason moved forward and grabbed a hold of Clay's arm, the image of him – lips blue; struggling to breathe in his arms still at the fore front of his mind. Not sure how to make things completely right between them, Jason gripped Clay's arm with what he hoped conveyed his love for the kid. Then turning to each of his team and uttered warmly, "Cheers to that".

Thanks so much for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. This is just a little of what I would have liked to have seen during this episode. Also, I wanted to say thank you to those guests who left a review for my last story 'Come In'. Your thoughts and comments are much appreciated.