"You're an idiot you know that."

"Shut up and keep walking" Clay grouses back, his exasperated response mostly muffled and just barely decipherable under the t-shirt he has wrapped over his nose and mouth and the heavy part of Sonny's arm that's draped around his neck.

Sonny isn't sure if you can call this walking. At least on his part.

Clay is doing most of the work because Sonny's left leg is pretty much a useless wooden peg leg. In fact if the kid wasn't propping him up and dragging his sorry ass along he would be reduced to crawling around on all fours like one of those tripod dogs that seem to be all the rage these days for those bleeding hearts to adopt.

"Seriously Clay, put me down and get the hell out of here."

Clay doesn't bother dignifying that one with a response. Or maybe he can't, the exertion of trying to drag a 200-ish pound Texan taking up all of his energy. Instead the smaller man just grunts and readjusts his position stubbornly .

A wave of familiar annoyance surges through him. He didn't really expect Clay to listen. Actually wouldn't expect any frogman to acquiesce that easily on the idea of leaving a brother behind.

But Sonny is also a big enough person to admit (in private) that most anything the kid does ignores him just a bit more than it probably should. Ray's tried to have several conversations with him about why that is and Sonny has so far firmly refused to have any part of them.

Adding insult to injury, on multiple fronts, is the fact that Spenser is already hurt and is probably making it worse with this muleheaded hero complex he's got going on. It doesn't matter how much he may or may not genuinely dislike the kid it doesn't mean he wants to see him suffer. And this has to be hurting.

It can't feel good on Clay's broken ribs. Or at least that was Trent's best guess before the newbie popped back up and shook off the medic's exam claiming he was fine. No one necessarily bought it, but they also didn't have a whole lot of choice. The danger of the bullets and broken bones taking a quick backseat to the more imminent threat of the out of control wildfire now racing towards their position. A quick confirmation that Clay's vest caught the slug had been all there was time for before the team had to high tail it out of there.

They had hauled ass. The bullets, local militia, hell even the actual mission objective took a sudden backseat to the unexpected foe that was fast moving and ever growing and quickly forced their retreat. It's sharp crackling cries of victory could be heart as building after building fell victim to its unstoppable force. Not to mention it's perhaps most underrated weapon, the smoke racing ahead, enveloping all in its path. The ultimate first wave attack , obscuring and suffocating its foes in the street, slowing their pace and making it nearly impossible to know which way was up or down, out or in, or to escape the flames following closely behind.

The ISR was the first victim to fall. The coms died an honorable death next, getting taken out shortly after by the heat, or the smoke, or some combination of the two.

It left them blind, deaf and socked in by smoke. Left to rely on their own memories of plans and unerring sense of direction to get themselves out of this unprecedented mess. Sonny was just glad he wasn't the one trying to navigate them through it. He was happy to bring up the rear, even with the flames licking at his heels as an urgent reminder that they needed to keep pressing forward.

He had to admit that Spencer had done an admirable job of keeping up to the grueling pace the team was setting. Bulletproof or not, willing to admit it or not, Sonny knows first hand how much those ribs had to be hurting him on their flight out.

It's why Clay was a few steps slower than normal and also why he was the only one who noticed when Sonny went down hard.

He blames the limited visibility and the smoke making his eyes tear up for why that pothole seemingly came out of nowhere. All Sonny knows is that one second he was running and the next he was falling, knee twisting with a distinctive pop, a sharp breath stealing pain and then the whole leg went disturbingly limp and numb and he ended up face first in the dirt. ACL, MCL, FCL, GCL? He is no doctor, all he knows is he couldn't put any weight on it which is kind of a key requirement for getting up off his ass.

The rookie ignored Sonny's attempts to wave him off and instead slung the Texan's arm around his shoulder and started hauling him along after the team. He ignored the curses, gasps of pain, and even a few insults on his manhood and family tree.

And now, of course, the stubborn ass won't let it go when his tactical superior is telling him to. Spencer ignores the orders just as he ignores the blatant truth that Sonny isn't going to be able to walk fast enough, help or no help. At this pace they aren't going to catch up and they aren't going to outrun the flames quickly outpacing them and threatening to overtake them.

Still the stubborn brat is persisting. Living in denial and trying to drag them both out through sheer force of will. If he would just listen and go, he might still have a chance to make it out on his own.

But no. He has to play the hero. Has to be the big dog.

And now they both are going to die.

And it's Sonny's fault.

He's not sure which of those parts pisses him off more.

Eventually Spenser's strength runs out or maybe he finally realizes the futility of continuing their flight. The smoke is so thick they cant even see where they are going. It's getting increasingly difficult to breathe down on the ground so they find an open building, a tall parking structure and climb in search of fresh air and an escape from the flames that are quickly hemming them in from all sides.

Clay manages to haul him up to the very top floor, to what maybe used to be the roof and then eases Sonny down to the ground. He staggers a few feet away and then collapses down to the ground in exhaustion.

There is a beat of silence and Sonny gratefully uses it to fish out a dart of morphine in the hopes of tamping down the agony the jostling has re-awoken in his traitorous limb. He leans his head back against the wall keeping his leg still and letting the pain settle and gradually subside until he can finally focus on anything past it again.

Clay also seems to have recovered somewhat because from his spread eagle position on the ground he tosses out "You need to eat more salads"

Well now that's just hurtful.

Or at least it would be from almost anybody else.

He doesn't value Young Spencer's opinion enough yet to give a rat's ass what he thinks about his body composition.

And besides that its blatantly untrue. There ain't no room in his diet for most things green. And he firmly resents the implication that he needs to shed a few pounds.

"This here is a fine physical specimen, the likes of which your scrawny ass can't begin to appreciate. I could whoop your ass any day. One leg or not."

Spenser just waves a middle finger in the air from his back. Still heaving heavy breaths. A few seconds later Clay pulls himself up to sit against the wall with a pained grimace, hand sliding to protect his ribs and brace himself as he finally pushes himself up. Once on his feet he does a quick tour around the roof and then finding nothing, no exit routes, no threats they can do anything about, he finally makes his way over with the clear intention of playing doctor on Sonny's leg.

Oh hell no.

Sonny waves him off more forcefully this time.

"Don't bother, there are bigger problems to worry about right now."

Spenser aborts his movement closer and stands in place for a second, staring down at where Sonny is propped up against the wall. Under the soot, and the t-shirt Clay's turned into some sort of attempt at a mask, there's an unreadable expression that Sonny can't quite decipher.

Sonny disregards the small pang of guilt that races through him and the brutally honest assessment that yeah, he probably would have let any one else on the team take a look at his leg. But he isn't ready to go there with Spenser. Not by a long shot.

He waits a beat and then ruthlessly doubles down, trying one more attempt to make the kid see reason. He clears his throat, waits until Clay makes eye contact, and then calmly and without any emotion says,

"You should go...No point in both of us dying. Get your ass back up and get out of here. Use those superskills you love to tell us all to save your ass about before it's too late."

This time Sonny can physically see his face fall, and recognizes the flash of hurt that is visible for a split second before Clay's defenses kick in and the kicked puppy look disappears replaced by a more familiar mask that slides back into place. Its the stubborn expression he recognizes well from locking horns with their rookie on many occasions over the last few months and it makes it a whole lot easier to hold firm to his resolve when the kid goes right back to being the insufferable know it all that's been riding his ass for weeks. Chasing at his heels. Trying to prove he knows better and can do better than the rest of them.

And sure enough Clay snipes back with that calm, infuriatingly smug certainty that drives him crazy.

"Go where Sonny. Hate to break it to you but it's too late now." He gestures around at the smoke that's followed them to the roof "You are stuck with me now".

The smart ass has a point. The thick black smoke is continuing to thicken and rises up all around them now, even way up here. Clearly the flames have found this building too. And even if Clay tried to leave there is no telling how far he would get.

"Don't worry I'll stay on my side of the roof and try not to inconvenience you too much as we die."

With that final jibe he shuts up and leaves to hunker down further along the wall, not too far away that Sonny can't see or hear him sulking but just far away to make his point.

Ugh, so dramatic.

Aggravatingly immature.

Petulant little shit.

Sonny calls Clay a few more names under his breath but manages to resist the urge to keep arguing and toss insults back and forth for a few more minutes like they are accustomed to doing.

If nothing else they should probably save their breath. Both of them.

So Sonny ignores the lump of sulking newbie in favour of doing something useful. On finding a way to contact the rest of the team. To reach out to any one of his brothers who he would give pretty much anything to have back here right now for several reasons, if nothing else not to be stuck alone with this thorn in his side.

Sonny keeps trying the radio but gets absolutely nowhere.

After a few failed calls, Clay can't help himself from weighing in on his teammates efforts, just like usual.

"They can't hear you. You don't even know if they made it out. And if they did...our radios are shot in this."

Sonny, works his jaw and prays for patience and a strong beverage and somehow manages not to say the first response that comes to mind. Or the second. Both probably would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap by his Gran-ninny if she heard them.

"They made it out." He finally grunts out. Refuses to consider any other option really. "And they are coming back for us"

"There's no way they can make it back in this." Again a calm certainty, something that Spencer thinks he knows to be a fact. One that he is apparently resigned to. And in any other situation, any other team, Clay probably would be right.

"You don't know Jason Hayes like I do."

Sonnt finally discards his radio and flicks on his strobe light on his helmet. It's probably wishful thinking that it might penetrate through the smoke above them but he's got nothing to lose at this point.

Kid may think he knows everything. But he clearly doesn't know Bravo yet. Clearly doesn't know what it's like to have people you can count on and for the first time he actually pities Spencer a little.

It occurs to him a moment later that he didn't get a snappy response back to his last statement and he peeks over to see the blond doubled over in a coughing fit that sounds like he's trying to expel his lungs.

Clay finishes and wraps his arm more securely around his ribcage and takes a few hitching breathes.

Sonny is no expert but something doesn't sound right there

The coughing starts back up again after a few seconds and it belatedly occurs to Sonny that the combination of broken ribs plus exertion plus smoke probably isn't an ideal health situation.

Clay catches him watching and looks away. Making an obvious effort to stop coughing and he mostly succeeds out of pure stubbornness except for the small audible wheezes he can't completely stifle.

Sonny rolls his eyes.

Fine be that way. Of course GI Joe Ken Doll is invincible everything. Silly him.

He turns his attention back to things that actually matter. To this shitty situation they have somehow found themselves in. Smoke climbs, all around them, wafting up past the half walls in big thick plumes of dark smoke. And beneath him the temperature rises, heating the ground underneath his butt and telling him the structure beneath him has been compromised.

It's probably still a few floors down, but how long before the fire burns through those?

Is it enough time for Bravo to locate them and get back or is this going to be their last stand?

The big question is who will win the race, the smoke, the flames or Bravo team. He is putting his money on Bravo, but he's surprised Mr. Pessimist over there isn't more concerned about the first two possibilities seeing how he's written off his team.

He would fully expect the rooke to be trying to play hero and find another escape plan or if nothing else try for some sort of deaths bonding door moment between the two of them.

But when he glances over he finds Clay's eyes drifting closed

Shit.

"Hey! Stay awake!"

Clay's eyes shoot open and he mumbles "I'm awake" and glares at his teammate. Sonny isn't entirely reassured because it lacks the heat and witty response he has come to expect from Bravo 6 and even more concerningly Spenser's eyes are already slipping shut again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Sonny is rapidly racking his brain for anything he knows about smoke inhalation.

Unfortunately it's not much and from what he does know there isn't much he can actually do.

Remove from smoke. Nope

Provide oxygen. Nope

All he can really do is try to keep the kid awake until the team can find them. Trent will know what to do. He can fix this.

"So that professor of yours …"

Clay's eyes peel open again to stare at him questioningly, with no small level of disbelief.

Sonny grimaces, ok yeah that was a lame.

But in his defense he's starting to feel some of the effects of the smoke too, and his leg is throbbing incessantly, so cut him some slack for not being the best conversationalist.

Clay somewhat does. Coughing harshly, adjusting his t-shirt mask for whatever good it's doing, and then responding breathily.

"What about her?"

Crap. Where was he going with this. Even Sonny doesn't know. He was grasping at straws.

"She the real deal?"

Again he feels like Clay is studying him, looking for the angle. The trick.

"What does that even mean Sonny?" He says blearily and this time not bothering to hide his frustration or exhaustion.

He can't really blame the kid for his churlish response. Sonny hasn't exactly taken any interest in his personal life often, or well ever before, except for the small bits he's stored away to use in insults when it suits him.

It's a fair assumption on Clay's part that this is just another jibe. And while normally the kid is more than up for the task of volleying back it doesn't look like the Spencer has it in him right now.

The conversation dies there and Sonny is at a loss of how to rekindle it.

He's said maybe less than 100 words to the kid since he's started and probably 75 of them have been "case or beer" and the remainder have been used to put him in his place.

He's kinda regretting that right now. Wishing he had more topics to touch on. More things to talk about with his teammate.

He knows the kid reads books, he just never paid attention to what type ….. and his dad. Everyone knows about his dad. Doesn't think either of those topics are going to help the situation.

Oh and he knows what kind of beer he drinks.

It's a sad state of affairs that his newest teammates been on the team for almost two months now and that's all he knows apart from what tactical skills and languages he is adept in because Sonny is too much a professional not to have familiarized himself with those.

He can tell you more than he ever wants to know about Ray's large extended family down to the aunts and uncles and cousins even once and twice removed.

And the exact size and location (and story behind) a tattoo that Trent pretends doesn't exist.

Hell he knows more about Cerberus and his routines than he does about Bravo's rookie.

Sonny stifles a cough, his own chest starting to get tighter and to protest the shit he is probably inhaling with each breath. It's clear they are in trouble now. That their safe refuge is no longer that. The smoke is still increasing and more and more of it is getting in to his mouth and nose and his eyes making everything excruciatingly irritated.

He readjusts his own attempt at a mask for whatever good it's doing and opens his canteen and dumps most of the remaining water on his face trying to rinse his eyes.

Dehydration is going to be the least of his problems soon.

He offers the canteen in Clay's direction and blinks through the blurriness to find Clay slumped over further, clearly no longer awake.

A surprising amount of panic courses through him.

Their guys are coming and there needs to be two of them left to pick up. He may not like the kid but Sonny Quinn is loyal to his teammates. Even the ones he can't stand. And besides Clay doesn't get to go and be the hero here. Not for Sonny. He won't allow that.

"Spenser!"

Clay, stirs and straightens up slightly at his call. His eyes blink open, and fix lazily on Sonny. He blinks a few times, interspersed with some muted coughs and a rattling strained inhalation that scares Sonny to his core.

And then his eyes start to drift shut again.

Dammit.

"Clay. Hey, wake up Clay!"

This time he doesn't get any response.

Fuck.

Sonny inches himself painstakingly over, one butt slide at a time. Cursing the stubborn shit for the distance between them and highly grateful that any ISR is most definitely blocked out by the smoke and can't catch him doing this.

It's excruciating. Each tug on his knee sends unbearable shockwaves in both directions up and down his leg. But he keeps on going dragging his useless limb along with him until he gets over next to Clay.

By the time he gets there he is panting with exertion. His own chest telling exactly how unhappy it is with the smoke it's taken in too.

He reaches out and shakes his teammates shoulder and gets no response

"Come on, don't be weak… wake up."

"You still owe me more cases of beer."

Despite his best attempts to provoke a response, the man is well and truly unconscious now. No sternum rub, no shoulder pinch, not even an insult, will wake him and Sonny's heart rate skyrockets until he finds a pulse.

Sonny squints hard through the smoke, his vision traitorously distorting on him and his head swimming. He thinks he can see Clay's chest rising, but has to rest a hand just to be sure. The blond's respirations are definitely too shallow and too rapid, but they are there so he tries to take comfort in that. He reaches over and readjusts Clay's t-shirt mask, trying to make a better seal to keep out the smoke. It's probably a lost cause at this point but it makes him feel better to do something.

Then he settles down next to the kid, leaning back against the wall and giving in to the wave of fatigue telling him to rest for a second. When his own eyes start to drift shut he forces them back open with difficulty and straightens back up again. That was a terrible idea. He needs to stay awake. It's his turn on watch now because even gimpy and useless he's all Spenser has now.

He tries his radio again. Nothing.

Well shit.

He wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of this. Seriously though, of all the ways to go out. All the bullets, s-vests, hairy situations and fucked up missions he's somehow survived. This is how it ends. Just him and the rookie, on a roof.

He can hear the flames now crackling closer below them. Knows it's only a matter of time before the roof goes down and takes them with it into a fiery end.

If they go down it will probably make it hard for Bravo to find them. Amongst other more immediate problems they will have like surviving the fall and the flames.

He should really be more concerned about all of that. But he's so damn tired, and his chest is so heavy. When the first flames start to peek through the corner of the roof over by the ventilation shaft is he is surprisingly calm about it.

So flames it is. The winner in a photo finish.

In a last act of defiance he reaches over and tries to shift Clay, pulling his unconscious teammate over so that he is further away from the flames creeping towards them.

"Jeez kid, and you said I eat too much" Heavy and limp and Sonny only really succeeds in pulling him part of the way over and Clay's upper body ends up lying across his lap.

if the flames are going to find them then they are going to find him first. Deep down he knows it won't make any difference, but it does to him.

The roof and the flames are spinning all around him now. He closes his eyes against the movement and dizziness. He knows he should re-open them but its such a relief from the stinging and heat that he lets it go for just a little longer. He will open them in a second. Resume his post.

The last thing he hears is the familiar thrumming of a helicopter above them.

He smiles softly as everything grows dim and dark.

See kid. I told you they'd come.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next time Sonny wakes up years of experience tell him he's in the hospital. Before he even opens his eyes he knows it. All the things he hates about hospitals are there, the beeping, the wires attached to him, the fuzzy feel that tells him they drugged him with something, the antiseptic smell that reminds him of a nursing home and the distant sounds of voices he doesnt recognize registers on his senses and immediately puts him on edge.

For all of those reasons he usually works hard to avoid trips to the infirmary or base hospital. His team knows that and God bless Trent he can usually be bribed to take care of most things on his own. Whatever happened, it must have been pretty bad for that not to be an option.

That thought has him prying his eyes open and blinking through the blurriness to try to focus on his body.

His gaze focuses on a large clunky knee brace and his head goes back to the pillow in exasperation. By the size of that thing it's going to take a while to heal.

He glares at it and then jumps slightly when a familiar voice from the chair against the wall interrupts his mental calculations about recovery time and how quickly he can convince the physio to sign off on his return.

"It's not as bad as it looks. Dislocated knee cap, sprained MCL. Docs popped it back in and said you should be back up and around on it in a few weeks. They just wanted to immobilize it for a while to make sure the knee cap stayed in place and you didn't try to do anything stupid right off the bat. Not sure where they got that idea from"

Ray's tone is light and teasing, and it initially brings him relief. Well that's not too bad then.

Then he continues on. "They said your lungs are doing really well. Only minimal smoke inhaled. They gave you some Oxygen while you were out."

He frowns at that. Smoke?

And then suddenly the fog clears and the events leading up to his current regrettable position come back in a delayed rush of memories. The embarrassment of falling, the kid dragging his ass, the smoke catching up to them, the flames coming through, Spencer unconscious…

Fuck.

Clay.

He wants to ask. But also doesn't want to. For several reasons. Maybe Ray will get to it on his own because he continues to prattle on updating him on the team after they got separated.

"Jason is fine, a few more grey hairs. We really don't make this easy on him some days."

Sonny nods in agreement…. Okay but Clay.

"Trent too. A few minor burns that he ignored because he was busy trying to take care of other people and forgot about himself. Par for the course"

Come on Ray just get to it.

"Brock escaped pretty unscathed. Nothing new there. Not sure where he has horseshoes stuffed up but I swear the flames were allergic to him."

"Oh and Cerberus is just fine as well. Don't think anything really phases that dog. Not even getting a little bit of fur singed off now and then."

Ok now he knows Ray is just fucking with him when he goes to updating him on the damn dog before Bravo 6.

Asshole.

He huffs out a breath of frustration and feels his lungs protest. There's a residual tightness telling him they are still not quite happy with the situation. And if his are this gross, and Clay inhaled more smoke than he did trying to drag Sonny's useless ass around…

Finally he resigns himself to asking "Spenser?"

"Oh right, sorry"

Oh right my ass. Ray's smirk tells him it was anything but an accident.

"He's doing alright, been in and out of it. He inhaled a lot of smoke."

There's that guilt again

"But they've got him on some breathing treatments and said it should sort itself out pretty quick."

Sonny's stomach unclenches slightly at that. He tries not to visibly react to the news because Ray is studying him carefully. Sonny can't quite understand the strange smile on his face until he tries to think about the last thing he remembers and more details come back in a wave of desperation, emotions and confusion. He remembers his addled brain at the end trying to do something to save his teammate and the resulting position the team probably found them in. Clay practically in Sonny's lap with the Texan draped over him protectively.

There is an awkward silence for a moment and then finally Ray offers.

"Do you want to go see him?"

Sonny doesn't know how to answer that. Not really. But also kind of yes. His last vision of the kid wasn't good and the responsibility for that is still eating him up a bit. He's not sure he will truly be able to relax until he sees with his own eyes that his mistake didn't have too high a cost.

"Probably should, whatever. Beats sitting in this room." He casually offers.

Ray agrees, matching his indifferent tone "Yah probably should, seeing as he did save your ass and all."

Sonny glowers at him. Some of the effect is lost as the nurse brings in a wheelchair and has to help him transfer to it and adjusts some of the gadgets until his practically mechanical limb is carefully positioned and secured onto a semi raised raised platform.

He also can't really argue with the premise of it. If Clay hadn't come back for him he would be some sort of barbequed meat right now. Burnt to a crisp, charred perfectly, or maybe just a very smoked piece of jerky. There is certainly no way he would have outrun the flames long enough on his own with his stupid knee.

He isn't quite sure what to do with that fact.

Jason is sitting with Clay when Ray wheels Sonny into the room.

This kid is sleeping, propped up almost into a sitting position in the bed and with a large bulky mask on that eats up most of his face.

Jason turns to face him with tired, smoke irritated eyes and probably a few new wrinkles that Sonny and Clay helped put there this time. He holds out a hand and Sonny takes it, clasping it firmly with all the emotions and gratitude that men like them don't actually ever say if they can help it.

They share a silent nod and then go back to watching Clay.

Sonny finds himself gratefully marking each large, smooth rise of their rookies chest

He doesn't have to wait long for Clay's eyes to flutter a few times and then finally make it all the way open.

Spencer's eyes make a tour around the room, focusing on Jason, on Ray and then on Sonny in the wheelchair for a split second, assessing him head to toe, before darting away skittishly as if he might be caught.

Sonny clears his throat and the kid focuses back on him. "Told ya they'd come."

Clay rolls his eyes under the heavy Darth Vader mask thing he has going on and then goes back to staring anywhere but Sonny.

He let's Jason and Ray take over driving most of the conversation after that. Both men have the good graces not to push anything or talk about the situation they found themselves in. But he's sure that will come later. Once they are both back on their feet Bravo will be happy to make some jokes, rub it in a bit. Poke and prod and see what progress if any was made.

Sonny isn't really sure what his answer to that will be. He knows the kid saved his life. Knows he was loyal to a fault and to his own detriment, and it might be the first redeeming quality he's seen in his teammate. And he knows that he is both begrudgingly appreciative and annoyed by it.

He just doesn't know where it leaves them.

The kid is probably still going to annoy the shit out of him, thats a given. He is still probably going to operate with an insufferable confidence and a swag that says he can do everything better than any of the rest of them. If anything this incident is probably going to make that worse now.

Before he can figure it out it's time to go.

Clay is visibly flagging and Sonny won't admit it but he's ready to go back to his bed as well and prop his leg back up on that comfy pile of cushions and maybe use that morphine button to kill his pounding headache

Ray goes to wheel him out

"Wait."

He gestures forward with his head and Ray pretends to be confused for a second. Damn Perry is having way too much fun with this. Probably payback for all the bitching and moaning he's had to listen to over the last few months from Bravo 3 about their rookie.

Finally after a few more head tilts get him nowhere he has to actually spell it out. "Can you bring me a bit closer?" before his wheelchair gets pushed back towards the bed.

Clay's eyes watch his approach with a sleepy guarded expression.

When Sonny is finally close enough he leans forward and lifts a fist and holds it out to Clay.

There is a pause, and he wonders if the man is going to leave him hanging.

But then Clay returns the gesture and gives him a bump.

Sonny ducks his head and says "first time the new guy saves someone's bacon. That's a case a beer right there."

Clay's eyes hold on to his and there might be some sort of smile.

And then Ray wheels him out.

Once they are out the door and just out of ear shot he can practically hear their number two formulating something to say about that all.

"Hey Ray"

"Yeah"

"Shut it."

0-0-0-0-0

Sonny does eventually make good on that case of beer. Once Clay is out of the hospital and Sonny is back up on both feet again h he shows up at Spenser's door with a case of the micro hoppiest foreign crap he can find, and a 6 pack of real beer for himself of course. He ain't drinking that shit.

Sonny invites himself in and heads to the couch where he commandeers the remote to put on the game. If he and this rookie are going to find any common ground, football might as well be the best place to start. And if they can't even do that then maybe it really is a lost cause.

But at least he will be able to say he tried. Sonny figures he at least owes him that.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then I couldn't decide between a couple different ideas. Now as you see by the description, you get three. At least when I squeeze in the time to finish up the other two.