Yes, yes, I know...a soldier with all the issues I've assigned to Clay would not be serving in the capacity he does on the show in 'real life'. But this is not real life, it's fan-fiction, based on nothing but my enjoyment and imagination...isn't that a great thing?

I've tried to stop writing...really, I have. Truly! I said: self, no more until they announce the renewal - snort!

And does anyone else feel Season two should be released on DVD in, like, June? Give us all summer to re-watch? Yeah, yeah, the DVR, sure...but that limits me to the living room...me and apps and downloads are not friends. Okay, I'm ranting...Happy Summer ya'll!

"Been here before." Eric sighed, handed Jason a beer, sat down. "Nate? Sonny?"

"Never had the problem." Jason admitted. "Me and Alana... since we were in junior high."

"Thought this one was a keeper." Trent came out with more popcorn.

"I liked her." Brock said. "Bummer."

"Don't get it either." Sonny tossed a log on the fire in the pit.

They were all at Jason's house, hanging out in the backyard with a fire and beer and snacks while Clay slept in the hammock nearby.

"Least this one didn't turn him inside out." Ray said. "I just don't think he's ready for another serious relationship."

Yeah, Clay nuzzled into the fleece blanket someone had tossed over him. He didn't need it, but a blanket - even a light one on a warm night - was a source of comfort. That's what she said.

"I thought it was going good. It'd been a couple months." Eric said. "Wife even liked her. Dunno why it didn't work out."

Because...Clay thought...because...you guys.

"Clay, the right woman is out there for you, but it's not me. I want it to be, but I can tell you, you can't commit. Not to me. I wish it were different, but….

"How can you say that? What makes you say that? How? How can you know that?"

"Because." She smiled sadly, waved a hand.
"Because the fridge your favorite beer's in, is Jason's, not mine."
"Because when you need a ride, Davis is your first call."
"Because when you need comfort, it's Brock you go to."
"Because when you don't feel good, it's Trent you want."
"Because when you get an afternoon off, it's Sonny you spend it with."
"Because when you have a problem, it's Ray you want to handle it."
"Because when you smile with affection, it's at an eighteen year old girl."
"Because when you get into trouble, you call Eric."
"Because when you need advice, it isn't me you ask."
"Because when you need someone...it's not me. It's never me Clay. You never want me. The only thing I can give you, you can't get from your team, is sex and you can get that anywhere."

Clay wanted to refute everything she was saying, but he couldn't. Whether he realized it or not, admitted it or not, she was right. At the place he was in right now in his life – after Brian, Adam, Stella, now Davis – he didn't have much room for a serious relationship.

"I wish you well, I'll pray for you. I hope your team can get you through whatever this is." She kissed his cheek. "You ever need a friend, someone to have lunch with, call me, okay?"

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, none of that. No need to be. I'm just not what you need right now." She cupped his chin. "No matter how much I wish differently. Take care of yourself."

Emma came out with a pitcher of lemonade, Davis with cookies. The wives and girlfriends hadn't been invited and though Ray felt strongly Emma shouldn't be either, Jason had included her and that was that.

"Can I have a beer?" Emma asked her dad, sitting down at the edge of the chaise lounge between his feet.

"No." Jason replied, opened a bottle, handed it to her. "Make it last."

"Ohohohohoh...remember that time, we sent the kid out to buy beer?"

**** Clay goes out for beer ****

Jason was on edge, nervous, a bit scared, but he kept it to himself. He had to. It was his job.

Well, he kept it from the three assholes in front of him anyway. Maybe not so much from the people who knew him well, but he didn't care about them. All that mattered was not letting anyone he was staring down know he wasn't as calm and confident as he portrayed.

"Clay, come here." Jason ordered, waited to see if the kid would obey the command - or at least try to. It wasn't a fair command, he knew that, there would be consequences but still, he gave the order.

The kid obeyed.

Of course he was stopped with the butt of a rifle to the gut. He doubled over with a grunt, his cuffed hands attempting to protect his soft belly from a second blow which he took with a sickening thud on his wrist. He winced, breath catching, but he didn't cry out.

Jason kept his face expressionless but he felt that same punch to the gut. It was his fault Clay was spitting out blood...'Cause, didn't ya know? - everyone spit out blood when punched in the gut.

Jason barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Yeah, sure...right, only Clay.

Of course, he had no idea how many times Clay had already been hit or kicked or jabbed. The kid had a mouth and he strongly doubted Clay would have willingly remained silent these last hours.

He shifted his weight, felt the sun bake the back of his neck, his bare head. It was giving him a headache. Clay had been out in it all day, arrested and waiting his turn to be 'processed' into the local prison...heat stroke was possible, likely. He needed to get his hands on the kid and get him out of this sun.

He swallowed, resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of nervousness, while he watched and waited for Clay to control his breathing and fight through the round of pain from the hard blow to the gut.

Dammit kid, come on! Stand up!

He'd given the rookie the command knowing the outcome and yet, he'd wanted to see if Clay's training - loyalty, trust in him - would override the fear of pain. If he showed outright disobedience to the prison guards and Jason wasn't able to prevent him from being incarcerated, he would suffer for it dearly. Much more than a jab to the gut. But Jason needed to know if Clay would obey him over those who could possibly torture him to death - slowly.

Cause they just might need to run like hell for safety.

He was glad - and proud - the kid had tried to come to him, but yeah, he would be drinking away the guilt later tonight while keeping an eye on the kid 'cause Clay wasn't going to feel so good...beaten, dehydrated, over-heated...it was gonna be a long night.

And watch him he would, because come hell or international incident that would make the news back home, Jason was not going to leave here without him.

They faced another night with Clay being miserable and uncomfortable. If Doc didn't keep him in the infirmary - and that was a big if - Bravo would eat dinner and find excuses to remain in barracks while they all pretended they didn't want to watch the kid sleep, make sure he breathed. They would hide their relief that they had him back, complain about having to 'babysit', allow emotion to show only in the privacy of the shower or in the dark, head buried under a pillow.

Jason sighed, stared at the General who had taken Clay into police custody and was reluctant to let him go. He had one hell of a prize and he knew it.

How the hell did they keep ending up in these situations? The kid had been sent out to buy beer five minutes away from base - BEER - he'd hadn't come back.

Trent, always uneasy when their 'blonde Dennis the Menace' was out of their sight longer then the medic felt he should be, hadn't had to do much convincing to get the others to head out with him and look for their wayward rookie.

Jason took a breath, dismayed to find it shaky. Dammit!

Even Ray hadn't been concerned when Clay hadn't returned in three hours. Nope, the kid had taken up the habit lately of trolling to 'hit that' and they'd assumed he was spending his off day in a bar with some waitress or another. But Trent? No, not Trent. When Clay was hurt or sick or injured - and really, when wasn't he? - the medic and Doc kept him on a very short leash. They currently had the kid on some medication for something or another they'd assured Jason and Eric was nothing to worry about - something about testing allergies - and when he missed returning to base to see Doc for his scheduled dosage, Trent had put on his boots and headed out.

It had taken another three hours of investigation, searching, asking questions before they had landed here.

"You have no right to keep him." Jason said, face and tone expressionless, fingers itching to hit someone, grab Clay and run. "Let him go."

"I have no right to detain you." The General retorted. "I have every right to detain him." He pointed to Clay who, to Jason's relief, once again stood upright, stared defiantly. He didn't move, eye swollen closed, bleeding from his ear - Jason spat in the sand. Who the hell bled from the ear from a blow to the head? Clay-fucking-Spenser, that's who, when one whole side of his head was swollen and showing signs of blisters from the sun. Blood matted his hair, crusted in his beard, lips split and puffy. Jason wondered how much of a fight Clay had put up. Or were the guards that brutal? "We have him on film, we have witnesses."

Jason was pissed, but fear laced his belly. If the General managed to get Clay behind those gates, within the fence, in those prison walls, they wouldn't see the kid for months. If ever. Americans mysteriously died in prisons over here.

The prick had an American Military Officer and he hasn't about to let him go.

"I'm only going to say this once." Jason said. "Give him to me."

"He is under arrest by the authority of the Republic..."

Jason chose his next words carefully. This could go one of two ways: peacefully or a blood bath. How it went down was entirely up to them.

"You have ten seconds to let him come to me or you'll wish to hell you'd decided to stay home this morning." Jason said calmly, though he was anything but calm. They wouldn't live to see another morning - no one took any of his men away from him - but of course, he didn't say that. "Clay? Come here."

Clay blinked, shifted his weight but didn't take a step. He really, really wanted to be behind the protective back of his boss - safety lay that way, he knew that. Hell, he didn't want to let Jason out of his sight, didn't want to blink, afraid his boss would disappear, a mere mirage in the killing sun. Scared he would nod and agree that the General here had every right to detain him and let them take him through the gate into the prison as his image shimmered away, nothing but a heat induced hallucination.

And he could only see out of one eye.

The sun was unforgiving, his head hurt, his tongue thick, his mouth dry. Yeah, he'd been staked out in the sun long enough to have dehydrated. Blackburn was going to have a cow. He was feeling shaky, his knees weak. Was he trembling from fear? Pain? The sun? Lack of water? He was beginning to feel the only reason he remained on his feet was because two guards held his arms. That last hit to the gut had yet to fully subside.

He hadn't done anything to deserve this. Luckily, he'd been with the team long enough that the beginning of trust that had finally begun to blossom within him had somehow, somewhere, cemented into full blown trust. There was no longer any lingering doubt in the back of his mind that they would leave him behind, that they wouldn't come get him. He just hated - hated - that he always put them in that position.

Did they ever blame him? Sure, when he was at fault. But not this time. This time he'd done nothing wrong. He'd gone out for beer, hell they'd sent him out - and this was the last time he believed his team would let him go out alone over here in some third/fourth world country where the color of his hair and eyes attracted notice. And yes, he'd worn both a hat and sunglasses today - and shit had just blown up in his face.

Yes, he'd run out of the store without paying for the beer, but he had returned, had never left the sidewalk. Though, if he had just kept going, he wouldn't be here. Jason wouldn't be here, mad enough to chew nails. But no, oh no. He had manners, had been taught values and morals and to know right from wrong. He'd stupidly gone back in to pay for the beer and here he was. Here they all were.

He'd been arrested, cuffed to the transport vehicle and left in the sun while the police got statements from the store owner. Then he'd been transported here and forced to stand outside in the sun with all the other detainees while he was being 'processed'. The General had come, easily identified who and what Clay was and singled him out. He'd been standing in line, chained to the fence while the General decided who knew what and what to do with him, when Jason had just walked out of the blinding sun and demanded his release.

So far, all Jason had managed to accomplish was to have Clay unchained from the fence.

Clay was relieved to see him, knew the team backed Bravo One up even if he couldn't see them. Wondered how Blackburn had obtained permission for the team to come get him, came to the conclusion that he hadn't. Oh, he would pay for that.

The guards had been brutal, Clay sported club shaped bruises on his back, shoulders, kidneys, one side of his face. They'd denied the detainees water or shade. Some had succumbed to the sun. Clay didn't know whether they lived or died, just knew they remained where they had fallen. Could a person die that fast over here, left in the sun? Trent would know. How long had it been anyway? Did the sun ever go down over here? Wasn't like there was a cloud in the sky to give anyone temporary relief. Or a tree.

"You will not be leaving with him today."

"Release him into my custody and we will walk away."

"That is not going to happen."

"Look buddy," Jason began, beginning to show signs of unraveling. "You won't like what will happen, you don't give him to me. You have no idea what I'm capable of doing."

"You get your State Department to negotiate..."

"This is negotiating." Jason interrupted. "And it's the only offer I'm going to make. Give him to me and you'll never see us again."

"And if I refuse?"

Jason stretched his lips across his teeth in a terrifying smile. "You're never going to get him behind bars." He extended his hand to Clay. "You don't let him go now, there won't be a building, a wall, a man left standing."

Well, damn.

"Kid finds himself in the most damnable situations." Sonny shouldered the MK48. It was a heavy gun to keep against his shoulder, but he dug deep, waited for Jason's signal.

"Think you got that backwards." Ray, up high, responded. He sited in, he'd be the first to fire, Jason gave the signal. "Kid is a trouble magnet, shit finds him."

"Tie his ass down, dye his fucking hair black." Trent added, rocket launcher aimed, ready.

"Stock up on Miss Clairol." Brock said, grenades, smoke pipes, HK416 ready with extra ammo clips. "Blonde hair over here?"

"Like those blue eyes aren't a problem." Eric said over comms.

"Contacts." His team chorused.

"Present for a harem, anyone?" Davis chimed in, tried to keep the mood light, grinned when several chuckles were returned.

Until...

"That prison is rumored to run a fight club." Mandy cut in. "Has nothing to do with blonde hair and blue eyes this time."

"Support One?" Eric called to Dutch, Support's Team Leader who had the men on Bravo's Tier Three team setting explosives. One good thing about the General being so focused on getting Clay inside the walls, he wasn't paying any attention to anyone else outside the prison walls.

"Waiting on One's signal." Dutch replied. "Good to go."

"Support Two?"

"Clear line of vision." Randy, Support's second in command, replied. He and Bravo's Tier Two team were ready to back up Brock with steady, relentless, rapid firing. "Waiting on Bravo One's signal."

"Take the tower first." Eric ordered. "Takes out their radar and electronics...they'll be dark without it."

"Roger that." Trent said, adjusted his aim, waited.

Engaged in silent show down, Jason teetered on the edge. His first priority was getting Clay away from the General's armed men. He didn't trust them. Not one bit. Half afraid the General would order Clay released only after he forced Jason to stand there and watch his men break kneecaps or shoot him in the thigh, the foot, he swallowed hard, curled his fingers into a fist.

The General weighed his options. While he would like to believe the asshole in front of him demanding the release of his 'perfect' prisoner was here alone, he very much doubted it.

He shielded his eyes, scanned the terrain, couldn't see a damn thing. The sun was high and hot. He remained quiet, thinking. He really didn't have any legal leg to stand on to detain the American, but knew it would take weeks for the U. S. to negotiate his release. While he could make good money arranging fights within the prison and betting on the American, for he knew how well American soldiers were trained, and lordy, just look at him...oh yeah, he could hold his own in a fight...did he really want to risk a...well, war?

He looked at Jason with hatred. He'd almost had the American behind his prison walls. All he'd had to do was step through the gate, drag the resisting American with him - by the hair if necessary, though he doubted it would be, the man had been beaten and left in the relentless, punishing sun over six hours, denied water - and nothing anyone said or did could have forced him to return him without proper procedure through the American State Department being followed.

He continued to stare at Jason...and this American asshole knew it too.

Seconds! Mere seconds! He'd missed a gold-mine by fucking seconds.

Dammit.

Jason had had enough. The sun was killing him...definitely killing Clay...this had to end. The ten seconds were up...had been minutes now. Bad decision General, stupid mistake.

The General, still staring at Jason, never saw him move - not even twitch or blink, but the guard holding Clay on the right, yelped in pain, crumpled to the ground, clutching his knee.

"Next one goes through his head." Jason stated. "Let. Him. Go."

"Great shot Ray." Sonny drawled. He wasn't going to admit, that like the General, he hadn't seen Jason give a signal either.

"Just moving shit along." Ray replied calmly. He wanted Clay and Jason out of there. Now.

Aah, so there hadn't been a signal. Jason and Ray were that close, Ray knew what Jason wanted without being told or seeing a sign.

God Bless you Ray Perry! Sonny was going to hug him, plant a big ole smack atop his head.

"One hundred American dollars." The General stated, paid his fallen guard no attention. "The bill for the stolen beer."

Jason seethed. Clay hadn't stolen the beer. Yes, he'd left the store without paying for it, but he'd heard a commotion in the street, screams from a child and gone to investigate. Finding no one who had needed his help, he'd returned to the store with the beer to pay for it, had been met with a gun to his face and arrested.

And Bravo knew this after some knee busting had gotten them nowhere and Brock had bribed a ten year-old kid with a dollar to tell them what he'd seen. A whole fucking dollar.

A hundred bucks? Hell, the six-pack of bottles weren't worth more than five bucks.

A hundred dollars or an international incident? Decisions, decisions. One or the other, 'cause no way was this prick taking Clay away from him.

Jason patted his pockets, pulled his wallet. Did he even have a hundred dollars on him? He should know. But he didn't.

"Two hundred, thirty-seven dollars." Jason tossed the bills into the sand at the General's feet. "Now. Let. Him. Go." He waited. "I'm not going to tell you again."

"Take him then." The General waved for the remaining guard to let go of Clay. "I don't want to see either of you again. Leave my country."

Released, Clay wanted to walk to Jason, he really, really, truly did. But Jason shimmered and wavered before his eyes. Invisible waves of heat became visible only to Clay, radiated off the sand and he could neither see nor walk straight.

Jason cursed, dug a toe in the sand. He'd had enough.

He'd won. He hadn't had to pay the General anything. Could just have had his men begin the assault, grabbed Clay and split...but damn, the General, with his sneer and attitude just continued to piss him off.

He stepped forward, dipped a shoulder, hoisted Clay before the kid could hit the sand. He was reluctant to hang the kid upside down, but didn't have a choice. He sure as hell wasn't going to drag him.

It made Jason snap - they were going to pay.

"Don't turn your back, don't turn your back." Ray chanted. "Dammit Jason, just walk away."

Jason turned his back.

Ray sighed, waited to see if either guard or the General would attempt to shoot Jason as he walked away, carrying his burden. Let them try, he'd make sure they never got off a shot.

He didn't have to worry about it.

Jason took two steps, raised his hand...his fisted hand.

There. The signal they were all waiting for.

With a yippee-kai-I-Oh Mutha-Fucker! Sonny let loose.

The walls blew, the gates blew, the tower blew.

The General and his guards would be too busy trying to contain the inmates from escaping to worry about coming after Bravo as they retreated to the base.

By the time Jason reached the transport truck, Chris idling and ready to go, let Trent have Clay - winced at the demand, order, for ice, towels, water, IV - the General was out of sight, dealing with the destruction leveled on the prison for daring to take one of Jason's own.

If Jason had managed to lay eyes on him one last time, he would have put a bullet between his eyes.