The Unexpected

AN: My first SEAL Team story, so I hope I've captured the personalities of the characters. I like to write action, angst, and whump with a little romance mixed in. There is something about rookies which brings out the evil muse in me … I've whumped Sam Braddock of Flashpoint in almost every way imaginable, so now it is time to start on another rookie.

Summary: Bravo Team is unexpectedly upped for a mission. Clay arrives, and everyone believes he is drunk … but is he? During the op, things go south. Will the team be able to save their rookie?

I do not own SEAL Team or any of the characters from that series. I do own my original characters (OC) and original storylines.

How Dare He Arrive Drunk

Aircraft En Route to Classified Destination

"What the hell am I gonna do with him?" Jason stared past Ray to the curly-haired mop of his rookie who now swung in his hammock. Frustration built to a boiling point. "The damned kid shouldn't be on this op in his condition."

"Jace, this isn't his fault." Ray attempted to be the voice of reason, though his thoughts lined up perfectly with the master chief this time. "If anyone is to blame it is the damned CIA lackey Carlson who insisted Spenser's language skills are critical for this mission."

Jason grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and squeezed.

"He'll be sober by the time we land." Ray sincerely doubted his statement, but what else could he say … other than nothing, which is what he should've opted for as Jace eyed him like he was stupid. "Well, sober enough not to stumble."

"Not good enough." Jason turned and sought out his target, crossing the distance in six strides. He flipped the hammock, dumping Spenser to the floor of the aircraft. "Rise and shine. Time to sweat out the alcohol. You do not show up drunk off your ass."

Clay blinked after smacking the ground, trying to focus. His head hurt from whacking the metal and from before too. His stomach rolled, and he barely managed not to hurl. The world around him swam as he was yanked to his feet. His eyes finally focused on the face of his pissed off boss. Oh, shit I'm gonna be sick.

The gagging sound gave Jason only a brief second to react. He spun Spenser around and shoved the kid's head towards a box of something, he didn't care what, only that it would catch whatever Clay spewed out.

Sonny eyed Hayes as he manhandled Spenser. "Damn glad I'm not him right about now."

"Who? Boss or Clay?" Brock asked.

"Both." Sonny yawned and closed his eyes. None of them expected to be called for this mission … wouldn't have been if three of Charlie had not ended up with some version of the flu. That is the only defense their rookie would be able to offer for reporting while three sheets to the wind.

Trent shook his head. "Kid can't hold his liquor."

On his knees, Clay let loose as his stomach turned inside out. His gut hurt, his headache intensified, and he wanted to curl into a ball. If he could form words, he would tell his chief he was not drunk. He had gone to the bar, ordered a beer, waited for Stella sipping said beer, someone spilled their drink on him, he got paged, and he left without finishing his beer or seeing Stella to meet the team at the airfield. The headache began en route to the tarmac, so he crawled into his hammock as soon as they were airborne, hoping sleep would rid him of the aching.

Not wanting to let Boss down, Clay managed to rise after regurgitating his last meal. He swayed and opened his mouth to explain but was cut off by a tirade from Hayes. Every time Clay attempted to speak, Jason would cut him off … there was no reasoning with the man at this point.

So he sucked up his pain and began running from one end of the plane to the other until he was sweating profusely. Disappointed and disgusted eyes tracked him on his repeated journey. The unit, the support staff, even Davis scowled at him.

After an hour of back and forth, soaked in sweat, smelling like a distillery from the spilled drink, Hayes finally allowed him to stop running. A bottle of water was shoved into his hands, and Clay was told to drink. He downed the entire contents in several gulps … wrong thing to do. Clay bent over the same revolting box as his body rejected the liquid.

"Get in the hammock and sleep now," Jason directed after the kid finished the second round of puking. He strode to the rear, as far from Spenser as possible so he wouldn't ring his neck for daring to arrive drunk.

Plopping down in one of the net seats, Jason blew out a breath as he eyed his rookie crawling back into the swinging bed. He had done all he could for now. Keeping Spenser safe was hard enough … he didn't need the added weight of dealing with him hung over.

Mandy shifted her position and took a seat next to Jason. "You think he'll be up for the op when we arrive?"

"He better be. Why the hell did Carlson want him again?"

"Clay understands the dialect Sina Nazeri speaks."

"Could've sent a terp," Jason challenged.

"Not into that area. Too risky according to intel."

"Riskier than sending a drunk Clay?"

Mandy's eyes shot upward as she exhaled heavily. "Carlson didn't plan on that. Nor did any of us."

Jason crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and tried hard to grab some shuteye.

At the front of the aircraft, Clay swung in his hammock, fighting the renewed nausea as his head throbbed. He swiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and clamped his eyelids shut. What the hell is wrong with me?

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AN: I hope you enjoyed so far. If you like my style, drop me a review and check out my profile page to find the other stories I've posted.