Fic: Friendly Fire 1/3 (JAG, Harm/Clay, R)
Title: Friendly Fire
Fandom: JAG
Pairing: Rabb/Webb
Rating: R
Summary: Harm gets hurt and it's Clay's fault. Both men struggle with how they fit into each other's lives.
Harm blinked and tried to open his eyes, but the more he struggled against the overwhelming fatigue the harder it was to even get his eyelids to cooperate. He could just barely make out a figure standing near the end of the bed he was lying on, but he couldn’t make out who it was. His mouth opened and he heard himself mumble something incoherent, but the figure at the end of the bed didn’t respond. Finally he gave up trying and let his eyes fall closed again, but a moment later he felt something pressing against his lips and his tongue shot out to catch the drops of water that trickled onto his mouth.
“Rabb. Rabb, do you know where you are?”
As soon as he registered the sound of the voice he forced his eyes open again, blinking as he tried to focus on the person next to him. The cup of water moved away from his lips and he willed himself to sit up, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate no matter how hard he tried. “Webb, what are you doing here?”
His voice sounded weak and brittle and far away, but the moment the question escaped his lips some of what happened began to come back to him. Vague images of him and Webb in a warehouse flooded his senses, he remembered someone firing at them and then there was pain - only sharp, intense pain and the sensation of falling before everything went black.
“You were shot, Rabb. Do you remember anything about what happened?”
The cold, official tone of Webb’s voice shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Harm, after all this was just another case to him. He’d come out of it unscathed, most likely gotten his man the way he always did. So Harm had taken a bullet for his efforts, no skin off Webb’s back. Clayton Webb cared about Clayton Webb, Harm knew that. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that somewhere underneath the gruff exterior was a carefully hidden heart, Webb had never given him one ounce of proof that he was right. Maybe he was wrong about Webb after all, maybe the guy was just a cold bastard who only saw in black and white.
“I remember,” Harm muttered, his eyes falling closed again as a sigh escaped his throat. “I remember taking a bullet saving your hide after you drug me into another one of your cases without a word of warning.”
He heard a labored sigh escape Webb’s throat but he didn’t bother to open his eyes again. “We were both doing our jobs, Rabb. You’re a military man, you know the drill. This is just the way it is, nothing personal.”
A bitter chuckle escaped Harm’s throat, irritating the dryness in his lungs and sending him into a fit of coughs. His whole body shook from the effort, but Webb never made a move toward him. When his coughing finally subsided he turned as well as he could away from the other man. “Yeah, nothing personal. I know.”
“I don’t need to remind you that you can’t talk to anyone about the details of what happened,” Webb said. If Harm didn’t know better he could have sworn that just for a second Webb’s usual cold tone wavered just a tiny bit, but the fact was he did know better. The only reason Webb even cared that he’d survived the bullet he took was because he needed to make sure Harm wouldn’t tell anyone what they were doing in that warehouse. Hell, he barely even knew himself, but then again sometimes a little knowledge was more dangerous that the whole story.
“No, you don’t.”
Webb cleared his throat but Harm didn’t hear him moving toward the door. He couldn’t think of a reason for Webb to keep standing there staring at his back, unless he wasn’t convinced yet that Harm would keep his mouth shut. It hurt too much to keep his eyes open, though, much less turn back and look at the man standing next to him. As much as it hurt to open his eyes it would hurt even more to look at Webb right now, that much he was sure of. He couldn’t look at the other man and see that coldness directed at him, that superior sense of justice that told Webb it was okay to use Harm and everyone else at his disposal like so many pawns. He couldn’t look at the complete lack of concern there and know that Webb didn’t care whether or not he was alright.
“Just get out, Webb.”
For a moment all he heard was a deafening, oppressive silence interrupted only by the sounds of the machines monitoring his condition and the sound of the two of them breathing in tandem. Webb’s breath was almost keeping pace with Harm’s, it was just a beat off and Harm found himself concentrating on the sound of the two of them breathing together. Then the sound of expensive shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor interrupted his concentration and a moment later Webb was gone and Harm was breathing alone again.
~
Clay managed to make it all the way to his car before his hands started to shake. He made it out of Harm’s room and all the way down the hall past the nurse’s station. He made it down four flights to the hospital’s main doors, past a noisy room full of people waiting for emergency care and hospital employees that didn’t notice a man in a gray trench coat who looked just a little paler than usual. He made it all the way to his car before he let his control slip even a little, just enough to grip the steering wheel and stare at his hands as they began to shake. His expression never changed, anyone happening to pass the car would assume that he was fine. Except for his hands.
Soon his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hold onto the steering wheel anymore, so he let them fall into his lap as he worked to even out his breathing enough to regain his control. Clayton Webb didn’t fall apart, no matter what happened he never showed anyone how certain cases affected him. And Harm was alright - he was fine and everything was going to be okay. The lawyer hated him, but that was nothing new. He’d never liked Clay much and that wasn’t going to change, certainly not when Clay was forced to put him in life-threatening situations without giving him the information he needed to keep himself safe.
Safe…he’d never been able to keep anyone safe, no matter how much he wished he could. It just wasn’t conducive to his line of work, he spent so much time keeping other people’s secrets that he didn’t have time to worry about the people themselves. Even when it meant putting someone he cared about in the line of fire…Clay let out a ragged breath and closed his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking just a little. Just enough for him to make it home, once he was alone in his condo he could think about it. He could run through the entire operation with a fine-tooth comb until somewhere, somehow he’d see the moment where he went wrong. The moment the price for justice got just a little too high…
His eyes snapped open and he glanced in his rearview mirror just in time to see Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie pull into a parking space a row over from his. He held his breath and hoped they didn’t see him, only remembering to breathe again when they turned and began walking toward the hospital entrance. Once they were gone he threw the car into gear and started the ignition, brutally shutting down any lingering emotion until he was safely away from the hospital.
He wasn’t going to jeopardize this mission, it had already cost too much and he couldn’t afford any more mistakes. It was just lucky that the Admiral and the Colonel hadn’t been fifteen minutes earlier, although he’d made sure to leave the hospital just as visiting hours started specifically to avoid seeing anyone that would recognize him. He knew Harm would keep his secret, no matter what it cost him Harm was loyal to the spirit of Clay’s cause.
Somehow he managed to make it all the way home, closing his front door behind him and forcing his legs to carry him to the living room before he finally gave up the fight and let his knees give out under him. He slumped down onto the couch, heedless of the wrinkles in his suit or the fact that he should at least call the office and let them know he’d be late getting in. All he could think about was the man lying in that hospital bed, a hole in his side from the bullet that should have hit Clay. It should have been him, he was the one in charge of the case and Harm was just doing him a favor. Not even a favor, Harm was doing what he thought was his duty to his government and his country. It was almost funny how easy the man was to manipulate, his sense of duty was so all-encompassing that he’d follow Clay blind into any situation just because he thought it was the right thing to do.
And Clay counted on that, he used it against Harm and abused the other man’s sense of right and wrong and he never apologized. He wasn’t sorry, not really. He was doing his job and Harm knew the motivations behind Clay’s disregard for the people he dragged into his cases with him. There were regrets, though - Harm getting shot, for instance. He’d never seen that coming, after awhile he’d just started thinking of the man as some kind of indestructible superhero. Hell, he looked like he was made out of Teflon, like bullets should bounce right off him.
There was no mistaking his humanity, though, Clay had seen it more times that he really wanted to. Harm tried over and over again to reach out to him, to find the human beneath the CIA packaging. Clay pushed him away over and over again because…because why? Because he couldn’t be one of Harmon Rabb’s drinking buddies, that’s why. Because he couldn’t go out at the end of the day for drinks with Bud and the Admiral, because that wasn’t what he wanted from Rabb. That wasn’t what he wanted at all.
He closed his eyes against the thought and told himself it was just guilt. Guilt because he felt like he’d pulled the trigger himself, no matter how Harm got shot it was Clay’s fault he was lying in that hospital bed. He’d wanted to tell Harm how sorry he was, he wanted to tell him that he went to the hospital just to make sure he was okay. When the bullet tore into Harm’s flesh Clay had taken out his cell phone and dialed 911 without thinking, he let the man he’d been tracking for three months escape out the back of the warehouse because all he could see was blood. Harm’s blood, all over the floor, all over Harm, all over him. He’d almost thrown caution to the wind and stayed until the paramedics got there, but when he heard the sirens blaring in the distance he’d recovered himself enough to remember that he couldn’t be found with Harm. They couldn’t be there together when the paramedics arrived, there was no way he could explain that to anyone.
So he’d left, slipped out the back the same way his mark had escaped and prayed to a God he didn’t even believe in just to keep Harm safe until help arrived. And now Harm would hate him more than ever, for dragging him into another mess and for getting him shot, and then for being heartless enough to leave him alone and bleeding on the floor of a warehouse just so he wouldn’t blow his cover. Sure, part of Harm would understand, the lawyer part of his brain would know that Clay had a job to do and he didn’t have the luxury of letting his emotions get in the way. But the rest of Harm - the part of him that made him the idealist that he was - that part of him would never understand.
Clay couldn’t even blame him, he couldn’t fault Harm for kicking him out of his hospital room and he wouldn’t blame him if Harm never wanted to see him again. How could he? He’d done this to Harm, just as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger himself. Even if he could tell Harm the truth he wouldn’t want to hear it, though. The truth was Harm had no idea what he was asking for when he started poking around in Clay’s psyche, looking for the human being he knew was hidden there. There was no doubt in Clay’s mind that the only reason Harm was so determined to prove that Clay had feelings was because of his Boy Scout complex. He wanted to save the whole world from itself, and somehow he’d gotten it into his head that Clay would be happier if he could just open and up and show the world that he cared. It had nothing to do with Clay himself, it was just Harm’s need to prove to himself that he could strip Clay down to nothing and leave him to clean up the mess on his own.
Harm obviously didn’t understand other peoples’ need for their carefully crafted defenses, even though Harm had plenty of his own. He’d never admit that, but Clay could see them. After all, it was his job to know what made people tick. Harm just kept pushing and pushing no matter how often Clay rebuffed him, though, and if he ever managed to push hard enough to get what he was looking for Clay knew he’d regret it. That thought usually made him laugh, it was always bitter and full of regret but it was amusing nonetheless. He liked to picture Harm’s expression when he finally pushed Clay far enough to make him admit to being human, the look in the overgrown Boy Scout’s eyes when Clay told him what really made him tick. So far Harm hadn’t found the right buttons to push, though, and Clay wasn’t sure whether or not that was comforting or disappointing.
He sighed heavily and told himself there was no reason to be so unnerved by the events of the night before. Harm was fine, he’d gotten him help and his cover was intact. He knew Harm would make up a lie to tell his CO and the police, it was what lawyers were best at, wasn't it? He’d think of some believable cover, so Clay was in the clear. The mission was a failure but he hadn’t compromised it so much that he couldn’t repair it. And Harm would heal, he’d be fine and he’d go back to his life. So everything would be okay, right?
~
Harm winced as he eased himself into the fresh shirt that Bud and Harriet had brought to the hospital for him. After four days in the hospital they’d finally declared him well enough to go home, but he was still tender and it hurt to dress himself. He was determined to do it himself, though, he wasn’t about to ask any of his well-meaning but annoying friends for help. Not that he didn’t appreciate them, he knew they were only concerned about him and considering he’d just been shot he couldn’t blame them. He was tired of being hovered over, though, now all he wanted was to go home and surround himself in the silence of his apartment for awhile.
He’d used the excuse of confusion and blood loss to buy him a little time to think up a plausible lie to tell Chegwidden and the cops, but when he finally told them the lie he’d thought up he couldn’t tell whether they’d bought it or not. The cops had taken a few notes and nodded politely, telling him not to expect much since there was no evidence on the scene to give them any leads. Chegwidden had been less eager to just let it go, but finally Harm got him to back off by pretending to pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Lying to his CO and the police wasn’t high on his list of things to do -- in fact he was furious at Clay for leaving him with no other choice. He knew why Clay was letting him deal with the fallout on his own, he knew all about the CIA’s need for discretion and the sensitivity of Clay’s covert operations. He found himself rolling his eyes more and more when he thought of Clay lately, and he wasn’t sure if it was anger at being shot, anger at Clay for leaving him bleeding in the warehouse, or anger that he hadn’t even asked Harm how he was feeling before he started warning him to keep his mouth shut.
Four days - it had been four days since he got shot, since the last time he saw Webb and ordered him out of his room. He felt a twinge of regret for the way he’d spoken to the CIA agent, but as quickly as it surfaced he pushed it away. He didn’t have any reason to feel bad about telling Clay to get lost, Clay knew he’d cover for him and he’d been a jerk about it anyway. He was the one lying in the hospital with a bullet hole in his side, he was the one who’d had a blood transfusion and emergency surgery to take a hunk of metal out of him. The worst part was that he still didn’t even know why he’d taken a bullet for Clay, all he knew was there was a gun aimed at the other man and he’d jumped right in the line of fire.
He’d had four days to think about the fact that he could have died, everyone that visited him at the hospital had reminded him of that so often that he was ready to scream. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he just wanted to go home. He wanted to be alone in his apartment where he wouldn’t have to think at all, not about the fact that he’d thrown himself in front of Clay or the reasons why he’d done it. He just needed some time to get his head on straight, that was all.
The door to his room opened as he finished buttoning his shirt and Bud poked his head into the room. “Sir? Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, Bud, I’m ready,” Harm answered, standing up and turning carefully so he wouldn’t jar his injury any more than he had to. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”
“Don’t mention it, sir. It’s my pleasure,” Bud answered, his forehead furrowing as he watched Harm wince. "Are you sure you’re okay, sir?”
Harm nodded and gritted his teeth, working hard to catch his breath as a fresh wave of pain shot through him. “I’m fine,” he answered when he finally found his voice again. “I just need to get some rest.”
“Alright, sir,” Bud said, although Harm could tell from his tone that his friend didn’t believe him. “I’ll just go finish up the paperwork and then we’ll be ready to go.”
“Thanks, Bud,” Harm said again, somehow managing a weak smile in the general direction of the door as he waited for Bud to leave again. When his friend disappeared he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, saying a quick prayer that he’d somehow find the strength to get home without letting Bud know how much pain he was in. If his friend got wind of the fact that Harm could barely stand up without wanting to cry he’d never leave him alone, and that was the only thing Harm wanted right now.
~
Clay braced himself before pulling open the doors that would lead him into JAG headquarters. He knew he wasn’t going to run into Harm, there was no way he was back at work already. He’d only been out of the hospital for two days, and his injury was serious enough to keep him out of commission for weeks. Clay wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing Rabb in uniform today, they wouldn’t be exchanging insults or discussing strategy for a joint case. Then again it meant he didn’t have to look in Harm’s eyes and feel the guilt all over again.
This wasn’t the time and it definitely wasn’t the place to be thinking about Harm, though. Even if everything about JAG screamed ‘Harm’ to him he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He still had a case to put to bed, and no matter how he felt about the trouble he’d gotten Harm into it didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. He shut down the train of thought that had been plaguing him for a week now and stepped off the elevators and into JAG headquarters. On his way to Chegwidden’s office he murmured greetings to various members of the staff, doing his best not to look in the direction of Harm’s closed office door. The less he thought about Harm during this meeting the happier he’d be.
When he reached Tiner’s desk the younger man waved him inside, and he stopped and knocked on Chegwidden’s half-open door before pushing it open the rest of the way and stepping inside. “Good morning, Admiral. Thank you for fitting me in.”
AJ looked up from his desk and frowned at Webb as though just remembering that they had a meeting. “Oh, right. Come in and state your business, Webb, I haven’t got all day.”
Clay nodded and set his briefcase on one of the chairs facing the Admiral’s desk, settling uncomfortably into the other chair before he began speaking. “I need one of your people, Admiral. I have an operation that requires a certain amount of finesse.”
“I’m afraid that’s going to be a little difficult with one of my best people out of commission. I’ve got a full case docket and I’ve had to reassign cases and push back court dates as it is.”
For a moment Clay thought he saw a hint of accusation in Chegwidden’s expression, but he shrugged it off as the Admiral’s general distaste for him. “I heard what happened to the Commander. How’s he doing?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid,” AJ answered, glancing down at his desk calendar as he switched gears. “He’s not recovering as quickly as the doctors had hoped. So I imagine we’ll be shorthanded around here for longer than I originally planned. I’ll see what I can do for you, Webb, but I’m not promising anything.”
Clay’s blank expression never wavered as he listened to the Admiral talk about Harm’s recovery process, but he felt his heart skip a beat and then his temperature raise a few degrees when AJ mentioned that Harm wasn’t healing well. He nodded to cover the sudden wave of anxiety and stood up quickly, reaching for his briefcase without looking back at the other man. “Thank you, Admiral. I’ll be in touch.”
AJ nodded and turned back to his desk as Webb walked out of his office, and Webb found himself grateful for once that the man didn’t like him enough to get up and walk him to the elevators. The general lack of courtesy the JAG staff extended to him usually annoyed him more than anything, but today it was welcome. The less chance there was of anyone stopping him to chat on the way out of the building, the less chance anyone would notice that he suddenly seemed even more flustered than he had when he arrived.
When he reached his car and turned on the ignition he had every intention of going back to CIA headquarters, but when his car finally came to a stop he realized that he’d driven straight to Harm’s apartment. He rolled his eyes and told himself to just keep going, to drive past the apartment building and go back to his office. He didn’t have any business dropping in on Harm, he had no excuse to stop by and he couldn’t tell Harm the truth. Even if he did tell Harm that he was just worried about him the other man probably wouldn’t believe him. He’d no doubt assume that Clay was using his health as an excuse to make sure that Harm had covered his tracks for him. A soft sigh escaped Clay’s throat as he looked up at the building and realized he had to go up anyway. Even if Harm jumped to all the worst conclusions he had to look in the other man’s eyes and see for himself how Harm was doing.
~
“Alright, alright,” Harm muttered, more to himself than because he thought whoever was leaning on his doorbell would hear him. He reached for the doorknob and winced, fresh pain shooting up his side as he pulled it open to find himself face to face with Clayton Webb. “Webb? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were doing,” Clay answered, silently congratulating himself for telling Harm the simple truth for the first time since they’d known each other. It wasn’t much of a step, but it was something. Besides, the least he could do after getting Harm shot was check up on him.
“I’m fine,” Harm muttered, looking back down at his carpet as he turned away from the door. He didn’t invite Clay inside, but he didn’t slam the door in his face either so Clay took that as a sign to follow.
He paused to push the door shut behind him, taking the opportunity to look around at the state of Harm’s apartment. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the loft, but it was the first time he’d seen it anything less that completely pristine. There was mail piled up on the dining room table and the shades were all drawn tight against the sunlight. “You don’t look fine,” Clay said as he turned his attention back to Harm. “In fact you look like hell. And why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I was sleeping, not that it’s any of your business,” Harm shot back as he eased himself down onto the couch. “Look, I know you’re not here just to check on my health so why don’t you just spit it out and get it over with?”
Clay flinched at the venom in Harm’s voice, suddenly grateful for the darkness of the apartment so Harm couldn’t see him react to his words. “I don’t want anything,” he said quietly. “I was at JAG and Chegwidden mentioned that you weren’t doing well so I thought I’d stop by and see if there was anything I could do.”
A bitter smile turned up the corners of Harm’s mouth as he looked over at Clay. He was still standing at the edge of the open area Harm used as a living room, looking for all the world like a lost child. Harm would have almost enjoyed seeing Clay look penitent for once if he didn’t know what the other man was up to. “Relax, I covered your precious ass. Nobody knows you were there that night.”
Clay swallowed hard and fought the urge to cross the living room and make Harm understand that he wasn’t here to check up on his cover. He couldn’t, though, it was bad enough he’d told Harm part of the truth. It was bad enough he’d been weak enough to come over here in the first place. “What did you tell them?” he asked, squaring his shoulders and standing a little straighter.
“I said I got a message from a client to meet me at the warehouse, but when I got there the place was deserted. I waited around for a few minutes and then someone came in and took a few shots at me. When I went down they took off. I told them I couldn’t see the shooter.”
Clay nodded gravely, thankful that at least Harm had come up with a fairly plausible cover story. When he first became an agent the lies had been more like a game than anything, it had been fun to make people believe what he wanted them to believe. As he got further and further up the chain of command, however, he’d started to see how all the half-truths he told affected the people he cared about. He took a deep breath and looked back at Harm again, his breath catching in his throat as he met the other man’s dark eyes. “Look, I’m sorry I got you shot, Harm. I didn’t plan for it and I feel responsible. But that doesn’t change the fact that we both have a job to do.”
“Oh, so it’s Harm now, huh? I take a bullet for you and suddenly we’re friends?”
A bitter scowl marred Clay’s features as he listened to Harm snap at him. “Fine, Rabb, have it your way. See you around.” He turned without another word and made his way to the door, pausing for a brief moment with his hand on the doorknob before he yanked it open and walked out.
Harm’s eyes slid closed as he listened to the door slam. He had no idea why he was so angry at Webb, he’d always known what to expect whenever Clay involved him in a case. They were constantly at odds and they couldn’t seem to agree on anything, but he’d always respected Clay’s dedication to his job. They were fighting on the same side, after all, and although he didn’t always approve of Webb’s methods he respected the man’s motivations.
It was true that he wasn’t doing well, he’d been doing nothing since he got home from the hospital but sleeping or staring at the TV without seeing it but still he wasn’t healing right. It didn’t make any sense, he was fairly young and in great shape so he should be coming right along. During his last check-up the doctor had asked him a bunch of probing questions about his mood after the shooting, he thought he’d done a fairly good job of acting cheerful but it was hard to tell. He wasn’t feeling particularly cheerful these days, and a large part of that had to do with Clayton Webb.
At first he’d driven himself crazy trying to convince himself that there wasn’t anything more to Webb than the annoying little man that met the eye, but after a few days he’d given up on trying to get himself to believe it. After that he moved on to wondering why exactly Clay never let anyone see the human part of him, Harm had given him ample opportunity after all. But Webb fought him every step of the way, never giving an inch no matter how far out on a limb Harm went to get Clay to open up. Once he really stopped and thought about how far he went to catch a glimpse of Clay’s humanity he started torturing himself about why he even cared.
He still hadn’t found an answer for that one, and frankly it was starting to make him crazy. Maybe he was actually losing it, maybe he’d been cooped up in his apartment too long. The thought of going out anywhere and doing anything just depressed him even more, though, and he’d been glad when Bud and Mac stopped coming over to try to cheer him up. He felt a little bad about being so rude to them, but with those two sometimes rude was the only way to get the point across. Since then he’d been alone and he kept telling himself that was the way he wanted it, but when Clay showed up…
When Clay showed up on his doorstep Harm realized that there was one person he actually wanted to see. The question is why he wanted to see Webb, and why he’d been in such a hurry to chase him out of his apartment as soon as he got there. He’d even apologized - that was something Harm never would have expected in a million years. He’d been so sure that the only reason Webb had come over was to make sure Harm had covered for him, it just didn’t make sense that he’d actually be sorry for getting Harm shot.
But he’d said it, not that Webb saying something necessarily meant that he felt it. He sounded like he meant it, though…Harm scowled and pushed himself up off the couch, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side as he made his way into the kitchen for a beer. There was only one reason Clayton Webb cared how Harm was doing - he wanted to be sure Harm wasn’t going to drop dead so he wouldn’t have to have Harm’s blood on his hands. That was the only reason Webb had showed up on his doorstep, it was just guilt.
~
As soon as he reached his car Clay pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed his office. “It’s Webb. I won’t be back in today…no, I’ve got a few things to take care of. I’m on my cell if anyone needs me.” He hung up the phone again and dropped it back in his pocket, letting out a deep breath as he gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to focus on the road. The last thing he needed right now was to run his car off the road, he could just see himself trying to explain that to his superiors.
“Just stop thinking about him,” he hissed into the silence of his car, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake Harm’s words. I take a bullet for you and suddenly we’re friends? He didn’t want it to hurt, he shouldn’t be letting Harm get to him that way. Harm had never pretended to like him, it wasn’t any surprise that he’d be furious at Clay for what happened in the warehouse. He had every right to be mad, Clay had left him there alone and hurt. Did Harm even know that Clay had left him or had he already passed out by the time Clay dialed 911? He couldn’t remember anymore, the whole night was a jumble of adrenaline-charged memories and the only thing that had burned into his mind’s eye was the sight of Harm stumbling to the ground.
The look in Harm’s eyes when the bullet hit him still haunted Clay, he knew he’d be reliving that night in his dreams for weeks, maybe even months to come. And he deserved it, he knew it was his penance for not taking enough care with other people’s feelings. For years he’d been telling himself that was just the way it had to be, when he put on his badge he checked his feelings at the door. That was just the nature of his profession, he’d grown up watching his parents do the same thing.
Yet somehow they always managed to care for each other, and they somehow found a balance between work and their private lives. For years they worked side by side doing the same thing he did and never once did he remember either of them trading the other’s safety for the sake of the mission. He sighed as he reached his condo and made his way inside, dropping his keys and his badge on the table by the door. When he’d poured himself a glass of wine he picked up his cordless phone and dialed a number he knew by heart, sinking onto the couch and taking a sip of wine as he waited for the line to connect.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Mother.”
“Clayton? What’s wrong?”
He smiled at the alarm in his mother’s voice, telling himself he should have known that he wouldn’t be able to get anything past her. She’d always been able to read him like a book, even over the phone. Maybe it was thanks to her years as a spy, that would certainly be ironic. “Everything’s fine, Mother. I was just calling to check in. It’s been awhile.”
“You’ve certainly been keeping yourself busy,” she answered, and he didn’t miss the note of reproach in her voice.
“I know, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll call to set up a lunch soon. Right now isn’t a good time though, there’s a lot going on at work.”
“I can be patient, Clayton. Remember I understand your time restraints. But I know you didn’t call to apologize for neglecting your old mother. What’s wrong?”
A sigh escaped his throat and he set his wine glass on the coffee table, running his free hand over his face as he tried to find the right words to ask his mother what he wanted to know. “I was just wondering about you and Father,” he finally said.
“What about your father, darling?”
“You and father worked side by side for years, but you never had to compromise your marriage in the name of the job. I don’t understand how you found a balance.”
Porter Webb smiled on the other end of the line as she listened to her son ask in a roundabout way how to balance his job and his love life. “Are you seeing someone you work with, Clayton?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said a little too quickly. “I don’t have time for a social life right now. I was just wondering.”
“I see. Well, I think the key to your father and I holding our marriage together was determination. I don’t have a magic formula to share with you, all I can tell you is that we loved one another very much and in the end that took precedence over everything else. Besides, it was fun to work side by side, back in those days there was still a little glamour to being an agent.”
Clay smiled at the thought of his parents going undercover together, getting excited about the prospect of working a case side by side. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll call you about that lunch soon.”
“You do that, dear. And take care of yourself, you sound exhausted.”
“I will.” He hung up the phone and dropped it on the couch next to him, covering his face with his hands as he wondered what on earth had possessed him to call his mother and ask about his parents’ working relationship in conjunction with their love life. It had nothing to do with his situation with Harm, no matter how much he wished it were the case it never would be. It was just guilt, he was tired of treating people like they didn’t matter in the name of his job. That was it, he didn’t care what Harm thought of him any more than he cared about anyone else.
~
Bud rocked on his heels and looked down the hallway of Harm’s apartment building as he waited for the Commander to answer his doorbell. He hadn’t stopped by in days, he and Mac and the Admiral had finally agreed that as long as Harm was going to his doctor’s appointments they’d give him the space he seemed to want. No one had heard from him in days, though, and when a nurse from the hospital called to tell the Admiral that Harm had missed an appointment Bud had been appointed to go check on him.
He waited a few more seconds and then rang the doorbell again, his concern shifting to worry as he listened for some movement from the other side of the door. When he didn’t hear anything he reached for his cell phone and started to dial the office, but before the line connected the door swung open and Harm peered out at him.
“Commander,” Bud said, his forehead creased with worry as he took in Harm’s drawn complexion and his obvious discomfort. “Are you alright, sir? The doctor’s office called to say you missed your appointment.”
Harm sighed and stood aside to let Bud in, doing his best to pull himself together long enough to convince his friend that he was fine. “I meant to call and reschedule. I was just feeling a little too weak to drive, I guess I forgot to make the call.”
“I could have come over and driven you myself, sir,” Bud said, looking around at the uncharacteristically messy apartment.
“I’m fine, Bud,” Harm insisted, but as soon as the words escaped his lips he sucked in a sharp breath and gritted his teeth. His hand flew to his side over his Navy T-shirt and he closed his eyes briefly.
“Sir?” Bud crossed the distance between them just in time to catch Harm, grunting as the taller man’s weight hit him and sent him stumbling backwards. Somehow he managed to ease the Commander to the floor, squatting next to Harm as he reached for his cell phone again and dialed 911. “I need an ambulance,” he said as soon as the dispatcher answered the line. He rattled off Harm’s address and looked down at the Commander, but Harm still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Please hurry, he’s unconscious.”
Read part two.
Fandom: JAG
Pairing: Rabb/Webb
Rating: R
Summary: Harm gets hurt and it's Clay's fault. Both men struggle with how they fit into each other's lives.
Harm blinked and tried to open his eyes, but the more he struggled against the overwhelming fatigue the harder it was to even get his eyelids to cooperate. He could just barely make out a figure standing near the end of the bed he was lying on, but he couldn’t make out who it was. His mouth opened and he heard himself mumble something incoherent, but the figure at the end of the bed didn’t respond. Finally he gave up trying and let his eyes fall closed again, but a moment later he felt something pressing against his lips and his tongue shot out to catch the drops of water that trickled onto his mouth.
“Rabb. Rabb, do you know where you are?”
As soon as he registered the sound of the voice he forced his eyes open again, blinking as he tried to focus on the person next to him. The cup of water moved away from his lips and he willed himself to sit up, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate no matter how hard he tried. “Webb, what are you doing here?”
His voice sounded weak and brittle and far away, but the moment the question escaped his lips some of what happened began to come back to him. Vague images of him and Webb in a warehouse flooded his senses, he remembered someone firing at them and then there was pain - only sharp, intense pain and the sensation of falling before everything went black.
“You were shot, Rabb. Do you remember anything about what happened?”
The cold, official tone of Webb’s voice shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Harm, after all this was just another case to him. He’d come out of it unscathed, most likely gotten his man the way he always did. So Harm had taken a bullet for his efforts, no skin off Webb’s back. Clayton Webb cared about Clayton Webb, Harm knew that. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself that somewhere underneath the gruff exterior was a carefully hidden heart, Webb had never given him one ounce of proof that he was right. Maybe he was wrong about Webb after all, maybe the guy was just a cold bastard who only saw in black and white.
“I remember,” Harm muttered, his eyes falling closed again as a sigh escaped his throat. “I remember taking a bullet saving your hide after you drug me into another one of your cases without a word of warning.”
He heard a labored sigh escape Webb’s throat but he didn’t bother to open his eyes again. “We were both doing our jobs, Rabb. You’re a military man, you know the drill. This is just the way it is, nothing personal.”
A bitter chuckle escaped Harm’s throat, irritating the dryness in his lungs and sending him into a fit of coughs. His whole body shook from the effort, but Webb never made a move toward him. When his coughing finally subsided he turned as well as he could away from the other man. “Yeah, nothing personal. I know.”
“I don’t need to remind you that you can’t talk to anyone about the details of what happened,” Webb said. If Harm didn’t know better he could have sworn that just for a second Webb’s usual cold tone wavered just a tiny bit, but the fact was he did know better. The only reason Webb even cared that he’d survived the bullet he took was because he needed to make sure Harm wouldn’t tell anyone what they were doing in that warehouse. Hell, he barely even knew himself, but then again sometimes a little knowledge was more dangerous that the whole story.
“No, you don’t.”
Webb cleared his throat but Harm didn’t hear him moving toward the door. He couldn’t think of a reason for Webb to keep standing there staring at his back, unless he wasn’t convinced yet that Harm would keep his mouth shut. It hurt too much to keep his eyes open, though, much less turn back and look at the man standing next to him. As much as it hurt to open his eyes it would hurt even more to look at Webb right now, that much he was sure of. He couldn’t look at the other man and see that coldness directed at him, that superior sense of justice that told Webb it was okay to use Harm and everyone else at his disposal like so many pawns. He couldn’t look at the complete lack of concern there and know that Webb didn’t care whether or not he was alright.
“Just get out, Webb.”
For a moment all he heard was a deafening, oppressive silence interrupted only by the sounds of the machines monitoring his condition and the sound of the two of them breathing in tandem. Webb’s breath was almost keeping pace with Harm’s, it was just a beat off and Harm found himself concentrating on the sound of the two of them breathing together. Then the sound of expensive shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor interrupted his concentration and a moment later Webb was gone and Harm was breathing alone again.
~
Clay managed to make it all the way to his car before his hands started to shake. He made it out of Harm’s room and all the way down the hall past the nurse’s station. He made it down four flights to the hospital’s main doors, past a noisy room full of people waiting for emergency care and hospital employees that didn’t notice a man in a gray trench coat who looked just a little paler than usual. He made it all the way to his car before he let his control slip even a little, just enough to grip the steering wheel and stare at his hands as they began to shake. His expression never changed, anyone happening to pass the car would assume that he was fine. Except for his hands.
Soon his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hold onto the steering wheel anymore, so he let them fall into his lap as he worked to even out his breathing enough to regain his control. Clayton Webb didn’t fall apart, no matter what happened he never showed anyone how certain cases affected him. And Harm was alright - he was fine and everything was going to be okay. The lawyer hated him, but that was nothing new. He’d never liked Clay much and that wasn’t going to change, certainly not when Clay was forced to put him in life-threatening situations without giving him the information he needed to keep himself safe.
Safe…he’d never been able to keep anyone safe, no matter how much he wished he could. It just wasn’t conducive to his line of work, he spent so much time keeping other people’s secrets that he didn’t have time to worry about the people themselves. Even when it meant putting someone he cared about in the line of fire…Clay let out a ragged breath and closed his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking just a little. Just enough for him to make it home, once he was alone in his condo he could think about it. He could run through the entire operation with a fine-tooth comb until somewhere, somehow he’d see the moment where he went wrong. The moment the price for justice got just a little too high…
His eyes snapped open and he glanced in his rearview mirror just in time to see Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie pull into a parking space a row over from his. He held his breath and hoped they didn’t see him, only remembering to breathe again when they turned and began walking toward the hospital entrance. Once they were gone he threw the car into gear and started the ignition, brutally shutting down any lingering emotion until he was safely away from the hospital.
He wasn’t going to jeopardize this mission, it had already cost too much and he couldn’t afford any more mistakes. It was just lucky that the Admiral and the Colonel hadn’t been fifteen minutes earlier, although he’d made sure to leave the hospital just as visiting hours started specifically to avoid seeing anyone that would recognize him. He knew Harm would keep his secret, no matter what it cost him Harm was loyal to the spirit of Clay’s cause.
Somehow he managed to make it all the way home, closing his front door behind him and forcing his legs to carry him to the living room before he finally gave up the fight and let his knees give out under him. He slumped down onto the couch, heedless of the wrinkles in his suit or the fact that he should at least call the office and let them know he’d be late getting in. All he could think about was the man lying in that hospital bed, a hole in his side from the bullet that should have hit Clay. It should have been him, he was the one in charge of the case and Harm was just doing him a favor. Not even a favor, Harm was doing what he thought was his duty to his government and his country. It was almost funny how easy the man was to manipulate, his sense of duty was so all-encompassing that he’d follow Clay blind into any situation just because he thought it was the right thing to do.
And Clay counted on that, he used it against Harm and abused the other man’s sense of right and wrong and he never apologized. He wasn’t sorry, not really. He was doing his job and Harm knew the motivations behind Clay’s disregard for the people he dragged into his cases with him. There were regrets, though - Harm getting shot, for instance. He’d never seen that coming, after awhile he’d just started thinking of the man as some kind of indestructible superhero. Hell, he looked like he was made out of Teflon, like bullets should bounce right off him.
There was no mistaking his humanity, though, Clay had seen it more times that he really wanted to. Harm tried over and over again to reach out to him, to find the human beneath the CIA packaging. Clay pushed him away over and over again because…because why? Because he couldn’t be one of Harmon Rabb’s drinking buddies, that’s why. Because he couldn’t go out at the end of the day for drinks with Bud and the Admiral, because that wasn’t what he wanted from Rabb. That wasn’t what he wanted at all.
He closed his eyes against the thought and told himself it was just guilt. Guilt because he felt like he’d pulled the trigger himself, no matter how Harm got shot it was Clay’s fault he was lying in that hospital bed. He’d wanted to tell Harm how sorry he was, he wanted to tell him that he went to the hospital just to make sure he was okay. When the bullet tore into Harm’s flesh Clay had taken out his cell phone and dialed 911 without thinking, he let the man he’d been tracking for three months escape out the back of the warehouse because all he could see was blood. Harm’s blood, all over the floor, all over Harm, all over him. He’d almost thrown caution to the wind and stayed until the paramedics got there, but when he heard the sirens blaring in the distance he’d recovered himself enough to remember that he couldn’t be found with Harm. They couldn’t be there together when the paramedics arrived, there was no way he could explain that to anyone.
So he’d left, slipped out the back the same way his mark had escaped and prayed to a God he didn’t even believe in just to keep Harm safe until help arrived. And now Harm would hate him more than ever, for dragging him into another mess and for getting him shot, and then for being heartless enough to leave him alone and bleeding on the floor of a warehouse just so he wouldn’t blow his cover. Sure, part of Harm would understand, the lawyer part of his brain would know that Clay had a job to do and he didn’t have the luxury of letting his emotions get in the way. But the rest of Harm - the part of him that made him the idealist that he was - that part of him would never understand.
Clay couldn’t even blame him, he couldn’t fault Harm for kicking him out of his hospital room and he wouldn’t blame him if Harm never wanted to see him again. How could he? He’d done this to Harm, just as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger himself. Even if he could tell Harm the truth he wouldn’t want to hear it, though. The truth was Harm had no idea what he was asking for when he started poking around in Clay’s psyche, looking for the human being he knew was hidden there. There was no doubt in Clay’s mind that the only reason Harm was so determined to prove that Clay had feelings was because of his Boy Scout complex. He wanted to save the whole world from itself, and somehow he’d gotten it into his head that Clay would be happier if he could just open and up and show the world that he cared. It had nothing to do with Clay himself, it was just Harm’s need to prove to himself that he could strip Clay down to nothing and leave him to clean up the mess on his own.
Harm obviously didn’t understand other peoples’ need for their carefully crafted defenses, even though Harm had plenty of his own. He’d never admit that, but Clay could see them. After all, it was his job to know what made people tick. Harm just kept pushing and pushing no matter how often Clay rebuffed him, though, and if he ever managed to push hard enough to get what he was looking for Clay knew he’d regret it. That thought usually made him laugh, it was always bitter and full of regret but it was amusing nonetheless. He liked to picture Harm’s expression when he finally pushed Clay far enough to make him admit to being human, the look in the overgrown Boy Scout’s eyes when Clay told him what really made him tick. So far Harm hadn’t found the right buttons to push, though, and Clay wasn’t sure whether or not that was comforting or disappointing.
He sighed heavily and told himself there was no reason to be so unnerved by the events of the night before. Harm was fine, he’d gotten him help and his cover was intact. He knew Harm would make up a lie to tell his CO and the police, it was what lawyers were best at, wasn't it? He’d think of some believable cover, so Clay was in the clear. The mission was a failure but he hadn’t compromised it so much that he couldn’t repair it. And Harm would heal, he’d be fine and he’d go back to his life. So everything would be okay, right?
~
Harm winced as he eased himself into the fresh shirt that Bud and Harriet had brought to the hospital for him. After four days in the hospital they’d finally declared him well enough to go home, but he was still tender and it hurt to dress himself. He was determined to do it himself, though, he wasn’t about to ask any of his well-meaning but annoying friends for help. Not that he didn’t appreciate them, he knew they were only concerned about him and considering he’d just been shot he couldn’t blame them. He was tired of being hovered over, though, now all he wanted was to go home and surround himself in the silence of his apartment for awhile.
He’d used the excuse of confusion and blood loss to buy him a little time to think up a plausible lie to tell Chegwidden and the cops, but when he finally told them the lie he’d thought up he couldn’t tell whether they’d bought it or not. The cops had taken a few notes and nodded politely, telling him not to expect much since there was no evidence on the scene to give them any leads. Chegwidden had been less eager to just let it go, but finally Harm got him to back off by pretending to pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Lying to his CO and the police wasn’t high on his list of things to do -- in fact he was furious at Clay for leaving him with no other choice. He knew why Clay was letting him deal with the fallout on his own, he knew all about the CIA’s need for discretion and the sensitivity of Clay’s covert operations. He found himself rolling his eyes more and more when he thought of Clay lately, and he wasn’t sure if it was anger at being shot, anger at Clay for leaving him bleeding in the warehouse, or anger that he hadn’t even asked Harm how he was feeling before he started warning him to keep his mouth shut.
Four days - it had been four days since he got shot, since the last time he saw Webb and ordered him out of his room. He felt a twinge of regret for the way he’d spoken to the CIA agent, but as quickly as it surfaced he pushed it away. He didn’t have any reason to feel bad about telling Clay to get lost, Clay knew he’d cover for him and he’d been a jerk about it anyway. He was the one lying in the hospital with a bullet hole in his side, he was the one who’d had a blood transfusion and emergency surgery to take a hunk of metal out of him. The worst part was that he still didn’t even know why he’d taken a bullet for Clay, all he knew was there was a gun aimed at the other man and he’d jumped right in the line of fire.
He’d had four days to think about the fact that he could have died, everyone that visited him at the hospital had reminded him of that so often that he was ready to scream. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he just wanted to go home. He wanted to be alone in his apartment where he wouldn’t have to think at all, not about the fact that he’d thrown himself in front of Clay or the reasons why he’d done it. He just needed some time to get his head on straight, that was all.
The door to his room opened as he finished buttoning his shirt and Bud poked his head into the room. “Sir? Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, Bud, I’m ready,” Harm answered, standing up and turning carefully so he wouldn’t jar his injury any more than he had to. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”
“Don’t mention it, sir. It’s my pleasure,” Bud answered, his forehead furrowing as he watched Harm wince. "Are you sure you’re okay, sir?”
Harm nodded and gritted his teeth, working hard to catch his breath as a fresh wave of pain shot through him. “I’m fine,” he answered when he finally found his voice again. “I just need to get some rest.”
“Alright, sir,” Bud said, although Harm could tell from his tone that his friend didn’t believe him. “I’ll just go finish up the paperwork and then we’ll be ready to go.”
“Thanks, Bud,” Harm said again, somehow managing a weak smile in the general direction of the door as he waited for Bud to leave again. When his friend disappeared he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, saying a quick prayer that he’d somehow find the strength to get home without letting Bud know how much pain he was in. If his friend got wind of the fact that Harm could barely stand up without wanting to cry he’d never leave him alone, and that was the only thing Harm wanted right now.
~
Clay braced himself before pulling open the doors that would lead him into JAG headquarters. He knew he wasn’t going to run into Harm, there was no way he was back at work already. He’d only been out of the hospital for two days, and his injury was serious enough to keep him out of commission for weeks. Clay wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing Rabb in uniform today, they wouldn’t be exchanging insults or discussing strategy for a joint case. Then again it meant he didn’t have to look in Harm’s eyes and feel the guilt all over again.
This wasn’t the time and it definitely wasn’t the place to be thinking about Harm, though. Even if everything about JAG screamed ‘Harm’ to him he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He still had a case to put to bed, and no matter how he felt about the trouble he’d gotten Harm into it didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. He shut down the train of thought that had been plaguing him for a week now and stepped off the elevators and into JAG headquarters. On his way to Chegwidden’s office he murmured greetings to various members of the staff, doing his best not to look in the direction of Harm’s closed office door. The less he thought about Harm during this meeting the happier he’d be.
When he reached Tiner’s desk the younger man waved him inside, and he stopped and knocked on Chegwidden’s half-open door before pushing it open the rest of the way and stepping inside. “Good morning, Admiral. Thank you for fitting me in.”
AJ looked up from his desk and frowned at Webb as though just remembering that they had a meeting. “Oh, right. Come in and state your business, Webb, I haven’t got all day.”
Clay nodded and set his briefcase on one of the chairs facing the Admiral’s desk, settling uncomfortably into the other chair before he began speaking. “I need one of your people, Admiral. I have an operation that requires a certain amount of finesse.”
“I’m afraid that’s going to be a little difficult with one of my best people out of commission. I’ve got a full case docket and I’ve had to reassign cases and push back court dates as it is.”
For a moment Clay thought he saw a hint of accusation in Chegwidden’s expression, but he shrugged it off as the Admiral’s general distaste for him. “I heard what happened to the Commander. How’s he doing?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid,” AJ answered, glancing down at his desk calendar as he switched gears. “He’s not recovering as quickly as the doctors had hoped. So I imagine we’ll be shorthanded around here for longer than I originally planned. I’ll see what I can do for you, Webb, but I’m not promising anything.”
Clay’s blank expression never wavered as he listened to the Admiral talk about Harm’s recovery process, but he felt his heart skip a beat and then his temperature raise a few degrees when AJ mentioned that Harm wasn’t healing well. He nodded to cover the sudden wave of anxiety and stood up quickly, reaching for his briefcase without looking back at the other man. “Thank you, Admiral. I’ll be in touch.”
AJ nodded and turned back to his desk as Webb walked out of his office, and Webb found himself grateful for once that the man didn’t like him enough to get up and walk him to the elevators. The general lack of courtesy the JAG staff extended to him usually annoyed him more than anything, but today it was welcome. The less chance there was of anyone stopping him to chat on the way out of the building, the less chance anyone would notice that he suddenly seemed even more flustered than he had when he arrived.
When he reached his car and turned on the ignition he had every intention of going back to CIA headquarters, but when his car finally came to a stop he realized that he’d driven straight to Harm’s apartment. He rolled his eyes and told himself to just keep going, to drive past the apartment building and go back to his office. He didn’t have any business dropping in on Harm, he had no excuse to stop by and he couldn’t tell Harm the truth. Even if he did tell Harm that he was just worried about him the other man probably wouldn’t believe him. He’d no doubt assume that Clay was using his health as an excuse to make sure that Harm had covered his tracks for him. A soft sigh escaped Clay’s throat as he looked up at the building and realized he had to go up anyway. Even if Harm jumped to all the worst conclusions he had to look in the other man’s eyes and see for himself how Harm was doing.
~
“Alright, alright,” Harm muttered, more to himself than because he thought whoever was leaning on his doorbell would hear him. He reached for the doorknob and winced, fresh pain shooting up his side as he pulled it open to find himself face to face with Clayton Webb. “Webb? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to see how you were doing,” Clay answered, silently congratulating himself for telling Harm the simple truth for the first time since they’d known each other. It wasn’t much of a step, but it was something. Besides, the least he could do after getting Harm shot was check up on him.
“I’m fine,” Harm muttered, looking back down at his carpet as he turned away from the door. He didn’t invite Clay inside, but he didn’t slam the door in his face either so Clay took that as a sign to follow.
He paused to push the door shut behind him, taking the opportunity to look around at the state of Harm’s apartment. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to the loft, but it was the first time he’d seen it anything less that completely pristine. There was mail piled up on the dining room table and the shades were all drawn tight against the sunlight. “You don’t look fine,” Clay said as he turned his attention back to Harm. “In fact you look like hell. And why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I was sleeping, not that it’s any of your business,” Harm shot back as he eased himself down onto the couch. “Look, I know you’re not here just to check on my health so why don’t you just spit it out and get it over with?”
Clay flinched at the venom in Harm’s voice, suddenly grateful for the darkness of the apartment so Harm couldn’t see him react to his words. “I don’t want anything,” he said quietly. “I was at JAG and Chegwidden mentioned that you weren’t doing well so I thought I’d stop by and see if there was anything I could do.”
A bitter smile turned up the corners of Harm’s mouth as he looked over at Clay. He was still standing at the edge of the open area Harm used as a living room, looking for all the world like a lost child. Harm would have almost enjoyed seeing Clay look penitent for once if he didn’t know what the other man was up to. “Relax, I covered your precious ass. Nobody knows you were there that night.”
Clay swallowed hard and fought the urge to cross the living room and make Harm understand that he wasn’t here to check up on his cover. He couldn’t, though, it was bad enough he’d told Harm part of the truth. It was bad enough he’d been weak enough to come over here in the first place. “What did you tell them?” he asked, squaring his shoulders and standing a little straighter.
“I said I got a message from a client to meet me at the warehouse, but when I got there the place was deserted. I waited around for a few minutes and then someone came in and took a few shots at me. When I went down they took off. I told them I couldn’t see the shooter.”
Clay nodded gravely, thankful that at least Harm had come up with a fairly plausible cover story. When he first became an agent the lies had been more like a game than anything, it had been fun to make people believe what he wanted them to believe. As he got further and further up the chain of command, however, he’d started to see how all the half-truths he told affected the people he cared about. He took a deep breath and looked back at Harm again, his breath catching in his throat as he met the other man’s dark eyes. “Look, I’m sorry I got you shot, Harm. I didn’t plan for it and I feel responsible. But that doesn’t change the fact that we both have a job to do.”
“Oh, so it’s Harm now, huh? I take a bullet for you and suddenly we’re friends?”
A bitter scowl marred Clay’s features as he listened to Harm snap at him. “Fine, Rabb, have it your way. See you around.” He turned without another word and made his way to the door, pausing for a brief moment with his hand on the doorknob before he yanked it open and walked out.
Harm’s eyes slid closed as he listened to the door slam. He had no idea why he was so angry at Webb, he’d always known what to expect whenever Clay involved him in a case. They were constantly at odds and they couldn’t seem to agree on anything, but he’d always respected Clay’s dedication to his job. They were fighting on the same side, after all, and although he didn’t always approve of Webb’s methods he respected the man’s motivations.
It was true that he wasn’t doing well, he’d been doing nothing since he got home from the hospital but sleeping or staring at the TV without seeing it but still he wasn’t healing right. It didn’t make any sense, he was fairly young and in great shape so he should be coming right along. During his last check-up the doctor had asked him a bunch of probing questions about his mood after the shooting, he thought he’d done a fairly good job of acting cheerful but it was hard to tell. He wasn’t feeling particularly cheerful these days, and a large part of that had to do with Clayton Webb.
At first he’d driven himself crazy trying to convince himself that there wasn’t anything more to Webb than the annoying little man that met the eye, but after a few days he’d given up on trying to get himself to believe it. After that he moved on to wondering why exactly Clay never let anyone see the human part of him, Harm had given him ample opportunity after all. But Webb fought him every step of the way, never giving an inch no matter how far out on a limb Harm went to get Clay to open up. Once he really stopped and thought about how far he went to catch a glimpse of Clay’s humanity he started torturing himself about why he even cared.
He still hadn’t found an answer for that one, and frankly it was starting to make him crazy. Maybe he was actually losing it, maybe he’d been cooped up in his apartment too long. The thought of going out anywhere and doing anything just depressed him even more, though, and he’d been glad when Bud and Mac stopped coming over to try to cheer him up. He felt a little bad about being so rude to them, but with those two sometimes rude was the only way to get the point across. Since then he’d been alone and he kept telling himself that was the way he wanted it, but when Clay showed up…
When Clay showed up on his doorstep Harm realized that there was one person he actually wanted to see. The question is why he wanted to see Webb, and why he’d been in such a hurry to chase him out of his apartment as soon as he got there. He’d even apologized - that was something Harm never would have expected in a million years. He’d been so sure that the only reason Webb had come over was to make sure Harm had covered for him, it just didn’t make sense that he’d actually be sorry for getting Harm shot.
But he’d said it, not that Webb saying something necessarily meant that he felt it. He sounded like he meant it, though…Harm scowled and pushed himself up off the couch, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side as he made his way into the kitchen for a beer. There was only one reason Clayton Webb cared how Harm was doing - he wanted to be sure Harm wasn’t going to drop dead so he wouldn’t have to have Harm’s blood on his hands. That was the only reason Webb had showed up on his doorstep, it was just guilt.
~
As soon as he reached his car Clay pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed his office. “It’s Webb. I won’t be back in today…no, I’ve got a few things to take care of. I’m on my cell if anyone needs me.” He hung up the phone again and dropped it back in his pocket, letting out a deep breath as he gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to focus on the road. The last thing he needed right now was to run his car off the road, he could just see himself trying to explain that to his superiors.
“Just stop thinking about him,” he hissed into the silence of his car, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake Harm’s words. I take a bullet for you and suddenly we’re friends? He didn’t want it to hurt, he shouldn’t be letting Harm get to him that way. Harm had never pretended to like him, it wasn’t any surprise that he’d be furious at Clay for what happened in the warehouse. He had every right to be mad, Clay had left him there alone and hurt. Did Harm even know that Clay had left him or had he already passed out by the time Clay dialed 911? He couldn’t remember anymore, the whole night was a jumble of adrenaline-charged memories and the only thing that had burned into his mind’s eye was the sight of Harm stumbling to the ground.
The look in Harm’s eyes when the bullet hit him still haunted Clay, he knew he’d be reliving that night in his dreams for weeks, maybe even months to come. And he deserved it, he knew it was his penance for not taking enough care with other people’s feelings. For years he’d been telling himself that was just the way it had to be, when he put on his badge he checked his feelings at the door. That was just the nature of his profession, he’d grown up watching his parents do the same thing.
Yet somehow they always managed to care for each other, and they somehow found a balance between work and their private lives. For years they worked side by side doing the same thing he did and never once did he remember either of them trading the other’s safety for the sake of the mission. He sighed as he reached his condo and made his way inside, dropping his keys and his badge on the table by the door. When he’d poured himself a glass of wine he picked up his cordless phone and dialed a number he knew by heart, sinking onto the couch and taking a sip of wine as he waited for the line to connect.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Mother.”
“Clayton? What’s wrong?”
He smiled at the alarm in his mother’s voice, telling himself he should have known that he wouldn’t be able to get anything past her. She’d always been able to read him like a book, even over the phone. Maybe it was thanks to her years as a spy, that would certainly be ironic. “Everything’s fine, Mother. I was just calling to check in. It’s been awhile.”
“You’ve certainly been keeping yourself busy,” she answered, and he didn’t miss the note of reproach in her voice.
“I know, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll call to set up a lunch soon. Right now isn’t a good time though, there’s a lot going on at work.”
“I can be patient, Clayton. Remember I understand your time restraints. But I know you didn’t call to apologize for neglecting your old mother. What’s wrong?”
A sigh escaped his throat and he set his wine glass on the coffee table, running his free hand over his face as he tried to find the right words to ask his mother what he wanted to know. “I was just wondering about you and Father,” he finally said.
“What about your father, darling?”
“You and father worked side by side for years, but you never had to compromise your marriage in the name of the job. I don’t understand how you found a balance.”
Porter Webb smiled on the other end of the line as she listened to her son ask in a roundabout way how to balance his job and his love life. “Are you seeing someone you work with, Clayton?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said a little too quickly. “I don’t have time for a social life right now. I was just wondering.”
“I see. Well, I think the key to your father and I holding our marriage together was determination. I don’t have a magic formula to share with you, all I can tell you is that we loved one another very much and in the end that took precedence over everything else. Besides, it was fun to work side by side, back in those days there was still a little glamour to being an agent.”
Clay smiled at the thought of his parents going undercover together, getting excited about the prospect of working a case side by side. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll call you about that lunch soon.”
“You do that, dear. And take care of yourself, you sound exhausted.”
“I will.” He hung up the phone and dropped it on the couch next to him, covering his face with his hands as he wondered what on earth had possessed him to call his mother and ask about his parents’ working relationship in conjunction with their love life. It had nothing to do with his situation with Harm, no matter how much he wished it were the case it never would be. It was just guilt, he was tired of treating people like they didn’t matter in the name of his job. That was it, he didn’t care what Harm thought of him any more than he cared about anyone else.
~
Bud rocked on his heels and looked down the hallway of Harm’s apartment building as he waited for the Commander to answer his doorbell. He hadn’t stopped by in days, he and Mac and the Admiral had finally agreed that as long as Harm was going to his doctor’s appointments they’d give him the space he seemed to want. No one had heard from him in days, though, and when a nurse from the hospital called to tell the Admiral that Harm had missed an appointment Bud had been appointed to go check on him.
He waited a few more seconds and then rang the doorbell again, his concern shifting to worry as he listened for some movement from the other side of the door. When he didn’t hear anything he reached for his cell phone and started to dial the office, but before the line connected the door swung open and Harm peered out at him.
“Commander,” Bud said, his forehead creased with worry as he took in Harm’s drawn complexion and his obvious discomfort. “Are you alright, sir? The doctor’s office called to say you missed your appointment.”
Harm sighed and stood aside to let Bud in, doing his best to pull himself together long enough to convince his friend that he was fine. “I meant to call and reschedule. I was just feeling a little too weak to drive, I guess I forgot to make the call.”
“I could have come over and driven you myself, sir,” Bud said, looking around at the uncharacteristically messy apartment.
“I’m fine, Bud,” Harm insisted, but as soon as the words escaped his lips he sucked in a sharp breath and gritted his teeth. His hand flew to his side over his Navy T-shirt and he closed his eyes briefly.
“Sir?” Bud crossed the distance between them just in time to catch Harm, grunting as the taller man’s weight hit him and sent him stumbling backwards. Somehow he managed to ease the Commander to the floor, squatting next to Harm as he reached for his cell phone again and dialed 911. “I need an ambulance,” he said as soon as the dispatcher answered the line. He rattled off Harm’s address and looked down at the Commander, but Harm still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Please hurry, he’s unconscious.”
Read part two.