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Chapter Text

 They are men of action so finding out there is nothing left for them to do does not sit well with any of them. All Jason wants is to see the kid one more time, to assure himself that Clay is still alive, but he's no longer there. Airlifted out to the states because his injuries were too complex. The thought is crushing. Not only could the kid not make it, but he could die alone. The last image he has of Clay plays in his mind, struggling for breath, covered in blood, eyes drifting listlessly.

"Who's gonna be there for him?" Sonny finally asks, breaking the tense silence. He sounds as wrecked as they all feel.

And doesn't that just feel like another sucker punch to the gut. Jason runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Who would be there for the kid? Bravo team was Clay's life, hadn't they just talked about that? Besides the team, the kid had no one else to depend on. Who would step up and help him now? His father? Doubtful. Ash Spencer was not the nurturing, sit-by-your-bed-all-night type of father. Stella? Unlikely. This is the exact reason she left Clay, unable to handle the danger they put themselves in for others. Who else did the kid have in his life? Jason knew he was close with Derek and a few other teams guys, but eventually they would all be spun up or leave for deployment leaving Clay alone again. A cold, sinking feeling settles in Jason's chest as he realizes there is no one.

"Who's listed as his emergency contact?" Ray asks, mind running along the same line as Jason's.

"He listed Naima," Blackburn tells them with a sigh.

Everyone looks confused, but Ray can only nod his head. If he's honest with himself, he's not all that surprised. He recalls walking into his kitchen a few months ago to see Clay sitting there. It was just after Mexico, when his break-up with Stella was still fresh. He'd seemed upset, sitting hunched at the counter, head in his hands. Naima just laid her hand on his back, rubbing small circles as she spoke to him softly. Not wanting to intrude, Ray had kept his distance, only catching the end of their conversation. I don't mind at all, Clay. It'd be my honor, she had told him with a smile. Clay didn't seem like he believed her, but didn't seem as miserable either.

"I need to go make the call," Blackburn continues, looking pointedly at Ray.

"I'll do it."

"No, Ray. I can call her," Jason tells him. "I'm his leader. It should come from me."

"If either of you call her, she's gonna think I'm the one that’s hurt," Ray reasons. "Let me do it."

Jason finally nods his head, giving Ray's shoulder a squeeze.

The phone call waits until they are secure on base, however. Given the possibility of an attack directed at them, the team is moved from the hotel and given permission to operate out of the Filipino Naval Base temporarily. Their quarters aren't much, but they've slept in much worse. They arrive to find all their bags already waiting, even Clay's. It's another punch to the gut to see them sitting there waiting for their owner. Sonny picks them up and settles them at the end of his bunk next to his own without a word.

Sitting on his bed, Ray pulls out his phone and stares at it for a moment before dials the familiar number. Pressing the phone to his ear, he listens to it ring and ring. It should be morning back home, Naima getting the kids ready so he's not surprised when it takes her a little longer than normal to answer.

Hello?

"Hey, baby," Ray greets, trying to keep his voice even-keeled.

Hi, Ray. It's good to hear from you, Naima breathes, relief clear in her voice. Didn't think I'd hear from you right away. I saw the news reports about Manila. Everyone okay?

Ray doesn't answer right away. He can't. He hunches over, cradling his head in his hand as a wave of grief sweeps through him. He tries to take a deep breath to answer her, but it sounds more like a gasp.

Ray? What's going on? Talk to me. 

There's panic creeping into Naima's voice and he hates that he put it there.

"I'm good, baby," Ray reassures her, taking another breath. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Jason sitting next to him. Across from him, Sonny, Trent and Brock are sitting, close enough to lend support but just far enough away to not crowd him. "It's- It's Clay," he finally manages to croak out, tears burning his eyes.

Clay? What happened?

"He was- got caught in one of the blasts," Ray tells her, wiping a hand across his face to erase the tears. "It's bad."

How bad, Ray?

"Traumatic injuries to his legs, severe blood loss, said he was too complex to treat here. They sent him stateside," Ray tells her, blowing out a breath. He feels like a small weight has been lifted off his chest having told her, but the weight of worry is still there, will constantly be there until they can see Clay for themselves and know he's going to be okay.

When's he gonna arrive? Where? 

Naima is all business now, but Ray can hear the worry in her voice. She's always been a pillar of strength, able to hold him up no matter the circumstances. He knows they've been faltering lately, he's been faltering lately, but there are no words for how grateful he is that she is as steadfast as ever when he needs her, when Clay needs her, hell when all of Bravo needs her. 

"Blackburn will get you that info," Ray tells her, voice strained, trying to keep it all in.

Ray ...

The way she says his name, understanding and reassurance and love all rolled into one, is finally his undoing. The first tear falls. He drops his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as his breath hitches, trying to keep the rest at bay. Jason's hand on his back trembles and he knows if he looks up right now, he'll see tears burning in Jason's eyes too. Instead, he fixes his eyes on his dirt covered, blood-spattered shoes and listens to his wife's voice.

I've got him, Ray. You guys stay focused on your mission. I'll keep you updated, okay? I've got him.

"Okay," Ray breathes out. He knows better than to doubt her word. If Naima says she's got Clay, he knows it's true. She will do whatever she has to for him because the kid is family and they go all in for family. "Okay."

Take care of yourself, Ray. I love you.

"I love you too," Ray tells her, feeling it in every fiber of his being.

Hanging up the phone, Ray finally drags his eyes up from the floor to look around at the rest of the team. Every one is dirty and banged up, covered in blood, either their own or someone else's. Seven dead, thirty injured including their own brother and they can do nothing but sit and wait.

Mandy's been staring at the screen so long her eyes are bloodshot. Everyone has tried to get her to take a break in the last 18 hours, even Blackburn, and everyone, including Blackburn, have failed. She continues to flip through the same twelve images from the victim's cellphone, the last images she ever took before the bomb claimed her life. It's their best lead and Mandy will not back down from it. There has to be something in there because she refuses to give up. She can't look the guys in face and tell them she failed, not after Clay.

A bag lands on the table next to her startling her out of her thoughts. She glances up surprised to see Jason standing there. The last she knew, she had been alone, the last analyst dropping out for a few hours of sleep a little while ago. Jason nudges the bag towards her as he pulls a chair out and eases down into it. He looks terrible, Mandy realizes, and not just because he was caught in the explosion too. Sure there are small nicks and cuts peppering his arms and face, a few bruises darkening his skin that speak of what he went through. It's his eyes though, his posture. He looks ... defeated. There's a sadness, a look of loss she's never seen there, not when he was out in the field anyway. She'd caught a glimpse of it after Alana died, but even then he'd tried hard to bury it. The shock of it all is still too fresh, the uncertainty wearing on him, he can't tuck this away in the back of his head, not unless he has a mission to focus on.

Mandy sighs and turns back to her computer, fingers once again clicking through the images. She's surprised when Jason lays his hand on her arm, not pulling her back or stopping her from working, just enough to get her attention.

"This isn't your fault," Jason tells her softly.

She pulls her arm from him, turning to face him with a look of disbelief. "Of course it's my fault," she hisses at him, pushing to her feet. She paces a few short circuits at the end of the table as the anger burns through her. 

"This is my fault, Jason. It is my job to sift through chatter and pick up planned attacks. This should have been on my radar. Everyone could have been killed.”

Jason just watches her try to wear a hole in the carpet, shaking his head. "You can't catch everything. We both know if there had been any hint of an attack, you'd have been all over it."

Mandy turns to face him again, face red, eyes burning. "We weren't being careful," she shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "We should have been expecting something like this."

"It's a Gucci deployment, Mandy," Jason reasons. "We weren't being careless."

"Getting drunk at a bar known for Westerners isn't being careless?" Mandy throws right back at him.

"No one was drunk," Jason tries to reason, but Mandy is having none of it.

"We should have never been there, Jason!" Mandy explodes. "Had we not been out drinking, Clay wouldn't be-"

"No!" Jason barks, hackles rising. It was one thing to be upset, but she was crossing a line. "Don't do that. Don't you dare downplay what Clay did. He wasn't drunk and partying when he was injured. He got hurt because he was doing his job, because he was running back out on to that street to help people. The kid was being a damn hero. You don't get to take that from him."

Jason pushes up from his chair anger pulsing through his veins. He takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that Mandy isn't the one he's angry at. The explosion of anger seems to have worked though, because she's standing shellshocked, staring at him. Jason reaches out, laying a hand on her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"What happened is a tragedy. What happened to Clay is ..." Jason shakes his head, unable to put it into words. Mandy's eyes sparkle with tears as she looks at Jason. "We can't change any of that and we can't be there for Clay right now. What we can do is track down the son of a bitch responsible and make sure he answers for all the damage he's caused."

"I'm trying," Mandy whispers, head falling to Jason's shoulder in a moment of weakness and exhaustion.

Jason wraps his arms around her and hugs. "I know," he tells her. "We know."

Mandy pulls back wiping away a tear. She takes a deep breath and gives him a shaky smile.

"Get something to eat and get some sleep," Jason tells her, picking up the bag once again and handing it to her. "We need you at the top of your game."

Mandy opens the bag, looking up at him in surprise. "A burger?"

"Yeah. You can thank Blackburn," Jason gives her a small smile. "Get some rest. We should have an update on Clay in a few hours."

The moment Ray's phone rings, all eyes turn to him. He glances down to see Naima's number and feels the tension creeping up his spine. Clay should've landed in Virginia several hours ago and they've been waiting anxiously for any news.

He's still critical, Naima tells them right away, before anyone can get a word in edgewise. But he's holding his own for now. He was taken for scans as soon as he got here, just got him settled in a room a few minutes ago.

"Any word on his injuries," Jason asks quietly, afraid of the answers.

Nothing new yet. He's not breathing on his own and he spiked a fever, not unusual according to the nurse. They were expecting it.

"Can we see him?" Sonny asks, voice unusually soft.

Yeah. I can do that. Hold on.

A moment later a photo appears on Ray's phone. Knowing he needs to see it first, Ray hands it off to Sonny to open. Jason leans over the Texan's shoulder to take a look as well. Judging by their reactions, it's not what they were hoping to see. The phone makes it rounds through the guys before it lands back in Ray's hands. He steels himself before glancing down. He can immediately see why no one is exactly encouraged by the images. Sure the kid may be breathing, but he sure looked half-way dead. He was so pale, paler than Ray had ever seen him. His beard has been shaved off  and his hair is cut shorter to treat the shrapnel wounds on his face and head. He looks like a damn little kid. Besides the ventilator and wires dipping below the neck of the hospital gown, there's not much else to see. It's not giving them a lot of confidence that he's going to be okay though.

I'll let you know when I talk to the doctor.

"Thank you, Naima," Ray tells her, the sentiment echoed by the rest of the group.

"Tell Blondie to hang in there," Sonny drawls before he pushes to his feet and escapes the room quickly. Jason follows at a more sedate pace, willing to give the hot headed Texan a minute to get himself in check. He's not sure what he expects Sonny to do, start screaming maybe or take his frustrations out on a wall with his fists. What he's not prepared for is to find Sonny hunched over at the end of the hall, hands on his knees, tears dripping from his face as he gasps for breath.

"Sonny?"

At the sound of his name, Sonny snaps upright, dragging a hand across his face. "Damn it, Jace," he growls, turning away from Jason for a little privacy. He tries to quell the emotions running through him, but he's opened the box and can't shove it back in just yet. Seeing Clay's face should've helped, they knew he was still alive, but if anything, it hurt worse. He clearly remembers the smile on Clay's face as they joked around at the table only moments before the blast, remembers the unwavering resolve as he ran back out onto the street to help as many people as he could. To see the kid unconscious, unable to breath on his own, tens of thousands of miles away from all of them ... it was a tougher pill that Sonny was prepared to swallow.

A hand settles on the back of Sonny's neck and squeezes. Its attempt is to make him feel better, but it only makes him feel worse. Jason shouldn't be out here comforting him. Hell, they are all feeling it. Sonny's just the first one to crack.

"I'm good, Jace," Sonny tells him, voice sounding far from it. He attempts to shake the hand off, but Jason refuses to be moved.

"He's gonna pull through this," Jason tells him quietly, leaning in closer.

"You can't know that for sure. You ain't God," Sonny finally drags his eyes up to look at his team leader. He's not surprised to find Jason holding back tears, face looking as wrecked as Sonny feels.

"He has to be," Jason urges. "I refuse to believe anything else. Naima's got him and soon enough, we'll be back there too."

"Yeah, maybe," Sonny sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "I should've been out there with him."

"No, Sonny. Don't go there."

"I was joking with him about that Dead Man's hand, Jace," Sonny shakes his head. 

"It's not your fault. It's not Mandy's fault. It's not Clay's fault," Jason tells him, a sharp edge to his voice. "The ones who planted those bombs, that's who is responsible and we are going to make them pay."

"Copy that, boss."

A week passes with no good news on any front. Mandy and her team have been going at it day and night, sifting through every piece of evidence from the bombing, scanning social media and the dark web for anyone taking credit, slogging through the mountain of chatter focused on the bombings. Nothing concrete has popped thus far. Every time they see her, she looks even more frustrated than the last, but she never gives up.

Every day Naima sends Ray an update. They have a running tally of the kid's injuries and number of surgeries so far. The number is quite daunting. She sends them pictures too, not that there is much change day by day. It's reassurance that he is still alive and still fighting despite the devastating damage done. Clay's suffered a pulmonary contusion from the initial blast and several broken ribs. There are multiple fractures in both legs, many of which require surgery to set. He had some internal bleeding going on which had seemed to resolve on its own, but they are still keeping an eye on it.  As if all that wasn't enough, his body is covered in shrapnel wounds and burns, many of which require constant debridement. Infection has been festering since the beginning and has finally taken hold.

Clay's taken a turn for the worse, Naima tells them quietly. She is on the laptop this time for a video call, has it balanced on her knees as she sits next to Clay's bed. She's calm as ever, but they can see the stress and fatigue on her face. She turns the computer a little so they can see Clay.

Like the last time they'd seen him, he's too pale. There's a flush of fever on his cheeks and sweat beading on his forehead. He's no longer intubated, but there's an oxygen mask there fogging with each breath. 

They've had him on broad spectrum antibiotics since he arrived, but now they are testing for the specific infection. 

"Where's the infection coming from?" Trent asks.

His leg, Naima confirms. She moves the laptop back and suddenly they can see all of Clay. Both of his legs are in soft splints to keep them immobile, bandages dot like patchwork up his skin from ankle to hip. His legs are swollen and a multi-color of bruises, but it's easy to see where the infection is coming from. His right thigh is an angry red, skin stretched too tight over the swollen flesh. There's a bandage there covering a wound, it's covered in bloody discharge while the others seem relatively fresh.

He has a bad shrapnel wound there, Naima tells them, but they all vividly remember the large shard of material sticking out of Clay's thigh when they found him lying in the street. We should have the cultures back soon.

"Any signs of him waking up?" Jason wants to know. He's finding it difficult to look at the kid's busted up body and is thankful when Naima turns the screen around again so they only see her. He feels bad, he wants to have eyes on the kid, but it's hard seeming him like that.

Nothing yet. He's been through a lot, still has more surgeries to go. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't come around for a few more days.

It takes another week.

Clay battles infection, his surgeries put on hold until he's strong enough to endure them. Each day Naima sends along an update and each day they find no solace in the news she gives them. She's trying to be positive for them, telling them all the small victories that Clay is making, but they won't be happy until he's awake and talking to them.

While Clay fights infection, they finally get to wage a battle of their own. After nearly two weeks of false leads and endless chatter, Mandy finally digs up a nugget of intel worth investigation. An anti-American bomb maker who likes to use pressure cookers to make his point. She tears into his life and drops a file on the table so thick they think she's been at it for months. It's with a spark in her eyes that she tells them to go and haul his ass in ... alive. It's with gusto they accept the mission, finally eager to get their hands dirty.

The take down isn't as clean and precise as they'd like, but they have their Filipino SEAL brothers backing them up so no one gets away. Jason takes extra pride in cinching the flexi-cuffs tight on the asshole's wrists, ignoring the curses spewed from his mouth. That's for Clay, he thinks as he hauls the guy's ass out of the house. He may be just a piece of the puzzle and not the mastermind, but it feels damn good.

They've just settled down into their bunks, all shoved together in one cramped room, when Ray's phone rings. He sits bolt upright, scrambling for the phone. It's too early for Naima's normal check-in which can only mean one thing ... something has gone wrong. He meets Jason's eyes as his fingers curl around the phone. The tension is thick in the air as the whole team jumps to their feet in anticipation.

He's awake, Naima tells them by way of greeting. 

Ray's hand is shaking so bad he has to set the phone down on the table lest he drop it. No one moves, waiting for there to be bad news. None ever comes.

Ray? Jason? Did you hear me? Naima asks when she's only greeted with silence. Clay is awake ... and talking. I'm pulling up a video call right now.

Trent is closest, grabbing Ray's computer off the ground. He barely has it open before Naima's video call pops up. They crowd around the screen as Jason hits accept. Clay's still pale, but definitely conscious, face appears before them. The kid still looks rough and still looks years too young with a clean shaven face and fading cuts and bruises, but he's awake and alert, staring right back at them. 

"Hey kid," Jason chokes out first, watching as Clay's mouth quirks up into a small smile.

"Looking good there, Poster Boy," Sonny pipes up, voice as close to normal as its sounded in two weeks.

Wish I could say the same 'bout you guys, Clay breathes out, voice raspy from disuse. It's still the best sound they've heard in a long while. 

The tension bleeds out of the room in an instant, a chuckle rippling through all of them. They weren't dumb enough to think that all was well now, that just because Clay was awake that the hardest part was over. If anything, the hardest part was just beginning. The kid was going to have a long, hard road to recovery in front of him, but they would be there to help him through. They’re going to take it one step at a time until he is back on the team with them once again.

Chapter Text

The minute Naima lays eyes on Clay for the first time, she almost can’t believe her eyes. She latches her hands onto the gurney and moves with the rest of the team transporting him from the helipad to the trauma room where they can asses him. There is a flurry of movement around her, medics from the flight listing off information for the trauma team, but it fades to white noise as she looks down at Clay. It feels like some has sucked all the air out of the room, she can't breathe. Now she understands the fear she heard in Ray's voice when he broke the news to her. She can feel that same fear tearing through her chest. It almost seems impossible that he should be alive.

He looks nothing short of awful. His pallor is a ghastly gray speaking of shock and blood loss. There are hastily inserted chest tubes on both sides of his battered chest. Every bit of skin she can see is bruised or burned or cut. He's struggling for breath even with the chest tubes and the oxygen mask, his numbers hovering close to dangerously low. His temperature is the opposite, climbing to the stage of worrisome. His legs ... god his legs though are what makes her freeze in place. 

The sheet is pulled from his body and she gets a good look at them. Both of them are splinted, fractures obvious in the deformity of them. There are blood stained bandages adhered to the worst of the shrapnel wounds. There's a large one though, on his right upper thigh that looks gruesome. She gets a quick glimpse of the burned flesh and the gaping hole left in his leg when the doctor checks it. It's enough to make bile rise in her throat.

Naima reaches out and slips her hand through the rails of the gurney, wrapping her fingers around his. He's blissfully unconscious and unaware of everything happening around him. For that Naima is forever grateful. As awful as it is to see him so still and pliable underneath everyone's hands, it would be infinitely worse if he were awake. The pain would be immense, absolutely unbearable. For the first time since hearing of his injuries, Naima worries if it is just too much for him to take. He looks so young, so vulnerable, so broken; it's tearing her heart to pieces.

"Naima?"

Startled out of her thoughts, she glances up to see all eyes are on her. She's completely lost track of what they had been discussing. Dr. Land steps forward and lays a hand on her arm, a sympathetic look on his face. 

"We are going to take him up for imaging now. Then we'll get him settled in a room," Dr. Land repeats.

"Okay," Naima nods, not understanding why they are all still waiting.

"I need you to let go of his hand now," Dr. Land tells her quietly.

Naima looks down to where she's clenching Clay's fingers in her own and nods. She knows she needs to let him go so they can take care of him, but she just can’t do it. Not yet. Instead, she leans down to whisper quietly in his ear. “I’m right here, Clay. I’ve got you. You’re in good hands. You’re going to be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she slowly releases her grip on him. It takes her a moment to gather up the strength to step out of the way and let them do their jobs. As Clay is wheeled out of the room, Naima feels a chill of loss run through her. While Clay was in front of her, while she could have her hand on him, she knew he was alive. Now that he's out of her sight, she feels like there's an aching hole in her chest.

She stumbles out of the room and down the hallway, making it to the nurse's lounge before the first tear falls. Naima presses her back to the wall and slides to the ground, unable to stop the sudden onslaught of emotions. She presses her face into her hands and tries to breath through the grief and fear and panic that wants to overwhelm her. All her years as a nurse and as a SEAL's wife, nothing had ever hit her as hard as Clay's pale face and busted up body. If she feels like this, she can only imagine what is going through the minds of Bravo team. They had to be going out of their mind with fear and worry right about now. 

Naima promised them that she had Clay and she was not going to break that promise. She would do whatever needed to be done to save the kid's life and get him back on the team. Taking a deep breath, Naima wipes the tears away and steels herself for what is to come. There is a lot that needs to be done in a short amount of time, she realizes. Her first call, after talking to Ray, had been to her mother. She’s going to need help with her kids and on the home front because she’s going to be spending a lot of time at the hospital. She’s grateful that her mother was so willing to drop everything and come help out.

There are other things that need to be taken care of though, like her work schedule. She can’t imagine the kind of strings Blackburn had to pull to get Clay treated at her hospital, but she is forever thankful for the amazing things that man is able to accomplish and make a mental note to thank him the next time she sees him. Even though Clay is at her hospital though, Naima still needs to rearrange her schedule and line up time off. She’ll be damned if she’s going to leave Clay alone after everything he’s been through.

She’s going to need to call in reinforcements to make it all work. It’ll be easier once Bravo gets home from deployment. She knows they will insist on being with Clay 24/7 since they’ll be off rotation for several weeks. Until that time though, it all falls on Naima and whoever she can get to help. Derek is the only one she can come up with to call. It sounds awful even as the thought rattles through her head. Clay is a good kid, he deserves to have people lined up around the block to help him out.

Making a mental note of everything she needs to get done, Naima leans her head back against the wall and takes a deep breath. She knows this is not going to be easy. Clay's body is a minefield of injuries and potential infections and will take weeks of recovery. She will be right by his side through it all, no matter how rough it gets. She will see him through. She will help Ray and the rest of Bravo through it as well, starting with a phone call. The minute she has eyes on Clay again she's going to update them.

For two weeks, it's a constant roller coaster. Naima spends as much time as possible at the hospital with Clay. When she can't be, Derek, Trish, or Full Metal are there to sit by his side and keep watch. He's never left alone. Even when he's in surgery or taken for tests, someone is always sitting and waiting for him to arrive back in his room. They operate on the fractures in his legs, setting them with rods and pins and plates. They remove the chest tubes, but end up intubating Clay on his first night when his oxygen stats drop too low. The insert a feeding tube on the second night as well, providing him with nutrition while he’s unconscious. Debridement of his wounds is a constant, cutting away the dead or infected tissue in order to let the healthy tissue heal.

On day six Clay spikes a fever when the infection settles in his right thigh. It's not unexpected, but it's still disheartening when Naima walks in to check on him before shift and finds him flush with fever. She sits with him all night pushing fever reducers and changing ice packs. It takes two days before the antibiotics work their magic and he settles into the stable category once again. By day eleven, the infection has cleared up, but the wound on his leg still looks awful. It's not healing as fast as the rest of him and it worries Naima, but Dr. Land tells her to give it time.

The other worrying fact is that Clay hasn't woken up yet. It is true what she tells the guys, Clay's body has been through a lot. Between the shock of the initial event and the injuries he sustained, not to mention the surgeries and infections he's overcome, his body has been at war. Dr. Land has no doubt that Clay will regain consciousness soon. Naima trusts him; they've worked together for years and his instincts are usually spot on. 

It takes until day fifteen for things to change for the better.

Nothing in the world makes sense, everything a jumbled up mess. There's a cacophony of muted sounds and blurry images rushing around him, hand touching him, moving him. Nothing matches. He sees familiar faces hovering in and out of his vision and he tries to focus on them, but they move too fast, are too blurry for him to fully comprehend. It feels like there's a weight sitting on his chest making it hard to breath, agony seeping into his bones that has darkness encroaching at the edges of his vision. He sinks into the darkness, letting it take him.

The next thing he's aware of is a soft, feminine voice speaking quietly near him. He can't make out the words, can't focus his hazy thoughts enough to try and comprehend them. He does know there is a hand gently stroking along his forehead, quieting the tension. He sighs and leans into the touch before he slips away again.

Every time he comes back, the voice is there. It's familiar, but he can't place it. It's comforting to hear the soft lilt in her voice, to have her hand holding his. He tries to open his eyes and finds everything too blurry to understand. It takes too much energy for just that small movement so he sinks back into oblivion.

The next time he wakes, something has changed. There’s no suffocating blanket of heat wrapped around his body and sapping his energy. When he opens his eyes, the world is still a bit blurry, but he can make out enough to know he's in a hospital. There's no voice this time, no soothing hand. He feels so alone, fear gripping him. He doesn't know what happened or where he is, just that his body is weighed down by pain and exhaustion.

He tries desperately to think of what happened, but everything is fuzzy. His team. Clay tries to look around, worry for his team overpowering the lethargy dragging his body down.  As he moves his head, he catches sight of someone outside his door in scrubs. She's got her head down as she leans against the nurse's station, but when she looks up, Clay recognizes her instantly. Naima.

She looks in his direction, face breaking into a sunny smile as she rushes for the door. Naima steps right up to the side of his bed, one hand grasping his while her other gently settles on the top his head. Her eyes look up at the monitors above his bed before she returns all her focus back on him, eyes drinking in the sight of him with such relief it's palpable. 

"Clay," she breathes out, her smile stretching even wider. "Are you with me Clay?"

Clay opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out at first. His throat feels so scrapped raw that swallowing feels near impossible. He can't let her down though, not when there's a hint of worry creeping into her face, her smile falling the longer he stays silent. He tries again, forcing out a raspy "yeah". It's barely a sound let alone a word, but that doesn't seem to matter to Naima. Her smile is back in full force.

"Good. This is great," Naima chants, voice cracking with sudden emotion. She bows her head, some errant strands of hair fall like a curtain, blocking her face from Clay. She presses their joined hands to her forehead for a moment, murmuring quietly. When she looks up, her eyes are glistening with tears, but she's still smiling.

"I need to let your doctor know you are awake," Naima tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. "And the guys. I have to call Ray." She starts to pull away but is surprised to find Clay's fingers locked tight around her wrist. She looks back down at him to find a confused look on his face.

"Bravo," is all he manages to croak, giving her wrist a squeeze. He's not sure how else to ask, how to get his point across. Everything is a jumbled mess in his head. The last thing he remembers is running hills in the Philippines and Sonny puking on a Commander's boots. Now he's in a hospital; Naima is here and the guys aren't. Is he stateside? Are the guys hurt as well? What happened? He tries to shift, to sit up more, but his body instantly rebukes him for the stupid move. He hisses as pain rips through his chest  and legs.

"Easy, Clay," Naima murmurs, using her free hand to ease Clay back down to the bed. She can see the worry and confusion in his eyes. She lowers the rail on the bed and eases her hip onto the mattress next to him, mindful of his injuries. She takes his hand in both of hers and gives him a reassuring smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure this is a lot to take in," she watches, relieved, as he seems to relax a little and knows she's on the right path. “You're back in Virginia, have been for two weeks." There's a flicker of surprise on Clay's face before it pulls into a frown. "You were in the Philippines on deployment with the team when you were hurt in an explosion." Clay goes tense instantly. His eyes drift down to his body covered in bandages and his splinted legs before he looks back at Naima, real fear in those depths. 

"Team?" Clay asks, a slight tremor in his hands as he waits for her answer.

"They're all okay, just worried about you," Naima tells him, giving his hands a squeeze. "I've kept them updated, but they'll be relieved to be able to talk to you."

"How bad?" Clay asks, unable to look down at his legs again.

Naima takes a deep breath, smile dimming. "You have complex traumatic injuries to both of your legs," she tells him quietly. "You're doing pretty well considering, but your body has been through a lot."

Clay nods, dropping his head back to the pillows as he absorbs the news. He can feel the pain hovering just below the surface, muted by pain meds. It's there though and, judging by the looks of his legs, it's going to be vicious when it rears its head. His whole body aches and burns, a healing kind of pain. The lethargy from before is starting to creep up on him again, he can feel himself losing the battle.

Naima must know it too. She gives his hand another squeeze before she stands up. "I need to grab your doctor, I'll be back in a few."

Time passes in an odd blip. One minute Naima is there by his side. He blinks and suddenly there are three doctors joining her at the foot of the bed talking quietly amongst themselves. He pays attention for as long as he can, but eventually the darkness sucks him back under. When he opens his eyes again the room is filled with bright sunlight. He squints against the sudden brightness, head rolling away from the bank of windows. He's surprised to find Naima curled up in a recliner at the side of his bed, still in scrubs, sound asleep. She has a sweater tossed over his arms like a blanket and one arm tucked under her head like a pillow.

Clay has no intentions of waking her, she looks absolutely exhausted, but the moment he shifts slightly on the bed, she is blinking her eyes open. At first she just glances at him, like a half-asleep mother checking on her infant, but seeing him awake, she jolts back to awareness. She sits up, tossing her sweater to the side. The sunny smile is back on her face as she moves to stand next to him.

"How are you doing, Clay?" She rests one hand on the top of his head while she glances at the monitors.

"'m okay," he croaks out. 

When she looks down at him, there's the same relief there that Clay remembers seeing last time he woke up. "You were out quite a while," Naima tells him quietly, pouring him a cup of water and holding it out for him to drink. "You had me worried there."

"Sorry," Clay tells her, relieved when his voice comes out a little smoother. "Sorry to wake you."

Tears fill up Naima's eyes as she leans close. "Never apologize for that, I'm happy to see you awake." She wipes a hand across her cheeks to quickly erase the tears, giving him a warm smile. "You up to talking to the team for a minute?"

For the first time since waking up, a smile plays across Clay's lips. "Yeah, please."

"Of course," Naima pulls out her phone dialing Ray's number. She flashes Clay a big smile as she waits for Ray to answer. She hears the line connect and doesn't even give him a chance to say anything before she blurts out "He's awake!"

Her smile dims when there's no response. She hears movement so she knows they are there.

"Ray? Jason? Did you hear me?" she asks, worried. "Clay is awake ... and talking."

The talking part was definitely important. When he woke up yesterday he seemed foggy and confused, not quite all the way there. After he slipped unconscious again, staying that way for nearly 18 hours, Naima had worried that maybe it was a fluke. But then he'd woken back up this afternoon, eyes clear and while still a little foggy, definitely more alert than before. Her heart had soared when he started speaking to her in more than one word questions.

"I'm pulling up a video call now," she tells them, opening up her computer and giving Clay a smile. She's glad she waited to call them until now. It would do them all a world of good to see the kid awake and alert. And it would do Clay good to see his brothers were okay as well. She places the computer on the table in front of Clay and grins at him, listening as the call connects.

Hey, kid, Jason's choked up voice sounds from the computer. Clay smiles at the familiar nickname, relief flowing through him at seeing his brothers.

Looking good there, Poster Boy, Sonny drawls.

"Wish I could say the same 'bout you guys," Clay tells them, voice raspy but sounding stronger than before. Laughter ripples through the five men on the other side of the screen, relief evident on their faces. He notes how tired and dirty each of them looks, a hint of worry settling into his gut. "Thought it was a Gucci deployment," Clay points out.

They all freeze. Trent is the quickest to recover, giving a shrug as he leans forward. "You know Mandy, always finding us a baddie no matter what corner of the Earth we're parked in."

Clay chuckles knowing it's the truth. He also knows that no matter how much the team drones on about loving Gucci deployments, they are always itching for some action. "All okay?"

"Yeah, we're all good," Jason reassures him. "You doing okay?"

Clay nods, careful not to move too much and set off a cascade of pain. He gives them a thumbs up in response. He wants to say more, but he can feel his energy waning. One glance at Naima and she's stepping.

"All right guys, we need to let him get some rest," she tells them, leaning into the frame. She can see they are disappointed, but they all nod.

"Take care of yourself kid," Jason tells him.

"We'll catch up with you soon," Ray pipes up while Brock gives him a wave and a thumbs up.

"We'll see you soon, Sunshine," Sonny drawls with a wide smile.

Clay shakes his head with a small laugh. "Stay safe," he tells them before Naima disconnects the call. He leans his head back against the pillow and is asleep before Naima even leaves the room.

"You want to turn the game on?" Derek asks, sliding the deck of cards back into the box. There were only so many hands of cards you could play before it started to lose its interest.

Clay shrugs noncommittally. He doesn't have energy to care about much today. The days are blurring together for him, his on and off fever and the pain meds muddling his mind. He can only truly tell the passage of time with the people coming and going from his room. There's a constant presence of someone by his side at all time, Naima, Trish, Derek, or Full Metal. 

Derek must take his shrug as a go ahead because he stands up to turn the TV on. He's just pressing the power button when his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. Derek pulls it out and gives Clay an apologetic look.

"Sorry, gotta take this. Be right back," Derek tells him, already pressing the phone to his ear and heading for the door.

Clay watches him go, then turns his gaze back to where the TV screen has flickered to life. He watches the silent images on screen as emergency vehicles speed down a torn up street. The images change to ash and blood covered people staggering about, faces a blank mask of shock. There's a building with a gaping hole in the front, the street surrounding demolished and covered in debris. Clay tries to focus his eyes on the heading. When his eyes catch on the word Manila, he freezes.

It takes a moment for his fumbling hands to located the control and unmute the TV. When he does, the words that erupt forth cause anxiety to set in.

"-nearly a month since the bombing and still no one has claimed responsibility. The explosion left 30 injured and 7 dead. The government has declined to comment on whether it was a targeted attack, though that strip is known for its popularity with Western tourists."

The world around him fades to white noise as the panic takes over. What happened? Were the guys okay? The words of the report keep bouncing around his head; targeted attack, known for Westerners, 30 injured and 7 dead. The images on screen keep playing, showing emergency workers treating the injured, two little boys covered in blood huddled together and crying, a devastated street with bright yellow tarps covering the casualties. It's horrific, but Clay can't tear his eyes away. Then another thought breaks through. The blast was a month ago. Clay's breath hitches as his mind slowly starts to piece everything together.

A hand settles on his shoulder and jerks him back to reality. Clay's wide eyes snap up to see Derek standing next to him, a worried look on his face. The TV is muted once again, but the images still keep playing.

"Clay?"

"Is that what happened?" Clay asks quietly, turning away from the TV once again to look at Derek. "Is that what happened to me?"

Derek freezes, unsure of how to answer. His silence is answer enough for Clay. He's reaching for the remote, intending to turn the sound on once again, when the TV is turned off. Naima is standing there, a frown on her face as she looks at Clay.

"Derek, give us a minute," Naima asks quietly. Waiting until the man steps out of the room, she shuts the door behind him. She lets out a sigh as she takes a seat next to Clay's bed. 

"What's going on?" Clay asks, feeling more and more frustrated by the minute. Try as he might, he can't recall much of their time in the Philippines, just little snippets of conversations and faces. Nothing that can tell him what happened and how he ended up severely injured and back stateside while the rest of his team stayed on deployment. He wants to know, he needs to know.

"I don't know much," Naima finally states. She looks hesitant to tell him, but whatever she is searching for in his face must change her mind. "Jason's going to be pissed I told you."

"I need to know," Clay practically pleads. "I can't remember much of our deployment. And now this," he motions to the TV, "Please, Naima. I just want to know what happened. Were we targeted?"

"I don't know." When Clay opens his mouth to protest, Naima leans forward and grabs his hand with both of hers. "They don't know, Clay. They're still piecing it together. What I do know is that you guys were out at a local bar with some of the SEALs you were training. The first explosion happened right outside the bar. Everyone from the team was okay, started moving around to help the injured. You ran out to the street to help anyone out there. You were caught in the second blast. Sonny found you right after and they got you on one of the first ambulances."

Clay blinks, staring at Naima as he tries to comprehend what she just told him. He can't remember any of it. He feels so detached, like he's hearing a story about someone else. Naima gives his hand a squeeze and draws back his wandering attention.

"I'm sorry, Clay," she tells him softly, a sympathetic smile on her face. "I know it's a lot to take in."

Clay just shakes his head. "I don't remember any of it."

Weeks pass by in a blur of surgeries and procedures. Naima reassures him all the time that he's doing well, but Clay's resolve is waning fast. He's been bedridden for weeks, his whole body aching and there's only so much Naima can do to relieve it. His legs have to remain immobile while the fractures heal so changing positions is limited. Everything seems to be a constant battle of trying to find the middle ground, trying to reduce his pain meds so he's not so muddled and out of it all the time, but not so much that he's in constant pain. Clay can practically see himself wasting away, losing muscle mass by the minutes it feels like. He forces himself to eat, even when he's so nauseous he's sure turning his head is going to send him over the edge, but mostly he loses that battle.

It should be a relief when he's given the all clear to start physical therapy and for a moment it is. He feels himself perk up at the thought of getting out of bed and moving around. His fractures healed and all but the worst of the shrapnel wounds have closed up, he's ready to get out of the hospital and back to some semblance of a life. He holds on to that hope right up until Chad, his therapist, gets him to the edge of the bed. Already he's out of breath and his muscles are screaming in protest. Still, he steels himself, digs down deep into those energy reserves he called on during BUD/s, during hellacious missions, his fighting instinct kicking in. He plants his feet on the floor and pushes up from the bed ... only to have his knees buckle instantly. If it weren't for Chad's hold on him, Clay's sure he would be on the floor. That's when it hits him ... his body will never be the same again.

Once that thought has flickered to life, Clay has a hard time refocusing his mind. This body, the one he's struggling with right now, isn't the body of a Tier One operator, isn't even the body of a BUD/s hopeful. It's weak and frail, crumbling under the slightest weight, muscles burning and aching. Doubt starts to set in. The only thing that had kept him from climbing the walls these last few weeks was the thought of moving once again. His only focus was getting back to the team so he'd grit his teeth and tried to bear it all the best he could, but now ... if he can't even stand on his own, how the hell is he going to make it back to the team?

Chad, oblivious to his internal struggle, hauls Clay upright once again. With practiced moves, he spins them and deposits Clay in Naima's recliner. He gives Clay's shoulder a pat.

"Not too bad for your first time up," Chad tells him. "We'll let you sit here for a bit, catch your breath. Then we'll do some stretching. Your muscles are bound to be weak from being immobile for so long. Don't worry, we'll get you back on your feet in no time."

The words are wasted on him as Clay's mind continues to spiral. He's only had one mission in life, to be a Tier One operator. He's not sure who he is without that. He doesn't know what to do if he can't return to the team. Bravo is all he has. If he loses them ... Clay sucks in a deep breath, slamming the brakes hard on that train of thought. He can't go there now, he can't even think about a life where he doesn't have his Bravo brothers at his back. These last few weeks have been hard enough just talking to them every few days on the phone or a video call. Dropping his head back to the chair, Clay closes his eyes and focuses on anything else but Chad stretching out his stiff muscles.

The moment they've all been waiting for has come. After seven weeks of talking to the kid through video chats and getting daily updates from Naima, they can finally lay eyes on the kid in person. The moment they are free, they head to the hospital and find Naima waiting in Clay's room. She hugs Ray tight as soon as she sees him. When she steps back, her eyes are a bit watery, but her smile never wavers as she pulls each of them into a quick hug.

"Where is boy wonder?" Sonny asks, noticing the empty bed.

"Up in the PT room," Naima replies, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "He should be done soon."

"Can we go and see him?" Trent asks, itching to see the kid with his own eyes.

Naima nods. With Ray's arm wrapped around her shoulders, she leads them up to the PT room. Through the glass windows they finally get to see him. The last time any of them had seen Clay, he'd been barely conscious and struggling for breath, covered in blood and dirt. Now he was standing on his own two feet. Relief sweeps through them. Sonny is reaching for the door handle when Naima stops him with a shake of her head.

"Naima?" Ray asks, curious as to why she's keeping them from him.

"Give him some space," she explains softly. There's a look on her face that doesn't match the swell of joy they are currently feeling.

Turning back to the PT room, they're shocked to see Clay no longer standing tall. He's still standing, but barely. His knees have buckled and he's hunched over, hands clenched tight around the bars to hold himself up. Two physical therapists have moved up to his side, one taking Clay's weight while the other pushes a wheelchair up behind Clay. They watch in shock as Clay is lowered into the chair, body shaking with exertion, covered in sweat. What's even worse is the way Clay's shoulders curl, his head tucked down in defeat.

"What's going on?" Jason asks, worry settling back into his chest at the sight.

"He's still healing," Naima tries to explain, eyes fixed on Clay. "He just started PT a few days ago, he's still really weak." Naima sighs and turns back to the guys, hating the concern she sees on their face. Only moments ago they'd been smiling, excited to see Clay. "He's not in a good headspace either."

"What do you mean?" Trent questions.

"He's been bedridden for seven weeks and now that he's started therapy, he's realizing just how weak he is. He doesn't like having anyone see him like that. Derek tried to go with him on his second day and Clay just shut down," Naima shakes her head. "Let's give him some space to finish up. We can meet him back in his room."

As hard as it is to walk away, they all follow Naima's advice and saunter one by one back down the hallway. Instead of crowding in Clay's room and inundating the kid when he gets back from PT, Naima herds them to the cafeteria, insisting they grab food to take back up to Clay's room.

"He's not eating," Naima sighs, quietly confiding in Ray. 

"He's lost weight," Trent confirms. It's not unusual given the circumstances, they knew the kid would lose mass being bedridden, but to see him looking so gaunt and frail was a shock to the system.

"He doesn't have much of an appetite. The pain meds make him nauseous," Naima explains. "We've tried different combinations, but nothing seems to be doing the trick."

"We'll get him to eat," Jason tells her, ever the team leader. They would get Clay through this.

"You want to sit in the chair," Chad asks, wheeling Clay back into his room.

Clay looks between the uncomfortable bed and the equally uncomfortable chair. No matter where he ends up, his leg is going to hurt so he shrugs. Once Chad has him settled in the chair, Clay realizes how quiet it is. Normally there is someone in his room, whether it's Naima or Derek, Full Metal, Trish, anyone from Alpha Team. He's surprised by the alone time, but breaths a sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax. He appreciates what everyone has done, going out of their way to keep him company and keep his spirits up, but it's mostly exhausting. They mean well, but Clay feels like he constantly has to bury everything when they're around, the pain, the frustration, the anger, the confusion. And try as hard as he might, he can feel the "I'm fine" masking slipping a little more each day.

The last week and half have been especially hard. Coming off the strong pain killers have left him with a constant ache in his thigh and persistent nausea that makes it difficult to eat. With the fog of drugs out of his system, he's had more time to try and piece together the events of that night, what happened to him. Starting PT had seemed like it would be a relief, but instead it serves as a daily reminder that everything has changed. The guy who left for the Philippines is not the same one who came back. It's all starting to wear on him. So he's thankful for the few minutes of peace and quiet, of not having to force on a smile or hold up one end of a conversation.

He's got his head leaned back on the recliner, eyes closed and drifting towards sleep when a knock on his door startles him. He's sure it's just the orderly with his dinner tray, something he doesn't have the energy to deal with just yet. He doesn't even bother to open his eyes, just raises his hand and waves the person in, hoping they'll get the message to drop his tray and leave.

"Come on now, kid. We raised ya better than that."

Clay's eyes pop open, surprised to see Sonny standing in his doorway with a wide grin on his face. He's too shocked to respond, just stares at the man, dumbfounded, as he saunters in. Jason follows, hot on his feels, Trent and Brocks appearing a split second later. Ray comes in last with Naima on his arm. Clay blinks, tired brain having trouble comprehending what he's seeing. Bravo should still have two weeks left on deployment, there's no way they should be stateside right now let alone gathered in his room. As shocked as he is to see them here in person, it's even more of a shock when Sonny comes forward and all but crushes Clay in a bear hug.

"It's damn good to see ya, kid," Sonny murmurs quietly, voice wavering the slightest before he pulls back.

The moment he's vacated the spot, Trent steps into it. His eyes are calculating as he looks Clay up and down, but he must approve of what he sees because a small smile graces the normally unflappable man's lips. He reaches his hand out, gripping Clay's forearm tightly before he tugs him into a one armed hug. Brock and Ray follow in similar fashion, giving him a pat on the back or a fist bump that unexpectedly turns into a quick hug. Jason is last, face blank as he eyes Clay.

"Glad to see the beard growing back, baby face," Jason chuckles, a grin spreading across his face. He gives Clay's stubble covered cheek a pat before he squeezes the kid shoulder. No one mentions it when his hand stays firmly planted in place, like he needs the physical contact to ground the both of them.

"What? How?" Clay finally stutters out, glancing between the men gathered around him.

"Good behavior," Jason gives him a wink, hoping the kid will drop it. No such luck though, the kid was a stubborn son of a bitch in the best of times. There was no way he was going to let them skate by without an explanation, but there was no way in hell Jason was going to drag all of that up right now, not when they just got back to the kid. No, they were going to enjoy this time because, after seven weeks of worry and guilt and anger, they were back together once again.

"Doubt it," Clay scoffs. He glances at all of them, but their faces are giving nothing away. "Seriously, Jace," Clay all but pleads. "What's going on? Why are you guys back early? Did something else happen?" It doesn't look like anyone is injured so he's sure they are fine physically. His memory of his short time in the Philippines was still incredibly hazy, but he does recall an issue with a Commander. Was that it? Did something happen to get them in trouble? His worry starts to grow for the men around him.

"Easy kid," Jason tells him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He sighs, trying to find the easiest way to lay it out without too much detail. They haven't mentioned the bombing and Clay hasn't asked again beyond Naima’s explanation. They don't know what he remembers, if anything, and don't want to dredge it up right now. Clay has enough to deal with without that added stress.

"We caught a mission that took priority over training the Filipino SEALs," Jason explains quietly. "Another team came in to take over the training while we completed our mission. It's all good."

Clay breaths a small sigh of relief, nodding. "What team?" he asks, wondering who they ended up sending.

Sonny smirks. "Charlie team."

"Those poor guys," Brock chuckles, shaking his head. "From one extreme to the other."

Clay grins. He vaguely remembers the guys they were training. He doesn't remember much about them except they seemed like guys Bravo would hang with. They worked hard and were all business during training, but they liked to kick it back and have a good time too. "Snake wine," Clay murmurs, as the memory drifts in. He looks up at Jason, then at Sonny, a grin spreading across his face. "You puked."

A round of laughter rolls through the guys as Sonny turns beet red. He tries his best to look annoyed, but there's a smile perking up his lips as he glares at Clay. "Course you'd remember that," Sonny grumbles.

The team settles into his room like it's a normal occurrence. Sonny sprawls out on the bed, though Jason does make him shove over some so he can sit on the edge near Clay. Naima sits in "her" chair, Ray sitting on the arm of it, his arm thrown around Naima's shoulders. Brock sits in the other chair, the hard uncomfortable one that everyone avoids. He doesn't seem to mind it. Trent disappears from the room and reappears a few moments later with a chair of his own, procured from somewhere. He plops down on it, kicking his feet up on the end of Clay's bed. When his dinner tray arrives a few moments later, he's too involved listening to Sonny's wild tale of horseback riding to pay much attention. He picks at his food as the guys tear into theirs and before they know it, several hours have passed.

Chad popping into the room interrupts the laughter. If he's surprised to see the room occupied by five bedraggled men and raucous laughter, he doesn't show it. He just enters the room and gives Clay a wave. "Just wanted to see if you were ready to get back into bed," Chad asks him as the laughter dies down.

Instantly, Clay's cheeks flush in embarrassment. Naima, now well versed in the meaning of Clay's looks, gives a quiet sigh as she sits forward. She can tell Clay is getting tired, probably pretty sore too after PT and sitting up in the chair for so long. But the kid is just too stubborn to say anything and probably too embarrassed to need assistance with it, especially in front of the guys. She gives Ray's leg a pat as she stands up, thankful when he follows her lead.

"Let's give Spencer a few minutes to get settled," Ray states, giving Jason a meaningful look.

Clay ducks his head, but no one mentions anything else. One by one they move, pushing up from their acquired sprawls and heading for the door. Naima waits by Clay's side until they've all left. She lays her hand on his arm and waits until he glances up at her. She can see the embarrassment there. 

"Let Chad get you settled back in bed, then we'll get you something for the pain," she tells him quietly. "How bad is it?"

"Six," Clay murmurs.

Naima just shakes her head. "We've been through this, Clay. You need to tell us when you need something. We have your back."

Clay just ducks his head back down. Admonishment over for the moment, Naima steps back, allowing Chad to step forward. She considers staying, but decides to give him some privacy. Out in the hallway, the guys are hovering near the door. She knows they are itching to get back in to the room with him.

"He's probably gonna knock out pretty soon," Naima tells them. "He's tired and the pain meds are gonna make him groggy."

Through the doorway, they watch as Chad hauls Clay to his feet. The kid is unsteady the moment he gets upright and Jason has the distinct feeling that if it weren't for the therapist’s arms around his waist, Clay would've face planted. In one practiced move, Chad pivots them and eases Clay back to sit on the edge of the bed. It isn't until the man crouches down to lift Clay's legs up onto the bed that it really hits them just how much muscle Clay as lost. The kid can't even lift his legs up on to the bed without assistance. Or pain. Jason watches as the kid's face screws up in a wince, hands clenching tight in the bed sheet as his legs are moved. 

"How bad is it, Naima?" Jason asks softly.

"He's got a long road ahead of him.”

"I'll stay with him tonight," Jason sighs. He doesn't like Naima's vague answer, but knows time will tell.

"You've got the kids," Trent starts to protest, but Jason waves him off.

"We can work out a schedule tomorrow. I'm staying tonight." 

Jason refuses to be moved on this. Yes, he does have Mikey and Emma to think about, but he also has Clay to think about too. Mikey and Emma will be okay for one more night. Right now, he needs to make sure Clay is okay. Every time he's closed his eyes over the last seven weeks, Clay's bloody and ash covered face flashed before him. It's an image he hasn't been able to dispel. Naima had said he was doing well, and he was, but none of them truly realized just how bad off the kid was. 

"I'm staying too," Sonny pipes up. When Jason glances at him, the Texan just shrugs. "You ain't gonna change my mind."

"Fine," Jason sighs.

Inside the room, Clay is finally relaxing back into the bed. He looks exhausted, lines of pain etched deep into his face as he leans his head back. The kid was good at hiding it, that was for sure. That was going to change too, Jason was going to make sure of that. 

Once Chad leaves the room, they reenter. Trent and Brock say their goodbyes and leave pretty quickly. Naima and Ray stay a little longer, Naima hesitant to leave Clay's side. She's spent every night for the last seven weeks asleep in the chair next to his bed. Most people would be grateful for the relief, to go home and sleep in their own beds next to their husband, but not Naima. She knows Jason and Sonny will be here, that Clay won't be alone, but she's having a hard time getting herself to leave. Eventually though, the pain meds kick in and Clay starts to get drowsy. Seeing him relax in the presence of his brothers is all Naima needs to finally tear herself away. 

Naima lays her hand gently on the top of Clay's head, watching as his eyes drift towards her. She gives him a smile. "I'm going home with Ray," she tells him quietly. "Jason and Sonny are here. Tell them if you need anything. Okay?"

Clay nods his head and starts to drift back to sleep. Naima stands there for another moment, watching as his breathing evens out and the lines of tension on his face ease. If anyone is surprised by her tender touch, they wisely don't mention it. Watching them leave, Jason leans back in the recliner. A feeling of peace washes over him as he watches Clay drift to sleep.

Chapter Text

That peaceful feeling Jason has last two days. Two days of Clay's semi-cheerful disposition. Two days of trying to steer the kid in the right direction when he doesn't want to eat or waits too long to take his meds. Jason can see Trent's worry and barely contained frustration; he gets it, he feels the same way. Trent leaves the room, quietly talking to Naima and when he returns a few hours later, his frustration with Clay has disappeared.

Sonny does his best to keep Clay perked up, but in the silences, they can see Clay slipping back to the defeated look on his face when they first saw him. None of them are sure what to do for the kid, how to pull him out of the depression he seems determined to slide into. So Jason does the only thing he can, takes care of the physical and hopes like hell that once Clay regains some strength, the mental and emotional pain will fade away.

On the third day, Jason walks into Clay's room to see his breakfast tray still sitting there untouched. He glances at his watch, then frowns at Clay. He knows for a fact that the tray was delivered at least two hours ago. On the bed, Clay is reclined back staring out the window, seeming completely unaware of his arrival. Jason glances to Brock who just shrugs. Jason taps the side of his fist against the footboard of the bed, startling Clay out of his blank staring.

"Breakfast is cold," Jason tells him, watching as Clay looks at the tray then glances away.

"Not hungry," is all he mutters, turning his attention back to the window.

Jason sighs. He didn't want to start bugging the kid already, but apparently Brock had already tried and lost. "Come on, kid," Jason urges, nudging the tray closer to the bed. "You gotta eat. Won't get your strength back if you don't."

"Said I'm not hungry," Clay grumbles. He glares at Jason, challenging him.

So that's how we're gonna play today, Jason thinks. Evidently Clay's bad mood from last night has bled over in to today. He glances to Brock for assistance, but the canine handler just shakes his head, not wanting any part of the battle about to take place. "We let you slide last night," Jason reminds him. "Let's go. Eat up before PT."

Clay shifts on the bed like he's going to sit up. A hiss slips free, face pinching into a frown as he adjusts his right leg to a more comfortable position. His hands clench into the sheets, lips pressed together in a thin white line as he rides out the wave of pain.

Jason eyes the kid a little closer, not liking what he sees. He's looking rough, dark circles under his eyes, skin pale, lines of pain creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes. He'd seemed a little off last night, but he's definitely worse this morning. "When's the last time you had pain meds?"

When no answer is forthcoming from Clay, Jason turns his gaze to Brock. "Last night. 2300."

"Jesus Clay, that was nearly twelve hours ago," Jason can't keep the frustration from his voice. He's reaching for call button when Clay's hand covers it.

"I'm fine," he growls. It would be effective if he weren't laying down with his eyes closed, looking like he was about to hurl. Instead, it seems just shy of pathetic.

"Clearly," Jason bites out. He sets his coffee down on the table. "I'm going to grab Naima."

"No." Clay barks. He shifts, wincing once again. "I don't need anything. I'm fine."

"Every eight hours, Clay. That's the schedule for your pain meds. Every eight hours, not when you feel like admitting you need them," Jason tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but doesn't completely succeed. "You need to eat too. Not letting you backslide."

"Stop!"

Clay's yell stops him in his tracks. He turns around, shocked. Clay is struggling to sit up despite the obvious pain it's causing. He's got both hands latched on to the bedrails, is hauling himself into a sitting position, face contorted in pain and anger as he glares at Jason, fire in his eyes.

"I don't need you dictating everything in my life," Clay barks, voice edging towards a shout. "I can still think for myself, make my own damn decisions. If I don't want to eat, I'm not gonna eat. Don't like it, get the hell out."

In the face of Clay's tirade, Jason's thin hold on his patience snaps. "We're just trying to get you back on your feet," Jason barks right back at him. "Stop fighting us at every turn."

"What is all the yelling about?" Naima hisses, stepping into the room and shutting the door.

Jason snaps his mouth shut, taking a deep breath before he looks away from Clay. "Sorry," he tells her, frustration still clear in his tone of voice. "He won't eat and won't take his pain meds."

Naima looks at Clay who, despite looking like he's about ready to keel over, is stubbornly refusing to back down. He's got a white-knuckled grip on the bedrails, holding himself up as he glowers at Jason's back. Naima shakes her head before pinning her gaze back on Jason.

"Go for a walk. You too Brock," she states, motioning to the door. When Jason starts to protest, she waves him off. She's not going to take anyone's bullshit today. "Go for a walk."

Defeated, Jason storms out of the room, Brock slipping out quietly behind him. Naima turns her fierce gaze to her charge, but finds it wavering as Clay collapses back on the bed, panting in exertion. She sighs as she steps up to the bed, pushing the untouched breakfast tray out of the way.

"Nauseous?" she asks, grabbing Clay's wrist to monitor his pulse.

"Little," Clay whispers, eyes closed tightly. "A lot."

"Jason's right," Naima gives his arm a pat as she settles it back on the mattress. Clay cracks his eyes open to glare at her, but she's unfazed by it. "You know better. You can't let the pain get this bad before you ask for help. We do this every day, Clay."

"Just tired of it," Clay murmurs, anger bleeding away in the face of her stern motherly look.

"I know. The truth is you've still got a ways to go, you know this. I know you're frustrated, but you can't stop taking care of yourself. And you can't take it out on the guys, either. They're just trying to help you the only way they know how."

Jason is storming down the hall, Brock hot on his heels, when they run into Trent and Sonny. Jason's so mission focused on getting the hell out of the hospital that he doesn't even see them until Trent grabs his arm. He spins around, thundering mad, ready to unload on whatever asshole grabbed him when he sees their concerned faces. Blowing out a breath, Jason relaxes. He's still pissed off, but not enough to blow off his teammates.

"What the hell is going on?" Sonny asks, glancing between Jason's angry glare and Brock's shocked one.

"Clay and Jace just had it out," Brock tells them when Jason remains mute.

Trent and Sonny both look like someone just slapped them, too shocked to respond for a moment.

"Explain," is all Trent grinds out, looking right at Jason. 

"He's not eating, not taking his pain meds ..." Jason runs a hand over the top of his head, anger burning out. He never should've let the kid get under his skin like that. "He's not taking care of himself and when I tried, he went off."

"He alone up there?" Sonny asks, frowning.

"No. Naima's with him." Brock explains. "She told us to go for a walk, figured she's gonna try to get him settled before anyone gets back."

Trent just stares at Jason, a hard look in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. The tension is starting to grow, neither backing down, when Ray shows up. He takes a look at the standoff and immediately diverts from his original course and steps between them.

"Hey now. The hell is this?" Ray gives Jason a nudge to get him to back off a step, putting a little distance between them.

Finally, Trent sighs and shakes his head. "Follow me," is all he says as he turns and heads back the way they came. Not knowing what else to do, Sonny follows along. Brock gives Jason a look before he walks away as well. Ray raises his eyebrow at Jason, waiting on his move. Shoulders dropping in defeat, Jason nods, following the rest of the group.

He's surprised when they come to a stop at the nurse's station. Jason can't help but glance down to the end of the hallway to see Clay's door is still shut. Trent is leaning over the desk, talking softly with someone. It isn't until the person stands up, handing something to Trent, that Jason realizes it's Naima. She doesn't look exactly pleased, but nods to whatever Trent is saying. Without another word, Trent keeps walking. Jason meets Naima's stern glare for a moment, before looking away.

Trent turns a corner and takes them down a different hallway, leading them in to a small private waiting room. They all file in and grab a seat as Trent closes the door. He still looks mad, refusing to meet Jason's gaze. He flips open a tablet and starts tapping away at the screen.

"What are we doing here, Trent?" Jason finally asks, frustration getting the best of him. "The kid was be-"

"This is his right leg, the night he arrived in Virginia," Trent flips around tablet showing them all the x-ray. Clay's femur is clearly broken in two places, his lower leg in three. "And his left." He slides his finger across the screen to show his left leg, one break in the femur, three in the lower leg. 

"Jesus," Sonny murmurs, wincing at the damage.

"These are his post surgical x-rays." Trent flips through several images, all showing the hardware used to piece Clay's bones back together. There are pins and rods, plates and screws. He looks more metal than bone at this point.

"He came in with bi-lateral chest tubes to relieve the pressure on his chest, worried about blast lung," Trent reads off, tapping through the file. "Lacerated kidney, grade two. Second degree burns over twenty percent of his legs. Fifteen shrapnel wounds across his body that required stitches, five that required debridement and skin grafts. Two nerve graft surgeries. Five days on a ventilator, fourteen days on a feeding tub-"

"We get it," Jason barks out, jumping from his seat, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "I get it, okay?"

"Do you, Jace?" Trent turns to face him. "Do you? The kid has been through hell. Any of those injuries are hard to recover from, but all of them?" Trent just shakes his head. "Do you realize he may never walk right again?"

Shocked silence fills the room. Trent watches realization and fear flicker across Jason's face as their leader absorbs the information. They knew the kid was in bad shape after the explosion, had seen and heard Naima's updates for weeks, but he knew that they didn't fully understand the scope of his injuries. Even he had vastly underestimated the extent until Naima allowed him access to Clay's chart. It was page after page of gruesome injuries and not so optimistic recovery estimates.  The numbers had chilled Trent to the bone. Chances of Clay returning as an operator? Less than five percent. Chance of Clay regaining enough mobility in his legs to lead a relatively normal life? Sixty percent.

"What do you mean?" Jason utters out, trying to connect the dots. 

“The damage to his legs was extensive. Broken bones, torn muscle and ligaments, infection, and nerve damage. Time will tell if he’ll regain full function."

"How long?" Sonny grinds out. He's got his hands clenched into fists, like he's barely holding himself from lashing out at something.

Trent just shrugs. "Months. Maybe longer."

Sonny drops his head to his clenched fist and blows out a breath. Jason leans back in his chair, dropping his head back as it finally dawns on him. He'd held on to the hope that if they could just get back to the kid, then everything would be okay. He had steadfastly refused to believe that Clay wouldn't be back with them one day. Every time things took a turn for the worse, Jason held on to that one thought. Now though, he's not sure what to do. Being on the teams was Clay's life, was his only dream and purpose in life. If he lost that ... Jason can't even begin to wrap his head around it. No wonder the kid was giving up.

"It's not just physical either. It's mental," Trent tells them quietly. "He's been completely dependent on other people for everything for the last seven weeks. He's never liked to show weakness and this is probably the most vulnerable he's ever been. He's frustrated at the limits of his body and his uncertain future. He's going to have days where he refuses to eat, where he yells at everyone. We can't fight him on it, we just have to take it and do the best we can to help him move forward."

It's definitely not the news everyone wanted to hear or expected to hear, but Trent can see a new resolve on the faces of his teammates. No matter what happens to Clay from here forward, Trent knows that Bravo will be there to back him up and get him through it.

When they head back to Clay's room, Jason is dismayed to see the kid's door still closed. Naima intercepts them before they get there, a look of concern on her face. Jason feels like his world is bottoming out again as he looks at her. They've only been gone a few hours, enough time to let Clay cool off some and get through therapy.  What could have happened?

"What's going on?" he asks before she can get a word in edgewise.

"He spiked a fever," Naima tells them with a sigh. "I got him to take his pain meds and eat. When I came back to check on him an hour later, he had a fever of 103."

"His leg?" Trent asks, worry in his voice.

"Looks that way."

"What are the options?"

"Meds and fluids for now," Naima hesitates.

"But?" Jason presses, heart rate increasing every moment she stays silent.

"Dr. Land wants to operate." Naima tells them, trying but failing to remain impassive.

Trent hangs his head, but the implication seems lost on the others.

"That a bad thing?" Sonny asks, glancing between Trent and Naima.

"Can be," Trent explains. "Clay's already been though quite a few surgeries. They don't want to overtax his body by putting him under anesthesia again unless absolutely necessary. Not to mention it'll push back his rehab another few weeks. Kid's not going to be happy."

"Okay, so what are the other options?" Jason asks.

"There aren't many," Naima explains softly.

"His first infection seemed to clear up with antibiotics," Trent tells them. "But it's a persistent wound. An abscess formed underneath the tissue. They drained it several times, but it just kept coming back. They've tried several antibiotics, but nothing has worked long term. It's probably a big part of the reason he's in so much pain and why he hasn't felt good. Harboring an infection like that for so long, you start to worry about it damaging muscle, spreading to his bone or his blood stream."

"Could he lose his leg?" Sonny asks, a look of fear on his face. "That what you mean by surgery?"

"No," Naima reassures him quickly. "No, they aren't talking amputation."

"If they don't get it under control, it could lead to that," Trent tells them honestly. Naima sends a sharp glare his way, but Trent has never lied to his guys and doesn't plan on starting. "What they want to do is explore the wound, cut out the infected tissue. There is most likely a small piece of debris trapped in there wreaking all this havoc, something so small it wouldn't show up on any of the scans."

"So what? They cut him open, clean it out, and he's good to go?" Ray asks, attention torn between Naima and Trent.

"That's the gist of it, yeah."

"Clay is going to fight it," Naima pipes up. "He's tired, Jason. He's frustrated. He's starting to give up."

Jason sees the worry on her face, feels the same fear churning in his gut. They all love the kid, but Naima, he can see, has formed a special bond with him. She's sat by his bed side every night so he wouldn't be alone. Naima was his touchstone, the one he depended on for everything. If she was worried about him giving up, it wasn't an idle worry. She could read the kid as easily, if not better, than any of them. He trusted her.

"He's not going to give up, Naima," Jason tells her firmly, pulling her into a hug. "We won't let him."

He's not sure what he expects to find when they walk into the room. Clay looks a little rougher than he had that morning, but overall not much as changed. There's the new addition of an IV pole with a bag of fluids and a bag of what Jason assumes are antibiotics hanging there, the tube snaking down to disappear into the line set up in Clay's chest. He's got his eyes closed, face turned towards the windows. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and a flush of red across his ghastly pale cheeks. Sweat dots his brow, face pulled into a slight frown.

Trent steps up to the side of the bed and gives Clay's shoulder a gentle shake. It takes a moment, but slowly his eyes blink open and focus on them. 

"Heard things got a little rough this morning," Trent tells him quietly. Clay just nods, eyes bobbing. "I'm gonna take a look, okay?"

When no response comes from Clay, Trent eases the sheet away from his legs. He's surprised to see the kid in just his boxers and a t-shirt, but figures with running a fever, he probably didn't want the extra fabric on. He hears some quiet gasps behind him and realizes that this is the first time the guys are seeing the full extent of the damage done. Trent had seen the x-rays and all the images of his wounds in Clay’s file the a few days ago. Truth be told, the kid's legs could look a whole lot worse. They're a bit skinny from him losing muscle mass, but now they have the addition of several healing scars from surgeries and shrapnel. Some of them are a fading pink, barely visible, while others are still red and puckered. 

What Trent really wants to see is Clay's right thigh though. He can see the edge of the scar peeking out from under the material of Clay's boxers. Pushing the material up and away, he sighs as the sight before him. The upper part of Clay's right thigh is definitely the worst of all the wounds. He remembers clearly from that night the large piece of material sticking out of the kid's flesh as he tried to improvise a junctional. He knew it then, just like he knows now, no matter what they try to do, Clay will always bear a wicked looking scar from that night. They had to cut away too much tissue between the burns and infection, even skin grafts couldn't make it whole again.  There's an area roughly the size of his fist that is a knot of scar tissue.

"Shit," Brock hisses, catching sight of the scar left behind.

Looking up, Trent can see similar looks of shock on his brothers' faces. They heard him say the words, had seen a glimpse of the wound themselves, but nothing had prepared them for the aftermath. His eyes linger on Jason the longest, watching as realization dawns on the man. Turning his attention back to Clay, Trent can see how swollen his upper thigh looks, skin once again red and angry looking. When he runs his hand gently over it, he's unsurprised to feel the heat radiating from it.

At his touch, Clay hisses. His hands clench tight into the bed sheet, head thrashing to the side, but he keeps his leg as still as possible. Backing off, Trent lays a hand on Clay's chest. The kid's face is contorted in pain, but slowly it starts to relax as the pain fades once again.

"Sorry kid," Trent murmurs quietly. He's waiting for Clay to open his eyes, but it never happens. "How bad's the pain?"

"Seven," Clay mutters. He's still too tense on the bed, too stiff. 

Trent looks up at Brock, closest to the door. "Get Naima. He needs something else for pain," is all he says before he turns back to Clay. "We got ya, kid. You'll be okay."

"Don't want it," Clay tells him miserably. "Don't wanna be groggy again."

Trent sighs, not wanting to fight Clay on this. "I know, but you need it."

"You need to let your body heal," Jason says, stepping up to the bed. He lays a hand on Clay's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "You can't heal if you're constantly fighting pain."

"I don't want surgery," Clay tells them, voice cracking. "I don't know how much more I can take."

It could be the fever and pain or it could be the stress of everything piling on top of him, but when Clay opens his eyes to look at them, he looks completely wrecked. A tear slips free as he looks first at Trent, then at Jason, like he's hoping one of them will throw him a lifeline. Trent doesn't know what to say to that, unsure of what else he can do to bolster the kid up. Judging by the look on Jason's face, he's having a hard time holding himself together let alone trying to find a way to hold the kid together too.

It's Sonny that steps forward, eyes watery and voice rough as he speaks. "You been dealt a really shitty hand here, little buddy. Ain't no one arguing that." He wraps his fingers around Clay's forearm and holds on tight. Clay mimics the grip, fingers pressing in so deep there are sure to be bruises there. "You got the strength in ya to make the universe reshuffle the deck and deal you a better one. And we're gonna be right here with ya. You get me, kid?"

Sonny leans down and pulls the kid close to his chest, trying not to jostle him too much. Clay's fingers tangle in the back of Sonny's shirt and holds on tight as a sob runs through him. Sonny lets out a shuddering breath, trying to keep his own emotions in check as Clay bleeds out all his fears and frustrations and pain. He holds on tight to the kid and keeps up a soft murmur of "you're okay, we got you, you can do this", chanting it over and over like a prayer. 

When Clay does finally release his grip on Sonny, he all but collapses back on the bed, completely spent. He reaches a shaky hand up to wipe away the tears, leaving his hand there for a moment to collect himself. Sonny steps back, giving the kid some space, surprised to see Naima and Brock had slipped in at some point. Naima discreetly wipes the corners of her eyes and gives Sonny an approving smile. 

Jason steps forward and lays his hand on Clay's shoulder to get his attention. “Sonny’s right kid, we know you can do this. There’s nothing you can’t blast your way through. An operator’s an operator,” Jason tells him, echoes of their conversation from that night in the bar ringing in his head. Clay’s words come back to him then and a small smile tugs at his lips as he squeezes the kid’s shoulder in reassurance. “You do this like you do everything else, you give it all you’ve got. We’ve got your back. You’ve got five brothers around you and one beating heart. Never forget it, kid.”

Clay nods, too worked up to respond. He shakily reaches up and latches on to Jason’s arm as he tries to collect himself. Everyone shifts, moving into a tighter knot around Clay’s bed like a protective barrier. This may be the only way they can support him right now, but they are damn well going to do it.

After a moment, Trent gives Clay’s foot a tap to get his attention. “Naima’s here with your pain meds," he tells Clay. Knowing it's important for the kid to have a semblance of control over his life, he adds "Will you take them?"

Clay looks miserable and Jason has to resist every urge he has to tell the kid to just take the damn meds already. He knows Trent and Naima are right, Clay needs some control back and if they have to ask him to take his meds and eat, then they will. He's not sure if he can just let the kid suffer here in pain if he refuses, but he figures they'll cross that bridge when they get to it. For now, Clay just nods his head.

"Okay," he croaks out.

Naima steps up to the bed and injects the meds directly into his line. She gives Clay's hand a squeeze before she steps back. They watch, relieved, as a moment later, Clay finally relaxes. The lines of pain on his face ease as he sinks into sleep. No one moves for a while, content to watch over Clay while they figure out how to pull him through.

The day after surgery, Jason heads into Clay's room to relieve Trent. He's expecting to find Clay sleeping like he had been when Jason slipped out last night. Instead, he's surprised to find the kid sitting up in bed and looking more alert than Jason's seen him since the blast. It's Trent that he finds asleep, sprawled out in the recliner. Clay glances up when Jason steps into the room and immediately puts his finger to his lips to keep Jason quiet. Then he balls up another piece of paper and flicks it off the table in Trent's direction. It hits Trent's cheek, but the man barely twitches. He gives a snort and turns his head slightly, still sound asleep.

Clay's shoulders are shaking quiet laughter, eyes dancing with mirth. He's evidently been at it a while, Jason realizes as he looks at the area surrounding Trent. There has to be at least twenty tiny paper balls on Trent himself, not to mention the ones that are scattered on the floor around the chair. Jason gives Clay a smirk, nodding in approval when he wads up a bigger ball this time. Jason pulls out his phone and starts recording Clay's next attack. It's a direct hit to Trent right between the eyes. Trent idly swats at his face, but doesn't move otherwise. 

Jason's waiting for the next one to go flying, but it never comes. Glancing over at Clay he realizes the kid has used the last of his tissues. With no other ammunition to use, Clay gives a shrug, game obviously over. Not wanting to see the happiness fade from the kid's eyes just yet, he grins at Clay right before he steps forward and smacks Trent's foot. The reaction is instantaneous, Trent is wide awake, scrambling to untangle himself from the blanket and jump out of the chair. A cascade of paper balls falls to the floor as he moves sending Clay into a fit of laughter.

Hearing the laughter, Trent blinks. Realizing there is no danger, he looks from Clay to Jason to the floor at his feet where Clay's ammunition stock has fallen. "The hell?" he grumbles. When Jason's phone is pressed closer, Trent slaps it away with an annoyed look.

"Glad to see you keeping an eye on the kid," Jason chuckles. He slides his phone back in his pocket ... after sending the video to the rest of the team. Clay's chuckles have died down, but there is still a mischievous look dancing in his eyes. It's a relief to see. After the last few days, he wondered if they would ever get Clay back. To see him have such a dramatic turn around in just a day is almost too good to be true.

"How're you feeling?" Jason asks, settling into the other chair in Clay's room.

"Better today," Clay answer honestly. "Leg's sore, but ya know." He shrugs.

Yeah, Jason does know. He'd seen the incision last night. They cut his thigh open and drained the infection, then cleaned it out thoroughly. His surgeon had held up a small piece of cement the size of a pebble he'd pulled from Clay's leg, the root of all his infections and pain. He had told them last night that he expected Clay to make a fast turn around now that his body was free of the infection, but Jason hadn't expected it to be this fast. There are small lines of pain on his face this morning, but his eyes are clear and he's alert. He's sitting up with his leg propped on a pillow, thigh swaddled in thick surgical dressings.  Jason hopes this means he's turning a corner.

Despite the surgery, Clay's progress doesn't slow down. If anything, it picks up its pace. Even though his use of his right leg is limited at the moment due to the sutures, it doesn't keep Clay from working the rest of his body in PT. He works on building strength back up in his arms and legs, stretching out the muscles stiff from being bed bound for so long. Even when he's back in his room, they see him doing small movements to keep his muscles loose and engaged. It's good to see the fight back in him once again.

The more he works in therapy, the more he eats, slowly gaining back the weight he lost. That's not to say he doesn't have bad days. There are days he wakes up sore and grumpy, not in the mood for Sonny's antics or Trents constant double checking of everything. They take it all in stride though, backing off and giving him some space when he needs it. Naima even manages to swing getting Cerb a visit when Clay's particularly grumpy. The sight of the canine perks the kid right up.

Once his sutures come out, Clay really takes off. He's stubborn enough to refuse to back down from any challenge Chad throws at him, no matter how difficult. They sit in the corner of the room and watch as Clay, dripping in sweat and muscles shaking from exertion, pushes himself back up for one more round. Before they know it, the kid is walking short distances unaided. It's a relief to see. Along with that accomplishment comes discharge papers and a welcome home party. After nearly eleven weeks in the hospital and rehab unit, Clay is finally free. Well, sort of. He finally steps foot in his apartment once again, but has a constant Bravo shadow around. 

One aspect of his recovery that they hadn't considered, though, was his memory, or lack thereof. Sonny's asleep on Clay's couch when a thump startles him awake. He quickly rolls off the couch and pushes the door open to find Clay sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. Not wanting to startle the kid, he hovers in the doorway, waiting for Clay to make the first move. After a moment, the kid picks his head up and looks in Sonny's direction.

"Sorry," he murmurs, pushing to his feet. "Didn't mean to wake you."

He's a bit shaky and Sonny itches to reach out and help him, but holds back, knowing it might set the kid off. Clay is already clearly upset, nightmare is Sonny's best guess at this point, and the last thing he wants to do is make it worse.

"Everything okay?"

"Yep," Clay utters, stepping by Sonny to get to the bathroom. "I'm fine."

Sonny doesn't believe him, but retreats back to the couch. He listens as Clay shuffles out of the bathroom and back to bed a few minutes later. He listens to the sheets rustling as Clay tosses and turns. Listens as the kid finally settles, soft snores coming from the room. The rest of the night he listens, waiting for anymore signs of distress coming from the room, but none ever come. 

The next morning Clay is quiet as he shuffles around the apartment. Sonny watches him bustle around, trying to keep himself busy. It's obvious something is weighing on him, something he's trying to work out, but Sonny isn't sure how to approach it without making a mess of things. Dealing with the emotions of the job were not his strong suit. He just buried it, using alcohol and jokes to cover the worst of the pain, used the rest of it to fuel him on missions. He knows he's not the best option to deal with this, hell even as a last resort it's an awful idea, but he's the only one around today and the kid seriously needs to get out of head.

"Wanna go for a walk?"

Clay looks up, surprised at the suggestion, but quickly nods. They've been keeping him on a short leash so he doesn't overexert himself, but Sonny figures fresh air will do them both some good. Clay has his sneakers on and is waiting by the door by the time Sonny pushes himself up from the couch. The kid makes a remark about Sonny showing his age to which he gets a  not-so-firm punch in the arm. It makes Clay laugh all the way down to the car.

Sonny drives them to a park not far from Clay's apartment. It's quiet and serene, a nice smooth pathway winding its way a round a small pond. They walk quietly for a while, Sonny letting Clay set the pace. When he starts to slow down, Sonny steers them towards a bench. They watch the ducks drifting lazily along the surface for a few minutes before Sonny gathers up the courage to broach the subject.

"You wanna tell me about last night?"

Clay presses his lips tight together, remaining silent. Sonny sighs quietly, figuring that's about how this conversation would go. He's not sure how else to pry it out of the kid without pushing, so he does the only thing he can think of. He tells Clay the truth.

"I was just headin’ out onto that street again to find you when the second bomb went off," Sonny tells him, voice tight. "Was terrified as I ran through the street lookin’ for you. When I found you lying there-" Sonny blows out a breath as a wave of terror rolls through him, recalling Clay's broken body in the street. "I thought you were dead," he whispers, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes suddenly burning with tears.

"One minute you were there, we had our hands on you, helpin’ ya. And the next ... you were just gone. Off the street, then outta the country. We didn't get to see you, didn't know how bad it was, just that you were still alive." Sonny shakes his head, finally sitting back up to look at Clay. "Had nightmares about that moment for weeks. Still have ‘em too, even though I know you're okay, even though you’re right here in front of me."

"I don't remember it," Clay whispers. "Or at least, I don't think I do."

Clay scrubs a hand through his hair in frustration as he tries to piece together the fragments in his mind. Ever since he saw the news report about the bombing, images have been playing in the back of his mind. At first he thought them induced by the heavy pain meds he was on, but over time they've only solidified more and more.

"I keep having the same dream. It's mostly just fragments that don't make any sense. A building with a hole blown in it. A street covered in debris and bodies. A teddy bear. Fire," Clay shrugs. "Don't know if my mind is making things up or if they're memories."

Sonny shudders at the mention of the teddy bear and his mind jumps back to that night, to the moment when Clay handed off those two scared little boys, to the last look Sonny ever got of the kid before the explosion. He remembers one little boy clutching a bloodstained teddy bear, whimpering softly as Sonny ushered him inside, the other little one tucked safely in his arms. It had only taken a minute to find a safe corner of the room to stash them, placing them away from the worst of the carnage and in the care of a few adults who weren't badly injured. He was steps from the door when the second blast happened and he just knew it was bad. He instantly felt like those two boys they just rescued, running through the street screaming his brother's name, filled with terror.

"The bear is real," Sonny utters quietly. He places his hand on Clay's knee, the contact quelling the remembered terror freezing his chest.

"What?" Clay looks startled, like he doesn't quite want to believe Sonny. It would be easier if all those hazy images were his mind trying to fill in the blanks and not actual memories of the night that nearly claimed his life. Looking at Sonny though, at the unguarded look of fear on his face, Clay realizes it is the truth.

"You ran out to the street to help. A boy got separated from his little brother after the first blast. You reunited them and handed them off to me to get them to safety," Sonny blows out a breath and looks at Clay. "That was the last time I saw you, as you were running back out to help more people."

Clay nods, digesting the information. He's wanted to know about that night for so long, and now that he has them, he's not sure what to do with them. Hearing it still doesn't clarify the snapshots of chaos he has in mind, isn't going to ease the panic when he wakes from a nightmare feeling like he can't breath and his body his on fire.

"How did you move passed it?" Clay asks quietly. He studies Sonny's face, watching the emotions play out there.

"Can't say that I did, not yet anyway," Sonny tells him honestly. "Commander Shaw ordered us to go to therapy, but that didn't seem to help any."

Sonny shrugs, eyes drifting away to stare out at the pond again. Clay sighs, disappointed. That's not the answer he was hoping for. 

“Seein' you again helped," Sonny offers after a moment. "Talked to the guys too. We’re all tryin’ to deal with it, was easier to talk to a brother than a complete stranger." Sonny knocks his leg against Clay's and gives the kid a small smile. "You can talk to us, Clay. We'll help you sort it all out. We've got your back."

"Yeah, I know." He does know. The guys have been there for him relentlessly. So has Naima. Derek, Trish, Full Metal, hell all of Alpha has been popping in and out to keep an eye on him. He knows he could go to any of his brothers with this and they would do whatever they could to ease him through it, he just hadn't been sure how to start. He's glad Sonny pushed it out of him. "Did you get whoever was responsible?"

Sonny grins at him, full Texan smile back in place. "Hell yeah we did."

Seven months. Clay takes a deep breath as he nears the doors to the base. It's been seven months since he's walked through these door on active duty. He shouldn't be nervous, hell he hadn't been nervous on his first day in these halls; it should feel like coming home. And it's not like he hasn't been back on base since the bombing. As soon as his therapist and his doctor had given him the all clear, the guys were dragging him in all the time for workouts and running drills. Gotta keep that mind sharp, Ray had said by way of explanation. Get you back to fighting weight, Jason had added with a glint in his eye.  And they had. Between workouts and Naima's cooking, he was almost back to his normal weight.

He feels like the new kid in school as he walks down the hallway, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Eyes follow him wherever he goes, whispers trailing along behind him. This is why he is nervous, Clay realizes. Everyone knew what happened, but few had seen him since. Rumors of his recovery, or lack of, had probably run rampant. No one knew and everyone was curious. Would he be back as a Tier One operator? Could he handle the stress of the job after such a harrowing experience? Did he still want to be on the elite team and throw himself back into danger? He was suddenly in a fishbowl, all eyes watching him, waiting to see what would happen next.

Unconsciously, Clay picks up speed, trying to get to the relative safety of the cages. As he passes the briefing room, he catches a glimpse of Blackburn. He hasn't seen much of their Commander since the team returned, but he'd popped in a few times to check in.  The man looks up as Clay walks by, a smile tugging at his lips. Another corner and he can breath a sigh of relief seeing the door to the Bravo cages several feet in front of him. He takes a deep breath before he pushes open the door.

Clay's not sure what to expect when he walks in, but it's certainly not to find the whole team already there waiting for him. Clay glances at his watch. Nope, he's not late. He's nearly a half hour earlier than Jason told him to report.

"There he is!" Ray calls out, catching sight of Clay first. 

He barely has a moment to prepare himself before five guys and a hair missile are charging in his direction. Cerb reaches him first, running circles around his legs and barking in excitement. He's greeted with pats on the back, hand shakes, and one armed hugs all around. The anxiety that plagued him quickly melts away in the presence of his brothers. When Trent ruffles his hair like he's a little kid, Clay elbow him in the gut, Trent letting out a soft oof.

"Welcome back, kid," Jason finally tells him as everyone backs off a few paces, giving Clay some room to breath.

"Hey boss," Sonny calls out, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Kid's first day back, you know what that means."

"Case of beer," Jason calls out.

"Case of beer!" the rest of the team echoes.

Clay glares at Sonny. "I thought we were done with that."

"When you stop having firsts there, young Jedi, then we'll be done," Sonny drawls, an easy smile on his face.

Clay rolls his eyes, but turns towards his cage, trying to hid the smile. Stepping into his cage after so long, he can feel the last part of him falling into place. His life was blown apart when that bomb went off and he's been slowly piecing it back together ever since. The team had been a big part of that, refusing to let him do it alone. It had been a rough road, not just physically but mentally as well. They'd helped him get his mind right, helped him through the nightmares and the hazy memories of that night. Someone was always there to bolster him up when he was feeling down and to give him that extra push to get him back on his feet.

Despite the ugly scar on his right thigh and the bleak outcome from the beginning, he's made a full recovery. He can walk, and run, without so much as a hitch in his step. He's gained most of his muscle mass back and passed every test they put him through with flying colors. The guys hadn't been easy on him either, they pushed him to the red every day to make sure he could hold up. Clay was stubborn enough to hold on, even when everything was screaming at him to quit. Strangely enough, it had felt good, pushing his body to the limits again. To see that after everything, he could still overcome the challenges, to see how far he had come, was a relief.

A hand squeezing his shoulder draws Clay out of his thoughts. He turns to see Jason standing there, a serious expression on his face. He regards Clay up and down, searching for any sign that the kid is not at a hundred percent. He relaxes a fraction at what he sees there in Clay's eyes.

"You good?"

Clay nods, giving Jason a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Told you, there’s nothing you can’t blast your way through," Jason tells him, pride in his voice. "Operator's an operator."

Clay grins, remembering those words from the hospital. They echo in his mind from the depths of his memory. "Five brothers around me, one beating heart," Clay confirms.

"Never forget it, kid," Jason tells him, giving Clay's shoulder a final squeeze before he steps away. "Never forget it.”