Okay, a comment prompted this…and my weekend plans were cancelled, so I had a rare two-days in a row home!

The thing Sonny liked about grade-school jobs? The down time. Plenty of it and he could always find somewhere to go, something to do, and someone to do it with; either with Bravo or with any of the supporting military staff on whatever base they were staying on, no matter the country.

Tonight, they were all out; Eric, Lisa and Mandy with them. They'd had an easy day, called it quits early, went bowling, eaten dinner at a restaurant and were finishing up with drinks at a bar.

All was good.

Brock and Ray were playing darts.
Sonny was shooting pool with some patrons from the bar.
Trent was flirting – and that was all Jason was going to allow – with a waitress.
Mandy and Lisa were playing a trivia game on the bars TV screens – yes, there was an English translation.
Eric and Jason were sampling the local flavors of beer – in moderation, of course.
And Clay? Well, he was off by himself, playing a pinball machine.

Everyone, without comment to or from one another, were keeping an eye on him, Sonny more so than usual. The kid had been quiet since they'd flown out from home base yesterday morning, had slept the whole flight. He hadn't even wanted to come out this evening, only agreeing after relentless teasing from all of them, even Eric and the girls.

"Boss?"

Jason looked up, tumbler of blue beer half-way to his lips. Eric cautiously took a sip of his, then downed the contents.

"Hey." Jason pushed the bottle of blue beer across the table. "Taste? Yeah, it looks blue, but pretty damn good. Here's a gla….."

"I don't…..feel…..so….good." Clay mumbled…..and hit the floor.

Jason and Eric simply stared. Jason put his glass down. Eric poured another glass. The girls looked over. Trent left the waitress. Sonny shouldered his pool stick. Ray missed not only the center circle, he missed – and he never missed – the whole board, the dart struck the wall and stuck. Brock didn't even notice the miss.

People were gathering, some offered suggestions, others offered help. Trent shooed everyone away.

"Someone can't hold his foreign liquor."

"No more blue beer for him."

"Awww…he up past his bed time?"

"Pansy ass."

"That can't be good."

"Damn me." Eric grabbed the bottle and stood up. "Wonder if we can get this to go."

"Call it a night guys."

Jason whistled for the girls.
Eric went to pay the bar tab.
Brock and Sonny played rock, paper, scissors to see who was going to help Trent – who had just lost the game to Ray – pick Clay up off the floor.

"He pukes on me, you're on dog poop duty." Brock warned Sonny before squatting down opposite Trent. "Arm and leg each? Or you want his arms, I'll take his legs?" Trent didn't answer. "Yo, talking to you! You listening?"

Trent shot him a look. A look Brock knew well. He fell silent and waited - because Trent wasn't playing. He was frowning, the back of his hand against Clay's forehead.

"Feel him." Trent said in disbelief. "He's burning up."

"What?" Brock's look clearly said he thought Trent had had a bit too much to drink, but Trent steadily stared him down so Brock extended his hand, put the back of his fingers against Clay's cheek. "He hasn't said anything about not feeling good, has he?" he questioned. Trent shook his head.

"GUYS!" Jason clapped his hands, made the round up motion. "Let's go!" he whistled when no one moved. "Hey, come on, causing a scene here, get him off the floor."

"Boss! We've got a situation." Brock stood up, Trent remained squatting next to Clay who had yet to move.

Jason frowned. Boss? From Brock? In public? Off duty? On down time? And Trent wasn't standing up, so something was wrong. "What?"

Ray leaned over Trent, saw Trent's hand on Clay's forehead, so, like any man who thought he was missing something, smacked Trent's hand away and applied his own.

"Shit." His eyes widened. "He sick? Thought you were just holding his head still."

"He hasn't said anything." Trent said. "Get some water."

"What? Goldilocks faint?" Sonny joked, smile fading when no one laughed. "He did? No shit."

Now the girls pushed in, Mandy handed Trent a glass of water, huffing when he splashed most of it Clay's face.

"I thought you meant for him to drink it." She accused.

"Can't swallow if you ain't awake." Trent slapped Clay's cheek lightly when the water didn't rouse him. "That's it kid, hey, come on."

Jason finally walked over. They all moved back to allow him access, except Trent, who was still trying to bring Clay around.

"What gives? Jason asked. "What the hell was he drinking?"

"Don't think he's drunk boss." Trent said quietly, "Spence? You with me?"

"He slept on the plane." Lisa commented. "Been quiet all day."

"He didn't say anything about not feeling well." Mandy shook her head. "Men always whine when they're sick."

"Hey. I resemble that remark." Sonny pulled a pout. "When do I whine?"

Clay blinked, raising a hand to rub his forehead. He'd never in his life worn his hair in a pony-tail atop his head, but if this is how women felt when they did so, he'd never again ask Stella to put up her hair. Mother-humper, his scalp felt like someone was trying to pull it from his head by his hair. Heck, even his eye sockets felt stretched back towards his ears.

"Ready to sit up?" someone was asking someone. Oh, him? They were talking to him? Yes, they were indeed. They were even saying his name. Okay then, no, he didn't want to sit up.

"He's groggy."

I am? He was. And he knew it. Just didn't know what to do about it.

"Leave your head alone."

What do you think I'm going to do with it? Can't remove it and set it aside. Though the way it's trying to kill me, you show me how, and I'll give it a try.

"Stay still."

I'm not moving! He wasn't moving. He couldn't move. His head wouldn't allow movement.

"Jesus Trent, he's burning up." Jason had a palm against Clay's forehead. "The hell?!"

Right, I'm in hell. I'm lying on the floor in hell. And I'm not moving. I'm just fine right here. Even if it is pretty fucking-hot-in-here.

"You think?" Trent snorted. "High temp, you ask me. Make him pass out, make his head hurt, leave him groggy."

"So, aspirin and bed?" Ray asked. "Or infirmary and the doc?"

"How do you know his head hurts?" Sonny asked. "He ain't talking."

I'm in the infirmary? Not hell? They don't have beds here? Oh, okay then, whatever. Just gimme something to make this fucking headache go away.

"He keeps trying to hold it." Duh, so obvious. Trent rolled his eyes. "Sit him up."

Jason and Sonny each grabbed an arm and pulled Clay off the floor. He was able to sit on his own, pulling his splayed feet closer, raising a knee to rest his elbow on, palm against his forehead.

"Drink." Trent offered him a glass of water. "You okay?"

Clay took the glass, his hand shook but he raised it to his lips and took a drink. The water was cold, made him shiver, but brought him around enough he recognized all eight faces staring at him.

"Fuck." he lowered his head.

"Anything you want to tell us?" Sonny asked, arms crossed, "Like you know, maybe why you hit the floor?"

"My head hurts." Clay shrugged. He winced, lowering his eyes. "Hot in here."

"Shut up!" Sonny growled at Trent when he gleefully licked a finger and check-marked the air before returning his attention to Clay.

"Does your neck hurt when you bend your head forward?" Trent asked. "Try it. Yeah, good? Doesn't hurt?"

Clay nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. Hell, he didn't know. He let Trent thumb up one eye-lid at a time.

"Feel like puking?" Trent asked.

Clay shook his head.

"Yeah, you know, anyone else, I'd send 'em home, tell 'em to take a couple aspirin, but you?" Jason blew his breath out. "You just don't do anything half-assed, do you?"

Clay merely stared at him, not comprehending what they wanted from him, or what Jason had even said. He didn't move, didn't let go of the glass, didn't hold out a hand for help standing up, didn't nod. He just sat.

"Yeah." Trent and Brock lifted him to his feet. Brock let go, taking the glass but Trent didn't, waiting to see if Clay would gain his balance, lock his knees and walk. He did, but he wavered unsteadily and when Ray reached out for him, he accepted the embrace.

Ray caught Jason's eye. This was an unexpected curve in their mission. Jason held his hands out and shrugged. Nothing he could do about it.

Eric joined them and they left the bar, splitting up in the parking lot to take separate vehicles back to base. Brock and Sonny went with Eric and the girls, Ray and Jason joined Trent to take Clay to the infirmary.

"Wish this base was ours." Ray said, he was driving, Jason shotgun, Trent and Clay in the back seat of the Humvee.

"It is." Jason argued. "Unofficially."

"Least the Brit's speak English." Trent said. "You gonna be sick?" he asked when Clay swallowed a groan.

"How's he doing?" Jason turned around to look over his shoulder. Clay was slumped in the corner against the door, head against the cool glass. Oncoming headlights and street lights didn't seem to bother him, Clay didn't even flinch. But he wasn't taking bumps well.

"Do I hafta pull over?" Ray asked, slowing down.

"Still groggy." Trent replied. "Still hot. Keep going. He's fighting it."

"I'd rather he not puke in the truck." Ray sped up.

"Fuck the truck, I'd rather he not puke on me." Trent retorted. "Just don't hit so many bumps."

"You couldn't get sick at home?" Jason sighed. "Maybe it was something he ate."

But no one in the truck believed that.

"Taking him in?" Ray asked as they waited for the security check at the gate to gain access to the base.

"I'm good." Clay said. "Just wanna lie down."

"Trent?" Jason questioned.

Trent hesitated, mulling it over. "He's not drunk boss." He finally said. "I'd get him checked out."

"You heard him." Jason told Ray. "Drop them off at the infirmary."

"Could be worse you know," Ray commented, turning left, away from barracks. "Could have the shits."

()

Trent expected the doc to draw blood from Clay and be asked a few questions. He'd agree to make sure Clay went to bed, drank plenty of fluids and got rest for the next couple of days and they'd be on their way back to the barracks. He didn't expect to get dirty looks and tut-tuts from a very grumpy doctor. Good ole Brit's.

Clay sat listlessly on a table, while the doctor himself took his pulse, blood pressure, listened to him breathe, and stuck a thermometer in his ear. Another dirty look was directed at Trent when he read it. He felt Clay's neck, behind his ears, lymph nodes, throat, looked in his ears, ordered him to open up and say 'aah'; swabbed the back of his throat with a huge-ass long Q-tip swab that made him gag.

Trent waited, watched, wondered if his gag-reflex, which they were all very familiar with, would trigger a round of puking which, so far, Clay had successfully suppressed.

It did.

A nurse was there, holding a basin before Trent could move. Least Trent thought she was a nurse - she wore fatigues. After Clay rinsed his mouth, she began to help him undress. Groggy as he was, he let her, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Trent caught her up short.

"Whoa, hold up." He reached to remove her hand from Clay's belt. "Don't scowl at me. You don't need him undressed to draw some blood."

"He'll be much more comfortable out of those clothes." The doctor retorted, busy writing on a clipboard.

"Yeah, when he's back in quarters, sure."

"He's not going back."

"Say what?"

"He's staying here."

"Why?" Trent felt like Clay was being arrested, taken away from them, held hostage, something. And he didn't like that feeling. Not at all. "Yeah, I don't think I like that." Nope, not one bit. "No."

The doctor motioned to the nurse. "His temperature is 104.2. He's not going anywhere."

"High," Trent agreed. "But not dangerously so."

"No," the doctor allowed. "But the cause is unknown. Until we run some tests and get the results back, he's not leaving."

Trent couldn't really argue with that logic. He wanted to, but wouldn't have to. 'Cause, Jason.

"Has he been ill? Flu? Strep? A cold?" The doctor asked.

"No."

"When did he fly in?"

"Yesterday."

"Alright then, we'll have answers for you in the morning."

Trent blinked. He'd just been dismissed.

"Uh, doc," he began. "Leaving him here….letting you keep him, isn't that simple."

"I don't see the difficulty."

"You will," Trent muttered, hearing Jason enter. "Hey boss."

"What's the hold-up?" Jason walked in. "Draw blood, give him some aspirin, we'll put him to bed. Let's go."

The doctor sighed. These late night exams were a pain in the ass to begin with, and these 'elite' American Navy Seals were the worst to deal with. They simply did not like being separated from one of their own. And here was their leader.

Oh joy.

"Wants to keep him." Trent said.

"Fuck, no."

The doctor geared up for verbal battle, but his patient was sliding off the table, landing on unsteady feet. Apparently appearance of his boss prompted swift action.

"They get blood yet?" Jason asked Trent.

"No." he hesitated. "Jason, his temp is over 104."

Jason did a double take, turning to look at the doctor. "Huh."

"We'll know more in the morning." The doctor said.

"Cool." Jason said. "Hold your arm out," he told Clay, "She's gonna stick you with a needle."

Clay leaned back against the table, resting his weight on one hip. He watched her tie off a rubber strap, snap her fingers against a vein and insert a needle. His eyes widened and he looked at Trent, his expression, 'wow, the fuck?'

"She's ok," Trent told Clay. "He's out of it." He turned to Jason. "Still unsteady….."

"And….he's going down." Jason caught him, held him up. "Christ kid." Clay let his forehead rest against Jason's shoulder. His head was still doing its best to kill him. Holding it up required support and he needed his hands for balance.

"All done." The nurse said.

"Leave a number." Jason told Trent. "Let's go, I'm ready for a shower and bed."

The doctor opened his mouth to argue further then hesitated. Why waste his breath? There would be no making this man see reason. But he decided to try anyway. Manipulation and guilt, worth a try.

"He will be more comfortable here with someone to see to his care. Where he won't be left alone while we shower and go to bed." the doctor met Jason's stare. "We don't see to our own comfort first."

Ouch, Trent knew that look on his boss's face. Jason was struggling to contain both his temper and his attitude.

"Uh, boss." he murmured.

"Less we require IV meds or are coming out of anesthesia; we don't stay in the hospital." Jason snapped with a head bob. "I'm not leaving him here." and just in case the doc didn't get it the first time, added with snark. "He's not staying."

"Ibuprofen," the doctor threw a bottle at Jason who caught it one-handed. "Two every four hours. Fever comes down, every six." what a prick.

Jason pocketed the bottle and with Trent, walked Clay out.

Mmmm, the doctor sat down to write on a medical chart, he'd be seeing these men again.

()

"Sonny, up top." Jason said as they entered the barracks. "Who wants to babysit tonight?"

Sonny switched pillows on the bunks. He didn't like the top bunk, but the by the looks of Clay, the kid wouldn't be safe up there. Besides, the kid got sick and had to puke, Sonny didn't want to be beneath him.

"I will." Trent was helping Clay pull his shirt over his head. "Dunno Jace, I don't like this." He held Clay's chin, looked at his eyes, the flush on cheeks, across his nose. "No, no, leave the t-shirt on….keep the chill off your shoulders."

Brock untied Clay's laces, unbuckled his belt, helped him kick off the boots and step out of his pants, keeping a hand on him because he was unsteady and Brock didn't want him to fall over.

"Can I lay down now?" Clay asked wearily, dragging a hand through his hair. God-damn, his head hurt. "My head….I…..don't…feel so good."

"Take these." Jason shook out four tablets, got the stink-eye from Trent, put one back, raised an eyebrow questioningly and with a sigh, put back another. Two it was. "Don't chew." Jason grabbed Clay's chin. "No, don't spit them out." He scolded when Clay tongued the pills between his teeth. "Swallow." He took the glass of water back from Clay after he finally swallowed both pills.

"Head hurts." Clay told them, rubbing at both eyes with the backs of his hands. "Can I lay down now?"

"Yeah…hey…..what are you…..no! Not up there." Jason pulled him away from the two-step ladder that was used as a boost into the top bunks. "Here, you're going to sleep there." He patted the bottom mattress. "Christ alive, you make my head spin."

Clay shrugged, ducked his head and crawled into the lower bunk. He didn't say a word, turned over onto his side facing the wall and well, apparently passed out.

"What did the doc say?" Ray was back.

"He's a dumb ass." Jason shrugged it off. He had the same idea as Trent, cover Clay with a blanket. "Everyone in?" not an order to remain in, but a very strong suggestion that everyone do so.

The night had ended when Clay had hit the floor. No one said as much, and it was only going on ten o'clock, but Clay had been put to bed for the night, and someone had to babysit. Activity on the base was in full swing, campfires, drinking parties, games of volleyball, but the members of Bravo were content to remain in.

And if it was because their youngest was down, well, they'd never admit it.

"Could be worse." Ray yawned, calculated the time difference in his head between here and back home, made up his mind to text his wife. "Doc didn't want to keep him, so he can't be that sick."

Jason moved Cerberus to the foot of his bunk and laid down.

Trent wisely kept Jason's refusal to allow the doc to keep Clay to himself.

()

Trent was up at two. Clay still slept, hadn't even changed positions, but he roused when Trent gave him a shake and he willingly took two Advil, going right back to sleep.

Ray was up at six. Again, Clay roused to take the offered Advil, and went back to sleep.