In which Sonny finds out that Clay and Brian were a thing and helps the young SEAL deal with his grief as only Sonny can. Mostly with whiskey.

Set in a non-specific time period. Rated K. Grief/Mourning. Sonny & Clay broship.

Inspired by a comment on my other fic, Stereotypes are for Sissies. Thanks allyhope for the prompt!

Sonny's Itch

He had an itch. The sort one couldn't physically scratch. It niggled at the back of his mind. Just. Itching.

"Sonny," Davis waved a hand in front of his face, beers in her other hand and eyebrow raised high, "You okay?" Sonny shrugged. He took the beer. Davis laughed, shoved his shoulder, "Come on, what's wrong?"

"I do not know," Sonny narrowed his eyes, "And that! Is the problem." Davis plopped onto the couch beside him, feet curled up beneath her. Sonny sank backwards.

The itch persisted.

Davis paused the movie that Sonny was officially not watching, "Alright, let's figure it out. Who?" Sonny scrunched his face up as he glanced at Davis, "Who on the team are you worried about?" Davis enunciated every word.

"You're a genius." Sonny stood up, chuckled. He pointed at Davis, "Little buddy. He was all fidgety during the mission."

Davis nodded, "He did seem off. You think something's up?"

Sonny grinned, snapped his fingers, "I'mma find out!" His beer was forgotten on the coffee table as he ran out the door. Davis chuckled to herself as she watched him go.

"Crazy cowboy." She took a gulp from her beer and hit play.

-.-.-

When Sonny stood outside Spenser's apartment he wasted no time with pleasantries and knocked obnoxiously, "Spenser!" He used both hands to drum on the wood, "Open says-a-Sonny!"

"What the hell, man?" Spenser opened the door with a quick yank. Sonny took in the ruffled hair and red eyes, glossed over the sweats, and then shoved his way into Spenser's apartment.

"I got myself an niggling itch in the back of my head," Sonny looked over the apartment as he walked across the wood flooring.

Clay chuckled behind him. "I think they make cream for that." Sonny heard the door swing shut.

Take out on the counter, on the coffee table, a box of photos, some splayed out on the floor beside a pile of blankets that indicated Clay hadn't been sleeping in his bed. "It was pointing me directly at you."

"I'm good." Clay wasn't a particularly good liar. Sonny raised an eyebrow, indicated the nest by the couch. "Just, uh, been thinking about the past."

"Oh, yeah?" Sonny stepped towards the pictures, Clay appeared in front of him quicker than a bullet. "What part of the past?" He raised an eyebrow, watched Clay fidget in front of him.

"My, uh, my friend Brian's birthday was this week." Clay looked just about everywhere but Sonny's face, "The big 3-0, ya know, we'd, uh, been planning to do something."

Sonny clasped Clay's shoulder, "That calls for alcohol." He detoured to the kitchen, was happy to see that Clay was well stocked in the way of beer and whiskey. He grabbed both.

"Isn't drinking when you're upset a bad thing?" Clay had settled back into his nest, was fumbling to pick up photos from the ground before Sonny could see them.

Sonny plopped onto the couch, tried hard (and failed) not to look at the scattered mess. He handed Clay the whiskey. "Thought you said you were good?"

Clay took the alcohol, took a long drag from the bottle. Ray'd probably not approve. Sonny clinked his beer with the bottle when Clay took a breath.

"So?" Sonny waited, Clay glanced up, "Tell me about your buddy." A bright red blush bloomed on the kid's face - not alcohol induced. Sonny squinted at Clay."He wasn't just your buddy, was he?"

"Well," Clay cleared his throat, "We were close."

Sonny snickered, "I bet." He took a drink, "Suppose that explains some things." Sonny thought back to Spenser sitting in the cafeteria after Armstrong's death. He'd looked pretty pathetic, even lost. "How long you two together?"

"Since BUD/S." Clay reached out for a particular photo. Sonny watched a ghost of a smile grace the kid's face.

The photo was obviously older. Clay didn't even look old enough to grow a beard for one. If Sonny didn't recognize the crest in the background the two men might have passed for college students.

"That's a long while." Sonny gestured to the photo, "You look happy." The kid did too. So did Armstrong. All smiles. "Couldn't have been easy, keeping a relationship like that under wraps so long."

Clay chuckled, threw the photo onto the coffee table. "Yeah." The kid sniffed and then took another chug from the whiskey bottle.

Sonny watched him a while longer. Watched him pick up photos. Afghanistan. Vegas. Iraq. Liberia. Spenser grew a beard, Armstrong gained freckles. They never stopped smiling.

"Come on." Sonny lowered himself from the couch to the ground to sit beside Clay. He wrapped an arm around the kid. "Tell me something."

"He thought he was a lot funnier than he actually was." Clay's laugh was a little watery, but Sonny pretended not to notice. "Use to joke that his real job for the Navy was keeping me from doing something stupid."

Sonny considered all the trouble that seemed to just find Spenser, "Might be something to that one."

"Probably." Clay tucked his chin against his chest. "We were thinking of going diving in Hawaii after we made the teams, for his birthday. First time we had the time, ya know, check out the Molokai Express."

"There are far easier, and less stupid, ways to visit Tahiti," Sonny shook his head. Brian wasn't that good at keeping Clay out of trouble, if they were going to try to swim in that sucker.

Clay shrugged, "That's what Brian said too, actually."

"A voice of reason," Sonny smiled, "My mama always said you needed at least one of those in your life." Clay nodded, settled into the half-hug a little more. "She also said a thing or two about people looking after us from heaven."

"Wasn't that also a George Strait song?"

Sonny tapped him on the back of the head, "Steve Wariner."

"If you say so," Clay smirked, pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped himself up tight in a ball.

Sonny picked up one of the photos on the ground. The two were sun-burnt as hell and wearing Mickey Mouse ears on their heads. "Alright, now tell me about this one here?"

-.-.-

"Spenser's hungover." Jason scowled at the blond sleeping in the hammock. Ray shook his head.

"Leave him be," Sonny walked up beside the two, "He earned that hangover." Jason scoffed.

Ray crossed his arms, "You get him drunk?" Sonny shrugged.

"Technically, it was the whiskey." Sonny pushed his cap up a little to properly emphasize his point. With eyebrows specifically.

"You ever figure out what the itch was about?" Davis called from the other side of the plane. Her question stopped what was surely a mighty fine lecture from Ray.

"What itch?" Jason sighed, dragged a hand down his face, "And please tell me it doesn't involve a stripper."

"Better not, he didn't invite me," Trent knocked Sonny's shoulder as he walked past.

Sonny pursed his lips, rocked back on his heels, "Not that sorta itch. Kid was off, couldn't shake the feelin' he was in need, so I went to check on him."

"Big Brother Sonny to the rescue huh?" Ray smiled, arms uncrossed. Hands went to his hip, "It have to include whiskey?"

"Whiskey was his." Sonny shrugged again.

Jason's gaze flicked over to the kid, "What was up with him?"

"Remember Armstrong?" Sonny raised an eyebrow.

"The guy who bought it in Green Team?" Trent asked. Sonny nodded. Cerberus walked past them all to curl up beneath Clay.

"He and Spenser were friends right," Brock leaned against the wall of the plane, coming over from his own hammock.

Sonny pursed his lips, waggled his eyebrows. The significance dawned on Ray first, "O-h!"

This realization was followed by several slack jawed expressions from various members of Bravo and a communal turn to stare at Clay's hammock. Sonny nodded.

"You know, that makes sense," Ray puckered his lips as he nodded to himself, "The kid was way more shaken by his death then I would have expected."

Jason groaned, "Feel kinda like a jerk now, ragging on him."

"I have so many questions," Trent grinned to himself. "Mostly, did Seaver figure it out?" He chuckled, "That'd be talent, slipping something like that past him, during Green Team no less."

Brock shook his head, "Who cares about Green Team, they went through BUD/S together." Yet another communal turn to stare at Spenser, who fidgeted in his sleep this time.

Good instincts. Because even Ray had a mischievous twinkle to his eyes now. Cerberus growled, low and quiet, and they dispersed.

"Traitor," Brock whispered at his dog as he passed by.

The Molokai Express is a real thing. Basically a super fast, super dangerous under current between Molokai and Maui in Hawaii.

I spent a decent chunk of my life thinking Holes in the Floor of Heaven was a George Strait song. It is not.

Thanks for reading! Reviews Appreciated!