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Clay.
“Hey! How are you guys on ammo?”
“Running low!”
“Someone’s hot mic-ing, who the fuck is hot mic-ing!?”
“Probably one of the JV guys!” Clay yells, ears ringing with the continued barrage of gunfire. Brock is by his side, the two of them trading fire, but there’s just too many targets, too far away. They’re not making any real impact. As he turns back to cover Brock’s reload, he sees Jason take one to the arm.
It was one thing that he and Sonny were able to get out of the vehicle relatively unharmed. It’s gonna be another to survive this.
Bullets ping off the hood of the car he’s using for cover, spraying sparks and bits of metal into Clay’s face. The pain is immediate, forcing him to slide back to the ground by the wheel. “Fuck! Fuck!” He yells, squeezing his eyes shut and ripping his glasses off, blinking rapidly and hoping with each time he opens them that his vision will clear.
By his luck, it does, but the pain doesn’t go away, and his eyes are teary and irritated.
Brock is covering for him, Jason is shooting his pistol as Ray wraps gauze around his arm, and Sonny is laying down a suppressing fire better than anyone to ever do it before, but Clay isn’t stupid. They need ISR, they need the QRF, and they needed it yesterday.
Brock ducks. Clay raises his muzzle and fires, feeling the tinniest thrill of success when he manages to take down one of the combatants. He’s winchester a half minute later. Sonny gets his rifle back into the fight, but it’s one mag, maybe another couple minutes if he’s careful.
He nudges Brock to the opposite side, Bravo five taking up the hand-held grenade launcher and going after the ridge.
“We gotta drop back to their weak side!” Jason yells, and Clay doesn’t hesitate to respond ‘easy day!’ like it’s just another training exercise.
Because this is what they train for. This is worst case. This is what Bravo was built for.
Jason is yelling at them to push, to move, and then it’s down, down, down!
RPGs fire from somewhere up high, their tell-tale whoosh and whine that cuts through the air enough to drive panic through Clay. The team rushes to move. Jason is reaching for Clay, the only one still using the upright car as cover, and Clay reaches back while shoving Brock to the ground.
He looks up in time to realize exactly where they’re going to hit, and has a surreal moment where he is watching the rockets come at them, seemingly in slow motion.
I’m sorry Stella, Clay thinks, and then they impact.
.
There’s a moment where he’s flying, completely weightless. Then he’s impacting something very hard and then he’s on the ground, dust in his mouth as he tries to suck in air.
He spends a small eternity on that endeavor, only aware of his body’s attempt to breathe. It could be forever, it could be five minutes, it could be thirty seconds. When his lungs finally start working again and he can get his brain back online, he’s slumped against a vehicle, the firefight is still going on, and Jason is no where to be seen.
Sonny is next to him, shaking his shoulder and yelling something. Clay can’t hear him. No, he’s hearing him, he’s just— his brain isn’t processing the words. “What the fuck!” He yells, but he’s moving with Sonny, taking the rifle shoved into his hands and scrambling for cover behind the overturned vehicle. Ray and Brock both shout something at him, but again, it’s like he can’t understand their instructions.
He thinks he hears Ray say Jason’s name, and he snaps his head up to the ridgeline that the RPGs came from. There’s a muddled blob of a person struggling up the hill towards the enemy, and in an instant Clay knows it’s his boss.
Everything sharpens suddenly, the world back to moving at it’s regular speed. He can understand what his teammates are shouting at each other, he knows exactly what Jason is going to do, and he knows that he’s gonna end up dead unless he gets some cover.
Bet.
Clay is a lot of things, he’s been a lot of things, but even now, even with his decision to leave Bravo so he can be home for Brian and Stella, he’s still a cocky little shit sometimes, and he’s proud to be. Yes, Bravo is a team of shooters. Yes, Ray has been the official sniper for a long time now.
Yes, Clay loves to challenge him in that role, because he is a fucking good shot.
The problem here, of course, is the angle. Rather, it’s getting the angle necessary for the shot without getting his head blown off.
Ray, Brock, and Sonny are doing a decent job of providing cover for Jason, but as Clay steps away from the car on unsteady feet, he can see that it won’t be enough.
Jason is on the ground, and there’s a guy standing over him with a gun. Clay blows out a breath, raises his gun, aims and shoots him dead in the half-second it’d have taken for the asshole to kill Bravo One.
It’s an impossible shot. Insane to even try. Ray even gives him a wide eyed look of shock, shakes his head, then yells at him to keep on with Jason.
Not a problem.
Clay backs up another half step, finding another target along Jason’s path. Another shot, another hit. He misses the next one, feeling a muted impact along his hip that forces him back with a grunt. He puts two bullets in his next target just out of spite.
“Six, get your ass back under cover!”
“Jace dies if I do!” Clay shouts back at Ray, but swings around to his left to eliminate the two tangos that were creeping up on their position, trying to make ground by the dirt road they’re on. They let off some shots, narrowly missing Sonny and Clay. By the time he’s got his scope back on Jason, Bravo One has the RPG launcher in his hand.
Sonny grabs him by his vest and yanks him to the dirt. “Down!”
The stronghold behind Clay explodes into rubble, and from there things get better. Without having to worry about someone shooting at them from behind, Ray and Clay are able to start taking down different individuals. Sonny and Brock give them cover, and then they’re taking down enemies too, and then there’s no one left shooting at them.
Any sharpness the world had disappears with the gunfire, and Clay very suddenly realizes that he just got blown into a car.
Literally. He got blown up, and the force threw him into a car. He swallows hard, dropping his gun and hunching over, hands on his knees. Christ, he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he’s— fuck, his side hurts.
Sonny makes some comment about him hitting the car, and yeah, Son, that fucking hurts, he is in some pain thank you very much. Clay raises a hand to his side, trying to feel how many ribs he’s broken, when he touches something warm and wet.
Clay stares at his blood-covered glove, remembers the moment he stumbled back, and thinks— this might as well happen.
He survives three RPGs aimed directly at his head and now he’s going to bleed out because he got shot.
He’s on the ground.
The sky is a gorgeous pale blue above him, reminding him of his childhood in Liberia, staring up at the sky and trying to pretend that his dad wanted him.
It’s very pretty and very peaceful and it’s very rudely interrupted by Sonny’s ugly mug. And then Jason’s. And they’re talking to him again, expecting a response.
He says— slurs, really— something in response to a quip about Jason, and he hopes it makes sense. He doesn’t know whats happening to him, just that he’s cold, he’s freezing fucking cold in the middle of the desert and it’s got nothing to do with the temperature.
He must really be bleeding to go into shock this fast.
Sonny— or maybe it’s Jason? Someone says something about Manila, which feels like a low blow to a guy who’s already down. Jason is the one at his head this time, Sonny treating his gunshot wound with Ray instead of tellling Clay to keep him fucking eyes open.
Sonny says something about switching places, and Clay vaguely realizes that Jason is cradling his head in his lap. It sparks a memory of Sonny doing the exact same thing to him, a life time ago back in Virginia Beach.
He thinks Jason would be good at very masculine cuddling. Tells Sonny as much just to hear them bicker.
Clay manages a smile, thinking about that night. Sonny got mistaken for a Bear because he was too drunk to realize that the bar he insisted on going into was a gay bar. Clay could not stop laughing when Sonny kept getting hit on, especially since the Texan had no idea. Clay did his best to explain to hopeful suitors that Sonny was both incredibly drunk and incredibly straight.
He then also had to explain that he was also straight, and they had occupied the corner table so that Sonny could drink some water and sober up a bit, not because he and Clay were a couple.
Clay explained to Sonny what was going on, and Sonny’s drunk ass declared that he would be a great bear, were it the case that he liked dick. Clay placated him by giving him the role of best teddy bear, since he usually let Clay sleep on his shoulder whenever they were in the field. It was a night for sure.
(That night also led to Clay getting roofied, so no, it’s probably not in their best interest to explain to Jason how that term came about.)
He’s just listening to the bickering going on above him, struggling to stay awake when someone does something to him that whites out his vision from pain. He might scream, or someone is screaming at him? At each other? He’s not sure.
He’s sure he doesn’t care though, because it feels like his insides are trying to be pulled outside and no matter what he does, no matter how his body thrashes, he can’t get it to stop.
When the dark tidal wave of unconsciousness starts to crest, he welcomes it, even though he knows he shouldn’t, even though he knows he might not wake up.
He trusts his brothers enough that he will.
.
Jason.
They’re moving, they have a plan, and then a couple of fuckwits literally decide to blow up that plan.
More importantly, they decide to blow up Bravo.
He’s screaming at his team, reaching for Clay who’s on the other side of the small space between cars. He shoves Sonny at about the same time Clay shoves Brock, forcing their brothers to the ground. Jason’s foot catches, or maybe Ray pushed him from behind, but he ends up on his knees going to his stomach.
He looks up and Clay is still standing. No, no, no—
The RPGs hit, and he watches Clay get blown straight into the side of the car and over the hood before the third explosion has him blacking out for a second.
It couldn’t have been very long, because when he comes to the small area between the two transports is still flooded with smoke, bits of dirt still raining down on his head. He pushes himself up, ears ringing, eyes burning, blood dribbling from his mouth. The bullet wound in his arm strongly protests the motion, but he forces himself to ignore it.
There is a literal indent in the transport vehicle where Clay hit it. “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, Clay!” Jason stumbles over to the prone man, ignoring the calls from Davis. “Clay! Clay, hey, c’mon man, don’t do this.”
Jason drags Clay onto his back, hissing at the blood that’s now covering the left side of his face. “Clay, hey, talk to me.” He jostles Clay a bit, reaching up for his radio finally. “TOC this is one, how copy? Bravo one to TOC how copy!?”
He yells to Sonny to get them cover fire, makes sure Ray and Brock are good before hooking his fingers under Clay’s strap and dragging him into safety. The vehicle that’s on its side gives a better sight line to the combatants that Clay and Brock were holding back.
Ironically, he thinks the RPGs that nearly killed them might’ve also taken out the fighters over there.
TOC comes back with a strong copy, a stand by for ETA, and Jason knows they’re fucked.
“We gotta take out that ridge!”
Ray looks at him like he’s got twelve heads. “That’s suicide!”
“We’re dead if we don’t!” Jason fires back, ducking down with Ray. His 2IC spares a half second to throw a terrified look at Clay, then glances up at Jason. “I can make that run, Ray.”
Ray nods, although he doesn’t look particularly happy about it. “Cover left!” He yells, shoving a mag into Jason’s hand and pushing him to go. Sonny and Brock move immediately, and Jason takes his chance.
He doesn’t dare spare a look at Clay. If he does, he won’t go.
The RPG that hits next to him quite literally knocks his vision in circles. He barely hears Ray’s scream, solely focused on getting up, moving forward.
If he doesn’t do this, they all die. If he doesn’t get there soon enough, the chances of Ray not making it back to his family goes up. If he misses with his pistol, Sonny doesn’t make it back to LeeAnn. Every time he stumbles uphill, firing the AK-47 of the guy he just killed, it’s another chance that Brock gets unlucky, gets hit, doesn’t get to see his parents again.
Every single time he operates with his team, that’s in the back of his mind. This ambush is no different, except that instead of possible worse case scenarios and what-ifs, this is the worse case, and Clay is already hurt.
An attacker from up above him on the ridge has noticed his progress towards the RPG launcher and starts shooting. Jason ducks to the left, nearly catches a bullet in his back, stumbles and goes down hard.
When he looks up, there’s a combatant right in front of him, aiming his gun at Jason’s head.
In the split second it takes his brain to react, he already knows it’s too late. This man is going to kill him, and then they’ll kill his team, and his daughter will have to go to college and hang a folded American flag in her dorm instead of pinning up posters of her favorite singer.
There’s that split second, and then the man’s head is nothing but mist spraying against Jason’s face.
He blinks. Blinks again. Turns his head to look down at Bravo and counts, one, two, three, four heads moving around, except Ray’s not even close to where he should be if was taking the shot, so what—
Jason pushes up and forward, counting again. One, two, three, four— another shot, this time taking out one of the men shooting at Jason from the ridgeline. Jason keeps moving, his heart in his throat.
Another shot, a miss this time. Two more follow in quick succession, and another body falls right as Jason empties his mag into the two men with the RPG launcher.
“I don’t know where you’re shooting from, kid, but holy shit.” He mutters under his breath, loading the RPG and aiming at the stronghold on the opposite hill.
It is immensely satisfying to see the hill explode. He reloads and aims to the left this time, firing again, hitting his mark.
Taking out the hold their attackers had on the back gives Bravo the opportunity to start taking more controlled shots. Slowly but surely the standalone shooters start dropping, and pretty soon Jason is able to make his way back down to the road, the RPG launcher and grenades stuffed into the bag slung over his shoulder, courtesy of the assholes who blew them up the first time.
“TOC, this is one, whats our QRF eta?”
“Bravo one, this is TOC,” He can tell by the tone of her voice that he’s not gonna like whatever it is Davis has to say next. “QRF is still ten mikes out.”
Jason actually stumbles in surprise. “What the fuck, did they go backwards?!” He cries, picking up the pace a bit as he gets closer to the vehicles.
“Unfortunately, yes,” That’s Blackburn now, and the frustration is clear in his voice. “Got a sit-rep for me, one?”
Jason quickly relays what just happened, adding that while they’re not being shot at now, that doesn’t mean they’re safe. There could be squirters who ran when things turned against them, but are planning on coming back and if they do, Bravo has a pitiful amount of ammo to hold them off.
They’ve got an RPG launcher now, at least.
“Well, good lord Blondie,“ Sonny wipes his eyes and stares at the banged up transport van. “That your big ass that made that dent?”
“Hey kid, good to see you up.” Jason nods, dropping his bag of loot and scanning over Clay who’s hunched over, his hands on his knees. “You alright?”
Clay shakes his head, flips the bird to Sonny. “No. That fucking hurt, holy shit.” Brock is at his side quickly with Sonny, helping him straighten up. Ray is next to Jason, quickly checking him over to make sure that the bullet wound in his arm is the only cause for concern. “That was stupid as shit, you know that?”
Jason rolls his eyes. Trust Ray to give him crap after he (somehow) managed to save their asses while remaining relatively unharmed. “It worked didn’t it?”
“That is not the point— Jesus.” Ray’s entire tone changes as his gaze slides over to Clay. Jason snaps his head around at the exact same time Brock and Sonny notice their suddenly very big issue.
Clay’s holding up one hand that’s dripping with blood, staring at it in shock. There’s dark red staining his midsection and chest, and suddenly Jason is very aware of exactly how exposed Clay must’ve been when taking those shots earlier.
Clay, for his part, looks down at himself, slurs an “Oh fuck”, and then proceeds to collapse to the ground. Brock and Sonny are able to slow the decent some and Ray and Jason both jump forward to help. “Ray, grab your med kit, someone tell me what the fuck happened!”
“He was down for a good part of the fight and then — here, get his vest off — Brock just about punched him in the sternum and that got him up.” Ray answers, ripping open a pack of gauze and handing it to Sonny. Jason helps Brock slice away the straps and get the vest out of the way.
“It worked,” Brock grumbles. “Kid wasn’t answering me.” Sonny slaps some of the gauze on the side of Clay’s chest and Brock takes over pressure. Jason’s med kit provides gauze for the second bullet wound, hopefully just below Clay’s stomach.
If it hit that organ, then there’s not a god damn thing Jason or anyone can do for him.
“Christ, that’s a lot of blood.” Ray says quietly, letting Jason put his weight on the wound. “Brock, you got an exit?”
The other operator moves forward slightly so Sonny can feel under Clay’s back. “Yeah, clean through.” Sonny replies for him, one hand on Clay’s chest, hopefully monitoring his breathing. “You?”
”No,” Jason says immediately, and Ray swears when he confirms it. “Fuck. Fuck, okay, he with us?”
Brock makes a strange sound. “He’s— uh. His eyes are open.”
“Hey, hey c’mon Clay, look at me.” Sonny taps at Clay’s chin, making his head loll around sickeningly. “Don’t make Brock punch you again.”
“Because I fucking will,” Brock snaps. “Right in the bullet wound.”
Maybe Clay can actually hear them, or maybe Brock puts a little more pressure on his chest, but either way Clay’s body does a half-hearted jolt, and then the pair of clouded blue eyes are gazing blearily at them instead of emptily staring off into the sky. “There he is,” Jason breathes. “Welcome back kid.”
“Yeah, what is this huh? You see Jason get shot, decide to one up him?” Ray taps Jason’s wrist, swapping out the gauze and taking over pressure. He jerks his head towards Clay. “Go, talk to him.”
Clay groans at the renewed pain, one hand searching aimlessly along the ground for purchase. “I couldn’t…couldn’t let you have all the fun, boss.”
Jason skids to his knees next to Clay’s head, putting both hands on either side of his neck so he stops moving. God his voice sounds horrible, a breathy and barely there rasp that reminds Jason just how hard he hit that fucking vehicle. “You could’ve at least gotten more creative with it.” He forces himself to joke. “This feels like Manila all over again.”
“I hate reruns.” Brock chimes in.
“He hates reruns,” Jason repeats. “This feels a lot like a rerun. Hey, eyes on me.” He taps Clay’s face again when his eyelids flutter and threaten to close. “Just because me and Sonny switched roles doesn’t mean you get to crap out early.”
“Sonny was…better at it.” Clay coughs, blood staining his teeth. His face is scary pale under all the blood and dirt and Jason suddenly finds himself wishing this was like Manila.
In Manila they had Trent and a clear wound and an ambulance.
Here they’ve got no medic, ten minutes till a QRF, and who knows what going on inside Clay’s chest. He’s probably been bleeding internally since he hit that van.
“You want me to switch, Tinkerbell?” Sonny tears at some duct tape, getting it on the edges of the gauze that Brock is holding in place. The bleeding seems to be slowing some, but Jason doesn’t know if that’s because Clay has lost so much or if they’re actually getting it under control. “I can whisper sweet nothings with the best of them.”
Clay’s free hand, the one closest to Sonny that’s not currently holding a fistful of Brock’s sleeve, sneaks up and pinches his arm. Sonny yelps, swatting at him. “How the fuck do you get shot and you’re still being a little shit?”
“Bein mean.” Clay pouts, but he’s smiling. He’s fading fast, and the whole team knows it. “Jason’s a…” his breath hitches and he coughs again. “Jace is…great at being the teddy bear.”
Jason frowns in confusion while Sonny barks out a strained laugh. It must mean something to the two of them, and somewhere inside it pains Jason that they won’t get this again, because Clay is leaving.
He shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. Clay is leaving to go home to his wife and kid, and it’s Jason’s job to make sure he fucking gets there. “Hey, c’mon Clay. Clay! There we go, c’mon. Keep those eyes open for me, huh? I need an explanation here.”
“Dunno if…if we— we have the t-time.” Clay wheezes, the entire left side of his chest barely moving as he breathes. Jason feels fear twist around in his stomach and he glances up, sharing a worried look with Ray. “We’ve got time, you’ve got time Clay.”
Clay shakes his head. “No, I—”
“Clay, don’t—”
“Boss he’s right, we literally don’t have time.” Sonny interjects, stressed as ever but slightly sheepish as he works with Ray, Brock keeping his hands on the chest wound. “It’s a very long story.”
“I take it back, I don’t want to know.”
“Hey now, it’s a good story—”
“This is going to hurt.” Ray cuts in, his only warning before he’s doing— something to the bullet wound on Clay’s stomach. Jason can’t see very well, which is fine because ‘this is going to hurt’ is a severe understatement. Clay arches his back and screams, a sound that cuts Jason to the bone.
The team reacts in kind, Brock and Sonny both flinching hard and scrambling to keep him still. Jason is reluctant to press on his shoulders, but with Clay thrashing like that, he’s only going to do more damage. Everyone’s yelling, the cacophony muted to Jason’s ears. He’s probably burst an eardrum.
Still, everyone goes silent when Clay passes out finally.
“No, no no Clay!” Sonny panics, trying to get Clay to respond. Jason has to shove at his shoulder to get him to focus. ”I’ve still got a pulse Sonny, he’s still breathing.” Jason reassures, even though he feels a bit like throwing up at Clay’s lax face. “Ray, what the fuck.”
“I needed to stop the bleeding or he wasn’t making the QRF.” Ray replies, and then the most beautiful sound in the world can be heard as helos fly overhead. “Speak of the devil.”
“Okay, Brock, Sonny, we’re gonna move him to the stretcher when they get here and—” Jason catches sight of Ray’s hand and realizes what, exactly, Ray had to do to stop the bleeding. “—Sonny, get on your gun and give us cover.” He changes plans rapidly, realizing too late that they’re sitting ducks here.
“Brock, stay on his side, make sure that dressing stays packed and he keeps breathing.” Jason moves quickly to Ray’s side, gritting his teeth against the churn of his stomach. “Are you holding his artery right now?” He asks quietly.
Ray also looks like he’s trying not to vomit. “Vein, I think. If it was his artery he’d be dead.” Ray shakes his head. “I’m never going to be able to eat spaghetti again.”
Jason nods, running his hands down each of Clay’s legs, double checking that there’s no other injuries they have to worry about. Sonny yells, signaling the arrival of their support.
It’s quick, then. Brock stays on his wound as Jason tells the medics what he knows. Ray doesn’t move until he’s expressly told to.
It takes five of them — Jason, Brock, and Sonny jumping in to help the two medics — to move Clay onto the stretcher. Ray maintains his hold on the bleeder, and they’re off to the helo.
A god damn miracle it is that they get in the helo and into the air without getting attacked. No one shoots at them, no one lets off an RPG as they take off, nothing. They’re in the air and heading to the closest non-hostile hospital and Clay is still breathing. Barely, but breathing.
Jason positions himself at Clay’s head, an oxygen mask covering his lax face. Brock has been displaced by a medic, while Ray has been told to, quote, stay exactly where you are and don’t move a muscle, unquote. Sonny has one of Clay’s hands cradled in both of his, and Brock is fetching things for the medics with blood covered hands.
“Alright kid, just hang on, okay?” Jason holds Clay’s head still again, talking being the only thing he can do. “Just stay with us. Stay with us.”
.
Stay with them, he does, by some god damn miracle. The docs who operated on Clay’s wounds told Jason via an interpreter almost exactly that. He’s alive. Baring complications, he’ll stay that way. And, between the abdominal wound and the chest wound, Clay’s getting a one way ticket to Virginia Beach for at least the next year, because that’s how long it’s going to take for him to get back into shape for operating.
It gives Jason a year to convince Clay not to leave the teams. Maybe gives Ray a year to convince Jason to step down at Bravo one.
Yeah, right.
“You’re just trying to give me more grey hairs, huh,” Jason huffs when Clay’s hazy eyes finally meet his, a few days after his emergency surgery.
Clay manages a lazy smile. “You look good as a silver fox.”
“Oh yeah? Who told you that, Stella?”
“Miss Ellis, actually.”
Ray snorts the coffee he was drinking out of his nose, coughing and choking on the unexpected laughter. Jason stares open mouthed at his— his former rookie— and tries to get his brain online while Brock and Ray cackle like a pair of hyenas.
“Ain’t no way,” Sonny says flatly. “Ain’t no way Goldilocks here nearly dies — again, I might add — and the first thing he does after waking up is roast our master chief. Ain’t no way I just heard that.”
“You little shit,” Jason sputters, thwacking him on the leg with the book he was reading. Lisa managed to get them some of their personal effects so at least they had something to do. Sonny’s probably played about two hundred games of mahjong by now, the only game he has on his iPad that doesn’t require internet. “I do not— she did not say that.”
Clay raises an eyebrow, still so clearly doped up, but— happy. He looks happy just seeing his team in his room.
Your team, kid. Always has been.
“You saying I’m wrong?” Clay mumbles, trying to stay awake and failing horribly. “We can ask her.”
“No—”
“Yes!” Ray says gleefully, still chuckling as he mops up his spilled drink. “Oh my god, yes, yes, Clay, that’s so— yes. Oh my god he’s already asleep too.”
“Well I’m glad you’re having fun with this, Raymond—”
“I am never ever letting that go, and I’m not even sorry.” Ray chuckles. “Brock, we gotta tell Trent.”
Jason groans, burying his face in his hands, and resigns himself to the endless ribbing to come.
Fine. Whatever. He’ll take it.
It means they’re all alive, and safe, and okay. Apart of his team or not, that’s all he’s ever wanted.