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Clay Spenser yawned as he turned the key in his apartment door. He was bone tired and ached all over. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge he collapsed wearily onto his worn but comfortable couch.
They were just back from their third spin up in 2 weeks. All three were successful but not without a lot of sleepless nights and some almost-close calls. Their last operation to rescue an HVT from a military compound in Somalia had been the closest of all. Brock took a bullet to the shoulder, just outside of his body armour, and although it was a simple through and through, he’d been pinned down and lost a lot of blood before the guys could take out the 3 snipers and Trent was able to pull him out of the firefight and start treating his arm.
So yeah, all in all it had been a crazy 2 weeks. Clay yawned loudly, he knew he needed to go to bed, if it didn’t, he would fall asleep on his couch yet again and wake up sore, cold and grumpy. But he needed a shower too and both seemed very far away.
He shifted on the couch, feeling every bruise on his back and side. An RPG blast into the building he had been providing overwatch from had missed its direct target but had still sent a shower of rubble and glass on top of him, with several large chunks of concrete landing on his back. But Trent had looked him over, cleaned and patched up the cuts and declared him okay to go home once he took a shower and went straight to bed. “And NO alcohol Spense” he’d declared in his best medic’s voice.
Clay was too tired for beer anyhow. He stretched, trying to work the kinks out of his back. Wearily he stood and was making his way to the bathroom when there was a knock on the door. Groaning Clay made his way back into the living room wondering who it could be. Sonny was going straight home to pack for a weekend away with his newest girlfriend, Jason and Ray had family plans and Trent was most likely hovering over Brock in DEVGRU medical facility, making sure the docs had done a good job with his bullet wounds, fussing over meds, and generally acting like the overprotective parent they all loved so well.
What Clay definitely didn’t expect to see was a very bruised and battered Ash Spenser slumped against the doorway clearly finding it difficult to stand under his own weight.
“Ash, What the hell?” Clay put out his arms to catch the older man and helped him onto the couch. “Who did this, what the hell happened?”. Instinctively he began triaging Ash Spenser, checking for open wounds, head injuries, broken limbs.
Ash Spenser however batted him off weakly “I’m alright, nothings broken, just ran into some trouble close to here”
“Ran into some trouble?” Clay huffed “Looks like you ran into the back of a bus”. Clay continued his triaging, running hands over his father’s head, checking for bumps, anything that might cause a concussion.
“Clay, I said I’m FINE” Ash Spenser’s tone was tight, angry even. “I was a Navy Seal for 22 years I think I can tell how badly I'm injured.”
Clay stood up stiffly, trying to control his body language. He knew his father was in pain, could see it in his eyes, but also knew Ash Spenser of old. He didn’t feel either of them were up for an argument.
Instead he grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to the man on the couch who had the good grace to accept it with a nod of the head
“Are you gonna at least tell me what happened?”
“Ran into a couple of guys I used to run with back in DEVGRU. Turns out they weren’t too happy with a couple of the stories in my last book” Ash Spenser’s voice was monotone, that same voice he used when he was trying to explain away his absences in Clay’s childhood “Lost my car keys somewhere and figured yours was the closest place. Was hoping you’d maybe call me a cab”
Clay sighed heavily, leaning back against the kitchen counter and scrubbing his face with his hands.
Only Ash could show up at his own son’s door beaten to hell and just want a cab ride home. This man, whom Clay Spenser had spent his entire life hating and revering and loving. All he’d wanted was for Ash to be a parent, to take away some of the loneliness that ate away at him. But somehow Ash always managed to make him feel more rather than less lonely. Because when Ash wasn’t there, he could make excuses for why he wasn’t and fantasize about what it would be like next time they would meet. Then his father would be as cold and detached as he remembered, and the loneliness would threaten to overwhelm him.
But now wasn’t the time or place. Ash, his father was hurt, and as much as he hated that man at times, he couldn’t just leave him like that, wouldn’t just leave him like that.
“I’ll drive you home” he said eventually. “Give me 5 mins to grab a quick shower okay?”
Clay pulled a well-stocked first aid kid out of one of the kitchen cupboards, opened it and dropped it onto the coffee table. “Here, maybe you want to clean up some of those cuts” He tried to sound as detached as his father, but knew it came out as petulant instead.
Five minutes later he returned to the living room in clean clothes and found his father trying to get a wound dressing over a particularly nasty cut on his lower back. Ash Spenser had partially removed his shirt and Clay could see a long line of bruises running all down one side of his father’s back.
“Jesus Ash, that looks bad, maybe I should run you to the ER?”
“Clay for gods sake will you just quit, I’m not one of your seal team brothers that needs fussin over” Ash had the knack of being able to sound patronising and cutting at the same time. It was the tone of voice Clay hated the most. It was the tone of voice that brought back 29 lonely years
“Difference is that I respect my Seal Team brothers and they respect me”. Clay speaks softly but he knows he is lashing out in anger. Angry at his father because this happens every time, every time he tries to be the bigger man he gets rejected, pushed away, and it’s been happening his whole life. He also just spent the last two weeks staring down the barrel of his rifle and trying not to get shot and he’s just fucking tired of it all.
The blow to his right cheek that follows definitely catches him off guard. Maybe it’s the fact that this is his father, who despite being an ass has never actually punched his own son before, maybe its three long missions taking their toll, maybe it’s just Clay Spenser luck. Instead of absorbing the blow he stumbles, then falls backwards, striking the back of his head against the coffee table on his way down. There’s a sharp stabbing pain and everything goes black.
***
The next time Clay Spenser wakes he knows without opening his eyes where he is. There’s the familiar sounds of machine beeping, the low hum of people out in the corridors, the smell of disinfectant, the pinch of an IV in his right arm. Hospital
“Welcome back there Snickerdoodle” A familiar Texan drawl drags Clays eyes open and he sees Bravo Three sitting on a hard plastic chair to his left, tired worried? eyes looking him as his spoke.
“Sonny?” Clay finds it harder than it should to form the word, like his mouth is full of cotton wool. Sonny Quinn moves out of his eyeline for a moment, returning with ice chips which Clay gratefully accepts.
“I thought you were going to Florida?” Clay manages to sound a bit more coherent this time, to his relief and obviously to Sonny’s too, he can see his friend visibly relax.
“Well Claymation I didn’t want to bring it up so soon but I’m adding the 800 dollars for flights and hotel to your tab”.
Clay closes his eyes, trying hard to remember but everything seems fuzzy around the edges.
Was he hurt on their last spin up? No, Brock had been the casualty that time.
Flashes of memory
Ash Spenser, showing up at his door injured.
Tension, arguments. A punch to the face.
Clay can feel the panic and anxiety rising in his chest as he remembers, but a strong steady hand on his wrist brings him back to the present. “You hit your head pretty hard kid, docs said it was a severe head injury, swelling, pressure on the brain, whole nine yards” Sonny looked him straight in the eye “Was touch and go for a while, but I always knew you had a thick skull and there weren’t nothin to worry about”.
Which would have sounded more convincing if Sonny wasn’t now pretty much holding his hand having cancelled his holiday to be with his Bravo brother.
“Brock okay?” is Clay’s next question.
Sonny stretches his arms, breaking the contact to take his phone out of his pocket and shoot off a series of texts to Bravo Team before turning his attention back to Clay. “Yeah, he’s good, he was here earlier, everyone’s been here. Ray had to bring RJ for a check-up this morning and Mikey busted his hand playing hockey so Jace had to stay home. Trent and Brock were here, they just went to get coffee.”
Clay nods. Lately his team seems to be spending a lot of time at each others bedside. Goes with the territory maybe. But doesn’t ever get any easier. For any of them.
There’s a pause, a silence that seems to go on forever before Clay allows himself to ask “Ash?”
There’s an angry snort from Bravo Three.
“Alive, still in one piece, more’s the pity” Sonny’s voice is heavy with sarcasm.
Clay nods. Theres another silence. He picks at his hospital wristband before asking the next question “He okay?". Pause. "I mean his cuts and stuff, those guys worked him over pretty good”.
Sonny sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. “Not as good as we’d have done given half a chance”
Clay can't help smiling at his friends overprotective anger. He also can’t help noticing the warm feeling that it brings, pushing away some of that persistent loneliness. They are good at that this Bravo Team. Sonny, Brock, Trent, Jason, Ray, Cerberus. Their concern, their friendship, their lives together, somehow they have filled a lot of the space that no Mom and no Ash created all those years ago.
“I know he shouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t mean for this to happen" Despite himself, despite the mixed-up worry and anger and resentment and sadness he feels towards Ash Spenser, Clay knows it was a reaction, a moment of anger, an accident
“Son of a bitch could have killed you” Sonny looks his friend in the eye. “And if he ever, ever so much as tries to repeat it, I swear he won’t have enough time to say sorry after that’s for sure” Sonny’s tone is dark and Clay knows that none of what he just said is an empty threat.
Later than day Trent and Brock call by and in the evening Jason and Ray, all of them looking relieved to see the younger man in one piece. Brock is sporting a large sling and looks uncomfortable but says the shoulder is healing well and Trent agrees so it must be true. They sneak Clay in a burrito because the food in that hospital is the worst he’s even had, Jameelah insists on telling Clay a bedtime story over the phone and Sonny gets 2 nurses numbers before they finally head out for the night.
Clay should be going home the next day, doctors assure him. His latest CT scans all look clear and so long as he stays in bed and rests, he should be fine. He’s tired after all his visitors, there’s a dull ache in his head despite painkiller and he can feel the tug of sleep taking him under but he's also strangely content.
That night Clay dreams, memories, flashing by in sequence.
He is 9 years old again, listening to his Dad tell stories of rescuing hostages, of daring exfils and missions that so nearly went wrong. Stories he wasn’t meant to be telling but Clay was only a kid and what did it matter.
Now he’s 17 and back from Liberia to head to college, his father picks him up at the airport to drive him, has made a big deal for months about bringing his son to college and proceeds to spends the whole journey telling Clay what a waste of time and money it is, how pointless Clay’s subject choices are, how he should be following in his old mans footsteps instead.
Now he’s 26 and knows he wants to be a Navy Seal because he knows that despite everything he has what it takes, knows that with the legacy of Ash Spenser hanging over him its going to be really hard. And he’s scared and exited all at the same time.
Now he’s 29 and his dad has showed up beaten to hell by his former Navy Seal Team mates because he shared their stories, stories that should never be shared, that should never go outside of the team.
Now he sees his Ash Spenser, bruises fading, sitting at his bedside, telling him that he didn’t mean it, telling him he’s sorry.
Clay wakes suddenly, disorientated, trying to get his surroundings. The familiar beep, beep of machines helps slow his heart rate. His head aches and he think it might be time to look for more painkillers when something catches his eye. He can only see his head through the door, tall, with grey hair, walking quickly down the corridor.
He glances at his phone to check the time. 4am. He looks back and now there’s no one there.
It's been a long, tiring 2 and a half weeks. Signing, Clay Spenser rolls onto his side, closes his eyes and falls back asleep.