By the next time Ray receives an unexpected phone call in the middle of the night, he has long since started believing the worst has passed when it comes to Spenser. Consequently, his first thought when he hears the buzzing isn't about Clay. He just assumes the healthy portion of the team is getting spun up.

Apparently, RJ crawled into bed with his parents at some point during the night and has somehow ended up passed out sideways at the head of the bed with one chubby leg flung over his father's neck. It takes Ray a minute to get himself untangled from the surprisingly heavy, snoring toddler and over to the bedside table to retrieve his phone.

Bleary-eyed, he blinks at the glowing screen and does a bit of a double take when he sees Trent's name. "Hello?"

Sawyer's voice is tight with tension. "Sonny called. Something happened with Clay. I'm on my way to the hospital."

Ray allows himself a couple seconds to take a breath, let it out. "How bad?"

"Don't know yet. Sonny wasn't making a lot of sense."

Poor Sonny. What went down in the cabin hit him pretty hard. He didn't need this - whatever this is.

And dammit, Clay was good. He was doing so much better, well on his way to recovery. Ray saw him just yesterday morning.

Surely it can't be that bad, right?

God, please don't let it be bad.

Ray tells Trent he'll meet them at the hospital, and then he hangs up, rubs a hand over his beard, and pulls himself together in preparation for another miserable late-night drive. Before leaving, he kisses the foreheads of his sleeping wife and his sweet still-snoring son.

By the time he reaches the hospital, the others are already there, clustered in a nervous, tense little knot at the corner of the waiting room. Ray joins them and gets updated on what they know, which isn't much.

At some point during the night, Clay went from seemingly fine to experiencing excruciating neck and shoulder pain, and possibly partial paralysis. It's that second part that seems to be bothering Trent the most.

"He didn't want to move his arm because it hurt, or he couldn't move his arm?" He asks Sonny.

The Texan shakes his head, clasps shaking hands together in his lap, and looks at the floor. "I don't know. I… I don't know." He sounds fragile, on the edge of crumbling. Brock scoots his chair closer and lays a steadying hand on his arm.

"What are you thinking?" Jason asks Trent quietly.

Sawyer shakes his head and leans back against the wall. "I didn't even get to see him. Probably shouldn't speculate."

Sonny looks up. Voice still a little unsteady, he says, "Let me rephrase that. What're you worryin' it might be?"

Trent hesitates. Finally, he sighs. "With the clotting issues… if there really is paralysis, then it's hard not to think about a cerebral hemorrhage. Spinal cord bleed. Something along those lines." He shakes his head again and adds, "Shouldn't be that, though. He was doing so much better. His platelet count was almost back to normal. Didn't even qualify as thrombocytopenia anymore."

Those words aren't as effectively reassuring as he probably means them to be. Ray spends the next few hours worrying about what the doctors are going to say when they finally, finally come out. He can tell the others are occupying themselves similarly.

After what feels like half the night, a doctor finally emerges, her face softening into a reassuring smile when they all jump to their feet. "His condition is stable," she tells them. "He's been given pain medication and is resting."

She relates that they've done a bunch of tests and scans, MRIs and CTs and, hell, probably a seance too, and they can't find any bleeding.

Actually, they can't find anything so far that would clearly explain the pain.

Said pain is definitely real and was nearly unbearable without the pain meds, but once those kicked in, Clay apparently was able to move his arm, make a fist, squeeze a nurse's hand.

The relief that punches Ray in the chest is almost painful, and is followed up by mild annoyance, because really? The kid had to scare them half to death over this when it isn't even serious?

That annoyance drains away the second he sees Spenser's deceptively angelic sleeping face. There's no room left for anything but the relief.

They could probably all go home, but Ray is here now and wide awake, so he offers to stay with Clay until morning. They all know the kid hates being in the hospital, and if he wakes up disoriented, it'll be best for everyone involved if there is a familiar face present.

As it turns out, the meds and the aftermath of the severe pain have knocked Clay out hard, and he doesn't wake up until mid-morning. Ray leaves the room a while after dawn to call Naima and explain what happened. On his way back in, he quite literally bumps into Stella, who immediately backs away, mumbling a sheepish-sounding apology.

Ray didn't expect to see her here. She must still be on Clay's paperwork even though apparently, a few days before the ill-fated Mongolia mission, she and Clay mutually decided (again) that their relationship wasn't going to work out.

To be fair, they do both seem to be handling it more calmly and maturely this time around than last, but Ray can't help but wish that Stella would either permanently stay or completely go. This hanging around at the fringes of Clay's life, trying to be his friend even though they're extremely not over each other, is certainly not making it easier for either of them to do anything resembling moving on.

It's not really Ray's business, though, so he just nods politely at Stella and continues on to Spenser's room, where he finds the kid still sound asleep next to his ex's gifts: a vase of sunflowers and a small stack of well-loved books.

Clay wakes up once the pain meds start to wear off a little. If Ray had had any annoyance left, it would be long gone by now, because it's crystal clear just how much agony the kid is in. He doesn't stop shaking until the next dose of Vicodin has fully taken hold.

The opioid-controlled pain lasts through that day and most of the next, and then it eases up almost as suddenly as it arrived.

The problem is what it leaves behind.

Even without the meds, Clay's arm doesn't hurt much anymore - but now he really can't move it, at least not much, and has no strength in it at all. He can curl his fingers weakly inward but not make a fist. Can't lift his right arm more than a couple inches off the bed.

He's trying to hide just how scared he is, but not doing a very convincing job of it.

The diagnosis, when it finally comes, isn't something Ray expected, due to the fact that it's not something he even knew existed.

Brachial neuritis. A rare form of peripheral neuropathy. Basically, it's spontaneous nerve damage. The exact cause is unknown, but it sometimes occurs in the aftermath of a virus, so some sort of immune malfunction might be involved.

Of course the dengue found a way to leave the poor kid a final parting gift.

Anyway, the bottom line is that Spenser's brachial plexus is a little bit fried right now. Which isn't great, since he kind of needs it for his career as a Tier One operator.

Clay goes pale when he hears nerve damage, and even paler when it's followed up with atrophy. "Do people recover from this?" He asks tightly, his good hand clenched in the blanket at his side.

The doctor gives him another of those sweet, reassuring smiles she's so good at. "Definitely. You're in for a lot of physical therapy, which we can get you started on right away if the pain has let up enough, but most people make a full recovery, with time."

Spenser relaxes fractionally and lets out a breath, then asks, "How much time?"

She hesitates. Clay's tension immediately returns.

"It's hard to predict," the doctor says finally. "Cases vary a lot. Recovery could take anywhere from a few months to up to three years."

Spenser looks like he wants to throw up. Ray can sure as hell understand why.

Three years?

Bravo would have to replace him. After all the hell he went through after that bomb in Manila, after how hard he fought to make it back, after they waited for him… if his rehab period stretches into years, they won't have any choice this time.

"You've got a lot going for you," the doctor hurriedly adds, her eyes flicking from Spenser's face to Ray's and back. "You're young and strong, and I know you'll work hard at therapy. We'll also start you on a two-week course of prednisone to hopefully speed things up."

Clay nods and thanks her, and then he goes very quiet, staring down at his newly useless arm.

The rest of the team arrives and gets updated, and then there's a round of vocal optimism and reassurance, which Clay determinedly mopes through. After patting Spenser's good arm and assuring him that he's gonna be just fine and will be back to work in no time, Sonny tries to lighten the mood. "Brachial neuritis? Ain't that a spell from Harry Potter?"

Clay blinks up at him, looking surprised. "You read Harry Potter?"

Taking the toothpick out of his mouth, Sonny drawls, "There were books?"

Spenser's expression is almost comically offended. "Yeah, and they were way better. The movies ruined Ron. And Ginny." After a slight delay, his brain seems to catch up with his mouth, and he looks like he wishes he could take the words back.

Of course they all know Clay is a bookworm, but he generally makes a valiant attempt to pretend he isn't a complete nerd. At least when Sonny is present.

"You," Sonny tells him gleefully, "are a nerd."

"Shut up," Clay mutters, but there's a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Now that the doctors feel confident that there's nothing life-threateningly wrong with him, Spenser gets discharged and goes home with a couple bottles of pills and a sheaf of papers outlining his physical therapy plan, starting with passive range of motion exercises and moving to active ones if the pain holds off.

Nobody on Bravo is quite certain whether it does or not, but pain or no pain, Clay throws himself into getting the use of his arm and shoulder back with at least as much ferocious focus as he poured into rehabbing his leg after Manila.

You'd think having to go through a second round of intense, grueling physical therapy so soon would be mentally and emotionally exhausting, but having defied the odds once seems to have convinced Clay that he can do it again, and now he just has to prove that he can.

He does. Honestly, they shouldn't even be surprised at this point. The kid has more lives than a cat.

For all that he's been through much more than his fair share of hell, Spenser must still have somebody looking out for him, because it's only a combination of hard work, sheer stubbornness and really good luck that has him walking back onto the base less than four months later, cleared and ready to join Bravo for their next mission.

They've all been seeing him practically every day that they weren't spun up, but the return is still an occasion to celebrate. There's a lot of hugs and back slaps and overenthusiastic whoops. Sonny squeezes Clay until he groans in protest, ruffles the hell out of his hair, and cheerfully calls him a nerd again. Even Jason gives out a hug, and Bravo One tends to ration those.

Once everything has died down, they present Spenser with his welcome back gift: an opaque bag with a drawstring at the top. He opens it and pulls out a can of mosquito repellent. And then another. And another. Altogether, there are probably close to 20 different types in there.

Weapons-grade mosquito repellent; scented mosquito repellent; all-natural mosquito repellent; mosquito repellent for sensitive skin; mosquito repellent for kids. They really went all out.

Spenser laughs, endures a couple minutes of raucous teasing, and then looks up and says, "Hey, thanks, y'all. Appreciate it."

It's clearly meant to be flippant, but his eyes are glistening a little and he can't seem to stop smiling.

"Gotta keep you healthy, kid," Jason tells him, with about as much open fondness as he ever allows into his voice. "It's good to have you back." Clay smiles at him, and he smiles back, and then the moment passes and Hayes declares, "Let's get to work."

And they do.

Y'all are great! Thanks for everything. ❤️