Undercover Exposure
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Category:
G through L › JAG
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,059
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own JAG, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Undercover Exposure
FF: Undercover Exposure
Author: JAGslashLady
Pairing: Harm/Clay Harm/Other
Rating: R m/m
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Wish I did, though. Anyway, I'll return them once they're finished, I mean, once I'm finished with them. Relatively unscathed, but maybe a little out of breath Any non-JAG characters belong to me.
Timeframe: End of Season 8. After Harm is released after being accused of Singer's murder. Webb was not reassigned to S. America due to the Angelshark case, and the entire arc about Paraguay never happens. Season 9 would be VERY different.
Archiving: Archived at Slashfanfiction.com, jagslash@yahoogroups.com and menofjagslash@yahoogroups.com, and adult-fanfiction.org . Anywhere else: Ask first. I'll probably say yes, but I really like to know where my stories end up.
Summary: Harm agrees to go to London to help Clay with a mission. Only the mission isn't quite what Harm was lead to believe - and could have seriousercuercussions
===========================================
Harmon Rabb Jr. drummed his fingers on the table, wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation. When Clayton Webb had come to him three days ago and asked for his help on a "situation", Harm's first instinct had been to refuse the man's request.
He should have listened to his instincts. Then he wouldn't have been sitting here in a bar in London, waiting for Clay to finish whatever business it was that he had here. It wasn't so much that it was a *bar*, but it happened to be a *gay* bar. Harm had been fending off would-be 'partners' all night, assuring them that he was waiting for his 'friend' to rejoin him.
He was going to kill Clayton Webb, he decided, watching as that man walked across the smoky, dimly lit room to sit down beside him. "Having fun?" Clay asked, grinning at Harm's 'go-to-hell' glare.
"Took you long enough," Harm muttered. "Can we leave now?"
Clay lifted his empty glass to get the attention of the man behind the bar. "Sorry. Need to give my contact time to get away. Want another beer?"
"No, thanks."
"Come on, Harm," Clay pressed, still grinning. "You look as if you're not enjoying your visit to London."
"What's to enjoy?" Harm asked as the bartender brought Clay another glass of scotch. "So far, I've seen the inside of the hotnd tnd this place."
"Fair enough," Clay nodded. "We'll go sightseeing tomorrow."
"We?" Harm questioned. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Clay reached over and put his hand over Harm's wrist, refusing to let him jerk it away from the contact. "We'll go together. If anyone from here is suspicious and follows us, I'm not having them catch you out and about alone, Rabb," he said, his hazel eyes boring into Harm's. Harm looked at his wrist, and Clay smiled, grasping Harm's hand in his and lifting it to press his soft lips against it. "Play the game, Harm," he urged.
"I guess I’m not as good a game player as you are, Webb," Harm said, wondering why he felt suddenly warmer than he had a moment ago. It was *not* because Clayton Webb was holding his hand and kissing the back of it, he told himself. "And you never told me that I'd have to pretend to be -"
"Gay?" Clay questioned, grinning when Harm couldn't the the word.
"When you asked me to help you on this mission," Harm finished. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get into if anyone saw me that knows who I am?"
"I doubt anyone from JAG or the Navy is here, Harm," Clay said, sitting back and releasing Harm's hand. "And if they are, they're going to have a vested interest in not going public. So relax, okay?"
"Easy for you say," Harm sighed, picking up his beer and finishing it. "How much longer?" he asked.
Clay's eyes moved toward the far side of the bar, narrowing for a moment. "Another five minutes should do it."
"Thank God."
"Careful, Harm, or I might think you don't like my company," Clay said, laughing softly as he took a drink of his scotch…
*******
They returned to the hotel around midnight, and it suddenly dawned on Harm that there was only the one king sized bed and a short sofa for sitting on in the room. "You take the sofa," Harm told Clay.
"Not willing tore, re, Harm?" Clay asked, grinning, and then lifted his hands in a defensive measure. "Okay, okay. Just kidding. I was planning on taking the sofa anyway. I've slept in worse places," he sighed, watching as Harm headed toward the bathroom.
Harm made sure to lock the bathroom door before he undressed and took a quick shower. After brushing his teeth, he unlocked the door and opened it, surprised to find Clay sitting at a small desk in the room, engrossed in something on the laptop computer he'd brought with him. Wearing a pair of sweats, Harm climbed into bed, turning out the light beside it.
"Night, Harm," Clay said. "Thanks for being such a good sport tonight."
"Just as long as it doesn't go on too much longer," Harm told him, and then pulled the covers up around his head to block out the light from the desk where Clay was working.
It didn't do any good, he realized, and pushed the covers to his waist, turning onto his back. "How much longer are you going to be working?" he asked.
"There's a lot of information to go over," Clay told him.
"Can't you do it tomorrow morning?" Harm asked, and saw Clay look up at him, smirking.
"Why? The light bothering you?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah, it is. Go to sleep, Webb."
"Is that an order, Commander?" Clay asked.
Harm's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Would it do any good to make it one?"
"Nope," Clay said. "Not in the military, remember?"
"Good thing," Harm muttered, turning over again and pulling the covers completely over his head.
He thought he heard laughter in Clay's voice when he responded. "Night, Harm."
The light went off.
*********
Harm was awakened the next morning by someone knocking on the door. Floating between sleep and wakefulness, Harm heard Clay tell someone, "Thanks," and the door closed.
Turning over, Harm blinked, trying to figure out where he was and who Clay might have been thanking.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Clay said. "Breakfast is ready."
Harm saw Clay holding a cup of coffee out toward him and sat up in bed. "Uh, thanks," he said, taking the coffee.
"Cream and sugar, right?" Webb asked.
"Yeah. Thanks," Harm said, sipping the dark liquid as memory solidified. He was in a London hotel room with Clayton Webb, on one of Webb's covert ops. He was undercover, pretending to be Webb's "boyfriend" while he and Webb spent time in a London gay bar to make contact with an information source. "What's for breakfast?" he asked.
"Eggs and bacon for me," Clay said, and Harm started to groan. "Vegetarian omelet for you," he finished, removing the dome cover on the plate.
Harm threw back the covers, grabbing his robe from the end of the bed before going to the table/desk where Clay had placed their food. Wincing as he saw Clay tear into the bacon, Harm said, "That stuff'll kill you, Webb."
"Everyone has to die sometime," Webb said, smiling as he took another bite.
The fatalistic attitude bothered Harm, but he pushed the thought away. "What's on the agenda for today?" he asked.
"Sightseeing, remember?"
"I've been to London, Webb," Harm said.
"Seen the changing of the Palace Guard?" Clay asked.
"Well, no, but -"
"The Tower of London?"
"No, but-"
"You will today. With me."
"Clay, there's no reason for us both to go. You can stay here and take care of that paperwork you were looking at last night. I can find my way around -"
"We're undercover, remember?" Clay pointed out, picking up a slice of heavily buttered toast. "Which means we could be under surveillance. We go everywhere together to maintain our cover."
Harm rolled his eyes. "Why me, Clay?" he asked.
"What?"
"Why did you ask me on this mission? I'm sure there were all kinds of CIA agents you could have asked to come here -"
"I didn't need another operative for this mission. Just someone who looked good."
"I beg your pardon?" Harm asked, uncertain if he'd heard correctly.
Clay finished his eggs and got up from his chair to take the plate back to the cart, where he refilled his coffee. "I needed someone good looking," Clay said. "Someone who would create enough of a distraction in a gay bar so that no one would pay attention to my meeting with a contact."
Harm turned to look at him in disbelief. "You asked me to come along because of my *looks*?"
"What's the matter, Harm?" Clay asked. "Not used to being thought of that way?"
"In what way? As a piece of meat?"
"Not how I would phrase it," Clay said, still grinning as if he were enjoying their verbal sparring. "But appropriate, I think."
"Why you -"
Clay laughed, heading toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower," he said, ducking into that room and closing the door before Harm could react further.
*******
After a day of sightseeing, Harm had to admit that Clayton Webb could be charming and good company when he put his mind to it. The only uncomfortable moment had been while they were having lunch and Webb's eyes had flicked across the room before he moved closer to Harm and turned to whisper in Harm's ear.
"Heads up. Someone from the club last night is here. He saw us. Play along if he comes over, okay?"
Webb's breath had been warm against Harm's ear, startling him, but instead of pulling away, Harm simply nodded, picking up the water he'd ordered with his meal, his own eyes scanning the crowd without seeing a familiar face. "Where?" he asked, turning to look at Clay - only to find the other man's lips perilously close to his own. For a fleeting moment - almost too fast to register fully - Harm found himself wondering what those lips would feel like before he looked away again. Quickly turning his head to the front again, Harm wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He was *not* attracted to men. And even if he was, Clayton Webb was the *last* man he'd be attracted to.
But Clay didn't move, speaking into Harm's ear once more. "Tall blond in black jeans and a grey button-down shirt," he said.
Harm finally noticed the man, nodding as he picked up his water again, wishing that it was something a little stronger.
Clay signaled the waitress for the check. "Where to now?" he asked, and Harm smiled at the young woman when she approached the table, ignoring Clay's question for the moment. Clay paid the bill, frowning now, and pulled on Harm's arm. "Come on," he muttered, turning around to leave the restaurant, leaving Harm to follow.
Catching up with Clay outside, Harm saw the anger on the smaller man's face. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked.
"You were flirting with the waitress," Clay accused.
"I was not," Harm denied, although he knew he was lying. "I *smiled* at her. That's not flirting."
"You were flirting, Harm," Clay said again. "You always flirt. With everyone."
"I -"
Clay looked up at him as they stood on the sidewalk, people passing by them. "You may not be aware of it, but you do. Every woman who comes into your orbit gets that patented Harmon Rabb smile. And not just women. Hell, Harm, you even flirt with *me* when you want something from me." He looked around, as if suddenly realizing that they were on a public street and other people could overhear the conversation. Turning away, Clay started back down the street. "Come on," he said again, leaving Harm with no real option but to follow him once again.
"Look, Webb -"
"Shut up, Harm," Clay said, not looking at him. "We are *not* discussing this in public."
"Where are we going?" Harm asked.
"Back to the hotel," Clay said, his eyes still straight ahead. "I have to finish going over that paperwork before tonight's meeting with my contact."
"I'll see you there, then," Harm decided, stopping.
Clay stopped as well, and Harm saw his shoulders rise and fall as he sighed before turning around, moving to stand so close that Harm could see the gold flecks in the man's hazel eyes. "Harm, I told you last night -"
"I can take care of myself, Webb," Harm said quietly. "Don't worry. I'll be on time to go to the club with you as your cover. I just need some time alone."
Clay stared at him. "Just promise me you won't go chasing after some skirt, okay? The last thing I need is for someone there tonight to have seen you romancing a woman." Harm felt his jaw tighten as Clay continued, placing a hand on Harm's chest as he spoke. "You're here - with *me* - as a gay American tourist. Remember that." The hand slid up to touch Harm's cheek before Clay turned and left him standing there. "Have fun," he called back.
Harm stood there, trying to understand his reaction to the touch of Clayton Webb's hand on his cheek. His heart was beating abnormally fast, as if he'd just run five miles, his knees were shaking, and the air around him felt suddenly cool against Harm's fevered skin. What the *hell* was happening to him?
He started walking, ending up near a corner pub that reminded him vaguely of McMurphy's back in DC. Feeling the need of at least semi-familiar surroundings, Harm went inside and sat down at the bar, ordering a pint.
The majority of the crowd seemed to be sightseers, Harm decided, watching the room behind him in the mirror behind the bar. After finishing his pint, Harm felt a bit more relaxed, but still as confused as ever. He and Clay had touched before without him reacting this way - as if every nerve ending in his body had come to life.
It was just the situation, he decided, the pretense of being gay and being Clay's partner was planting ideas in his head - ideas that had no business being there. He loved Mac - even though he still wasn't able to tell *her* that - and had no desire to be with anyone else. Especially a man. Especially *Clay*. He lifted his mug to let the barman know that he needed a refill, and glanced in the mirror again to see the blond man from the restaurant entering the pub.
Harm watched as the man approached the bar, sitting down next to him. The barman gave Harm his drink as the man said, "I'll have the same." He was English, Harm decided. "Hello," he said, smiling at Harm.
"Hi."
"You're a Yank, aren't you?"
"Guilty," Harm said, smiling at the man's reflection in the mirror. "Here on vacation with a friend."
The man's blue eyes glittered. "Didn't I see you last night?"
"Might have," Harm admitted. "Depends on where you were."
"I don't think I'd mistake seeing a face like yours," the man said. "I'm Ian," he said.
Harm nodded, picking up his mug as he gave the name that he and Clay had agreed upon for public distribution. "David." It was his middle name, and, as Clay had pointed out, more generic than "Harm". Harm pushed the man's comment about his looks aside, since they only reinforced Clay's stated reason for asking Harm to accompany him.
"Where's your friend?" Ian asked, looking around.
"Went back to the hotel," Harm said, finishing his drink. Putting his hand into his pocket, he started to pull out some money, but Ian put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Allow me. Hands across the water and all that."
"That's okay," Harm said, stepping back enough to break the physical contact. "I'd rather pay." He put some money onto the counter, sliding it toward the barman, who nodded his thanks.
"See you around, David," Ian said as Harm turned away.
"You r knr know," Harm nodded, leaving the pub.
Halfway back to the hotel, Harm stopped to look into a storefront window and caught sight of Ian out of the corner of his eye. Entering the store, he glanced at the menswear it contained for a moment, picking out a pair of charcoal grey slacks, then spoke to the gentleman behind the counter. "Excuse me - I'm being followed - is there a back way out of here - into an alley or something?"
The man looked at him. "Oh, dear," he sighed, sounding alarmed. "Should I call the authorities?"
"No, I just need an escape route," Harm said.
The man pointed to the back of the store. "Past the fitting rooms - you go through to them, and past them, there's a door that opens into the alley beyond."
"Thanks," Harm said. "If you don't mind, I'll leave these in the fitting room in case he's watching through the windows."
"Of course," the man said, watching as Harm went into the fitting room area. The actual rooms were visible from outside, but the doors were double swinging doors, open at the top and the bottom. Harm went into the one closest to the back door, and dropped the gray slacks onto the bench inside before dropping to the floor and sliding beneath the doors - unseen from outside because of the counters and racks of clothing. He stayed close to the floor until he was sure he wouldn't be seen, then opened the back door and peered into the alley beyond to make sure that Ian hadn't somehow guessed what he was going to do.
Once in the alley, he went to the entrance and flagged down a taxi instead of walking back to the hotel.
******
Clay looked up when Harm entered the room. "Have fun?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Harm said, dropping onto the sofa. "Saw your friend from the bar last night again," he said conversationally, and saw Clay look at him, frowning. "His name's Ian, by the way."
Clay got up. "You *talked* to him?"
"He tried to buy me a drink in a pub," Harm explained. "I *thought* he was trying to pick me up," Harm said, linking his hands behind his neck as he stretched his legs out in front of him.
"I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"
"But when he followed me, I decided there was more to it than that."
"He *followed* you?" Clay was standing up now, looking alarmed.
"I lost him, Clay," Harm said, not moving. "Ducked into a men's shop and snuck out the back, then took a taxi here."
"Damn," Clay sighed, dropping onto the other end of the sofa. "He'll be there tonight, and this time he'll be watching me."
"You think he's another spook?" Harm questioned.
"Probably." Clay stood up and started to pace. "If he is there, I'll need something to distract him -"
Harm shook his head as Clay turned to look at him, a speculative gleam in his hazel eyes. *Hazel with gold flecks,* Harm thought, recalling seeing them up close earlier. "No, Webb."
"Just a couple of drinks, Harm," Clay said. "And then I'll be back and run him off. I promise. Just long enough for me to touch bases with my contact."
"And what am I supposed to tell him you're doing while I'm sitting there alone?"
"That I'm in the men's room," Clay said. "Like last night."
Harm rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay. But if he wants anything more than a couple of drinks -"
"I give you my word," Clay promised again. "I'll be back before you know it."
********
The club was even more crowded than it had been the previous evening, Harm decided, waving away the fog of tobacco smoke that seemed determined to surround him. Moments afHarmHarm and Clay had sat down, he saw Ian sitting at the bar alone. Clay finished his first glass of scotch and turned to Harm. They had deliberately put on an air of being out of sorts with each other as soon as they spotted the man, so that Harm's offer to buy him a drink would seem genuine instead of a set up. "I'll be right back," he said shortly. "Get me a refill."
Harm nodded, picking up the empty glass and taking it to the bar, "accidentally" bumping into Ian, who was heading in the same direction as Clay had gone. "Ian, isn't it?" he asked, giving the man a bright smile.
"Uh, yes," Ian said, glancing at him before looking toward Clay's retreating back. "David, right?"
"Told you we'd see each other again," Harm pointed out.
"Actually, I believe that *I* was the one who said that," Ian pointed out.
"Doesn't really matter. Let me buy you a drink?" he asked, deliberately increasing the wattage of his smile.
"What about your friend?"
"He's sulking about something," Harm said. "Being moody. I'm looking for some fun tonight. Drink?" he offered again, putting his arm around Ian's shoulders and turning him toward his and Clay's table, where his own beer was still sitting. "What'll you have?" he asked once they were sitting down again. He lifted his hand to get the attention of a waiter.
Seeing Ian's assessing gaze, Harm almost wished he could rephrase his question. The man sat back, looking more relaxed. "Bourbon. Neat," he said in a crisp tone.
"Bourbon neat," Harm told the waiter, who had been giving him the eye the previous evening. "And I'll have another beer."
"Right away, sir," the waiter said with a smile and wink, taking Clay's empty glass with him as he left.
"You've made a big hit, you know," Ian said, sliding his arm along the back of Harm's chair. "With your looks, you could have your pick of almost any man in here, I'd wager."
"Ah, but I'd prefer to be wanted for more than just my looks," Harm said, grinning as he picked up his glass. Maybe Clay was right. He *did* flirt. A little.
He felt Ian's hand against his back, and fought the shiver of distaste that it sent through him. "Well, it's a start, isn't it? One has to get close to find out if there's more than just a pretty face," he said, glancing up as the waiter returned with their drinks.
"Thanks," Harm said. "Put it on the tab." He glanced toward the area in which Clay had disaredared, willing the man to suddenly appear.
"So, how long have you and your friend been together?"
"A long time," Harm said. He *had* known Clay for a long time, he reasoned. So he wasn't lying.
"Where do you live in the States?"
"Vermont," Harm answered, sticking to the cover story Clay had laid out. "He's in computer software."
"And what do you do?" Ian asked, looking at Harm over the rim of his glass. His hand had moved up Harm's back and was resting on Harm's neck, his thumb rhythmically rubbing the sensitive skin there.
Harm smiled. "Whatever I want to," he answered, glancing across the restaurant as he took a drink of his beer.
"Sounds interesting. So you're - not dependent on your friend for - financial matters? Say - a place to stay while you're in London?"
"I'm my own man, if that's what you're asking," Harm replied as the man's fingers moved to circle his ear.
"You know, David, I think it's positively shameless the way you let him ignore you," Ian said, and Harm realized that he was sitting closer, his lips practically touching Harm's ear as he spoke. "You deserve someone who'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated -"
Harm didn't move except to pick up his beer again. "Uh, Ian - I’m flattered, but -"
"You're not interested," Ian said, starting to pull away. "Why don't I go see what keeping your friend?" he suggested, moving to stand up.
"No," Harm said as he grabbed the man's arm, keeping him in the chair. "I didn't say I wasn't interested, exactly," he said, and Ian smiled at him. Harm felt the other man's hand slide around his neck, felt that hand applying ever so slight pressure to bring Harm closer to him. Harm swallowed as he felt Ian's lips touch his and struggled to keep the bile down that rose in response to the kiss.
"What the hell's this?" Clay asked, and Harm pushed Ian away, giving Clay a look of gratitude, anger, and guilt all at the same time. "I leave you alone for a couple of minutes and you're kissing the first guy you see?"
"It was more than a 'couple' of minutes, friend," Ian pointed out smoothly. "I think he'd rather be with someone who'll pay attention to him instead of spending all evening in the loo."
Several other patrons of the bar were watching and listening as the scene unfolded. Clay's eyes turned to Harm. "Is that true, David?" he asked. "Would you rather be with someone else?"
Harm shook off the nausea that was still threatening as a result of Ian's kiss, and answered. "No," he said. "I was just -"
"Flirting," Clay finished for him. "And as usual you went too far." Clay tossed some money onto the table before turning to look at Harm. "One of these days, David," he said gently, lifting a hand to Harm's face, cupping it, "I'm going to leave you to face the consequencf yof your actions. But not tonight. Come on. Let's go back to the hotel," he said, sounding disappointed and not so much angry as accepting of his partner's flirtatiousness. Harm preceded Clay from the table, heading for the doors.
Once outside, Harm drew a deep breath of cool air into his lungs, still fighting the queasiness in his stomach while Clay called for a taxi. Harm shook his head. "I'd rather walk a few minutes," he said. "Clear my head."
"Okay," Cnoddnodded, bending to the window of the taxi that had stopped. "Start the meter and meet up three blocks up the street," he said.
The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb again.
"I told you buy him a drink, Harm," Clay muttered. "Not kiss him."
"I *didn't* kiss him," Harm replied. "*He* kissed *me*."
Clay exhaled loudly. "You need a keeper, Rabb," he said, shaking his head as he placed a hand on Harm's back and gave him a concerned look. "You okay? You look a little green around the gills."
Harm noticed Clay glancing behind them before he pushed Harm into an alleyway. "Put your head down," he suggested. "And take deep breaths."
"I've been doing that," Harm told him, bending over. "It hasn't helped." He stood there, continuing to gulp down fresh air as Clay rubbing his back in soothing, circular movements. At last Harm felt the nausea begin to fade, and slowly straightened back up.
"Feel better?" Clay asked, the concern visible in his eyes as he continued to rub Harm's back through his shirt.
"Yeah. Thanks, Clay."
"No problem. Let's go find that cab. I think your new friend gave up on finding us when he saw the cab moving down the street."
"Don't remind me of him," Harm said, not bothering to suppress the shudder at the memory of Ian's lips against his.
"I can't take you anywhere, Harm," Clay sighed, but he was smiling again as he said it.
The taxi was parked where Clay told the driver to wait, and the two men got inside.
******
Harm heard Clay drop his room key onto the table beside the door as he moved toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced.
"Okay." He heard the concern that still lingered in Clay's voice, but wasn't in any shape to react to it. At the moment, all Harm wanted to do was try and wash the scent and memory of Ian from his body and his mind. A long shower seemed just the thing. Going into the bathroom, he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could stand, and then stripped out of his clothes, leaving them on the floor before stepping under the water, grabbing the bar of hotel soap. He started scrubbing the back of his neck, and then his face, trying to get rid of every trace of Ian's touch on his skin.
"Harm?"
He jumped as he heard Clay's voice and saw his shadow on the other side of the plastic shower curtain. For a moment, he wondered how the CIA agent had gotten into the room, and then remembered that he hadn't locked the door to the bathroom. "What?"
"Just making sure you're okay. You've been in there for a long time."
"I'm fine," Harm said over the sound of the water. "How long have I been in here?"
"Almost an hour," Clay told him, and Harm blinked. An *hour*?! He *never* took long showers. Not alone, anyway. "Harm?
He leaned back against the cool tiles, trying to breathe. "I'm okay," he said, and wondered why he didn't *sound* okay. He saw Clay's hand reach through the curtain to turn off the water before it disappeared, only to reappear holding a towel.
"Here," Clay said. "I'll get you something to wear."
Harm nodded instead of saying anything as he took the towel, suddenly feeling tired and incapable of stringing two words together. A moment later he heard Clay come back into the bathroom.
"Your sweats are on the back of the door," he said.
Harm nodded, not realizing that Clay couldn't hear him.
"Harm?
"Thanks," Harm managed.
Once he heard the door close again, Harm opened the curtain and stepped out of the tub, grabbing the sweats from the hook on the door and putting them on. He went to the sink and turned on the water, intending to brush his teeth, but when he looked into the mirror, he froze, sled led by the look on his face, the knowledge that he'd kissed another man - and the bile rose again. This time, he was unable to stop it and he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach.
He felt Clay's hand on his back again, the same soothing, circular motions as before, and then a wet washcloth against his face. Those same hands gently assisted Harm to his feet and out of the bathroom to the bed, pulling the covers over him as Harm started to shiver and curled up into a fetal position.
"C-c-cold," he said between chattering teeth. "S-s-so c-c-cold."
The lights went out, and Clay was gone, leaving Harm shivering in delayed reaction to what had happened - until he felt something warm against his back and moved closer to it, seeking it out like a child might seek out the warmth of someone who loves him for solace. Closing his eyes, Harm felt safe and protected, and started to relax. He heard someone muttering soothing words, rubbing his arm, assuring him that he was safe and everything would be okay. Harm slowly felt his body begin to relax and he drifted off to sleep.
******
When he opened his eyes the next morning, it was to the already familiar sound of Clay answering the door to let room service in with their breakfast. The smell of hot coffee finished waking him, and he turned over, trying to remember something that was important. But the previous evening after he and Clay had left the club was hazy and he could only recall bits and pieces.
Sitting up, he saw Clay glance in his direction as he poured a cup of coffee. "Feeling better this morning?" he asked. The other man was already dressed, not a hair out of place as usual.
"Yeah," Harm nodded, taking the coffee. "Thanks."
He saw Clay looking at him for a moment before Clay smiled and shook his head. "Breakfast is here if you're hungry. Pancakes this morning. For both of us."
"I'll bet you ordered bacon on the side for you," Harm said with grin as he got out of bed and wandered over to the desk.
Clay grinned as he removed the cover from his plate. "Sausage."
"Ugh," Harm said. "You're hopeless, Clay."
"Never know what you're missing til you try it, Harm," he replied, spearing a link with his fork and holding it out. "Want one?"
Harm opened his mouth to refuse, then said, "*Just* one," he nodded, watching as Clay dropped the link onto his plate.
The men ate in silence for a few minutes before Clay spoke again. "I can get you cketcket back to DC. This was mistake -"
Harm frowned. "What about your mission?" he asked. "Is it finished?"
"No. I need to meet with my contact at least two more times. But I'll figure out another way to do it."
"I'm not going anywhere, Webb," Harm declared, standing up to refill his coffee, and then held up the pot in silent question.
"Thanks," Clay nodd "H "Harm, this was a stupid idea -," he sighed, watching Harm pour the coffee. "There's no reason for you to have to face Ian again."
"I doubt he'll bother with me again," Harm said. "Especially after you told him I was a habitual flirt."
Clay looked surprised. "Is that an admission that I was right?"
Harm waited until he was sitting down before answering. "You're the one that said it," he said. "Not me. Seriously, Clay. I'll be fine. Ian just - caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting him to -"
"And if it were to happen again?" Clay asked.
Harm felt his stomach twist into a knot, and he dropped his fork onto the plate, pushing the half-eaten pancakes away, his appetite gone. "I'll handle it," he declared, "I agreed to help you out, and I refuse to go running back to DC with my tail between my legs."
"You're sure?" Clay wondered, watching him closely. "If you decided to leave, I wou't h't hold it against you."
"I'm sure," Harm declared, moving toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a *quick* shower and get dressed -" As he passed the bed, he frowned as he noticed that the side he hadn't slept looked as if it had been neatly made up - and Harm paused, frowning at a memory of something - or someone - keeping him warm as he fell asleep. Slowly, he turned around to look at Clay. "Did you -?"
Clay was watching him again, as if trying to decide how to answer thestiostion. "You were in shock, Harm. Shivering so badly that your teeth were chattering. It was the only way that I knew of to keep you warm. It's a typical response after someone's feels they've been violated in some way."
"I wasn't -" Harm started to deny, but Clay stood up.
"Yes, you were. If I hadn't needed to go back there tonight, I'd have probably decked Ian and told him to keep his hands and lips to himself. And I'm sorry that wasn't able to."
Harm laughed nervously. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Webb."
"You weren't in any shape to do it," Clay pointed out, those hazel eyes locked onto his, daring Harm to deny his words. "You could barely stand on your own two feet, much less take someone out." Harm looked down at his feet.
"Thanks," Harm said at last. "And I'll stay to see this through," he told Clay, who nodded once. "What's on for today?"
"Hanging around here, mostly," Clay said, looking through one of the high windows of their room. "The fog's so thick you can cut it with a knife. You said something about bringing some case files along to read?"
"Yeah. The Admiral thought I needed to catch up a little afteing ing locked up," he said with a grim smile. "I'll ack ack in a minute," he said, continuing on to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes out of his suitcase and the closet en route.
The remainder of the morning was spent in a companionable silence as both men attended to business. Harm was reading over a file he'd brought, trying to get a handle on a good defense for a Petty Officer accused of stealing tires from the motor pool for his personally owned Hum-Vee. Glancing up, he saw Clay stretching, wincing before he brought a hand to his neck.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Sitting still staring at this computer too long, I guess," Clay explained. "My neck's stiff."
Closing his file, Harm placed it on the sofa with the others before standing up and approaching Clay's chair. As soon as he was close, Clay closed the laptop. Harm grinned, placing his hands on Clay's shoulders, massaging the tight muscles there.
"I guess I haven't earned the right to know what's going on," he commented, continuing to move his fingers.
"My contact is a man named Achmed al Faad," Clay explained, bending his head forward so that Harm could work on the muscles on the back of his neck. "He's from Afghanistan and occasionally gets information for me about Al Quaeda."
"Why all the secrecy?" Harm asked.
"Contrary to what you might think, it's not because I like playing spook," Clay answered. "If it were discovered that Achmed as been funneling information to the CIA, his life would be in danger."
"Why the bar? Couldn't he find another place to meet?"
"It was his decision," Clay said.
"He's gay?" Harm asked, and felt Clay's chuckle.
"Hardly. He's no more gay than you are. He's married to an Englishwoman and has three kids. Guess he figured that he'd be less likely to run into someone he knows there." Clay sighed and relaxed. "That feels good. Anyone ever tell you that you've got magic fingers, Harm?" he asked.
Harm smiled. "A few."
"No wonder your girlfriends stay around so long - afraid to lose out on Harmon Rabb's Therapeutic Magic Massaging fingers," Clay said, and Harm was suddenly aware of an air of tension in the room that almost a thick as the fog outside of the window. Not sure of the reason for the tension, Harm lifted his hands from Clay's shoulders and put half the room between them.
"Better?" he asked, picking up another folder without looking at Clay. He knew that Clay had turned to look at him, his eyes revealing their disappointment that the massage was finished.
"Yeah," Clay said. "Thanks."
Tossing the file back with the others, Harm sighed, stretching his own shoulders. "I need to run," he said. "I haven't since we left DC. Didn't I see something in one of the hotel brochures about a gym downstairs?" he asked.
"There's a fully equipped gym, running/walking track and a full-sized Olympic pool in the basement," Clay recalled.
"I think I'll change and go down there for a little while," Harm decided, pausing halfway to the bathroom to ask, "Care to jme?\me?"
"Running? No, thank you. The only running I do is if I don't have any other choice."
"You did in the '88 Olympics," Harm reminded him, thinking. "Shooting, fencing, riding, swimming *and* running."
"Ancient history, Harm," Clay said, and then frowned. "How did you know about that?"
"When we thought you were dead Bud Bud and I went to your place," Harm reminded him. "Come on, Webb." He smiled cajolingly. "A run will do you good."
Clay looked at him. "You're doing it again," he said with a sigh.
"Doing what?"
"Flirting to get me to do what you want me to," Cllarilarified.
"I wasn't," Harm denied, grimacing as he realized Clay was right. "I was. Damn."
Clay laughed. "I won't hold it against you, Harm. I learned a long time ago that your flirting doesn't menythnything. You can't stop anymore than you can stop breathing. Go on. Have your run. I might be down later to take a few laps around the pool."
"Good," Harm said, grabbing his shorts from the suitcase as he continued toward the bathroom. "Because I need someone I can trust spotting for me on the weights."
Once the hotel room door closed behind Harm, Clay sat forward at the computer, burying his head in his hands. Harm *trusted* him. He wouldn't if he ever found out the real reason that Clay had practically begged him to help on this mission. It had been pure hell last night, being so close to Harm and not being able to do more than comfort him after his reaction to Ian kissing him and touching him.
He should have pressed the issue about Harm returning to DC, he decided. He wasn't comfortable with the role he was being asked to play - but Clay also knew that he *wanted* Harm there, close by. And by God, he wasn’t going to end this early. If all they could ever be was the friends, then he'd take that as better than being enemies or not registering on Harm's radar at all.
********
Harm was just finishing his run when he saw Clay enter the open basement area. He waved, smiling as hw thw that Clay was wearing a very conservative swimsuit. "Have fun?" Clay asked as Harm jogged toward him.
"Yeah. Worked off some of the energy. You going for a swim?" Harm was surprised to discover that the tailored three-piece suits that Clay usually wore were hiding a body that was more muscular than it appeared to be. Harm caught himself up, dismissing it from his mind.
"I thought I might - unless you need me to spot for you?"
"Tell you what, spot for me and then we'll *both* go for a swim."
"Sounds like a deal," Clay nodded and moved with Harm over to the weight bench, helping Harm placed the weights onto the bar.
"You've done this before," Harm said, glancing up at him.
"There's a weight room at Langley," Clay explained, moving to the head of the bench as Harm lay down, placing his hands on the bar outside of Clay's.
"I can't quite see you bench pressing, Clay," Harm said, lifting the bar up and out of the holder.
"I don't usually. But I spot for some of the others on occasion," he said, watching Harm lower and lift the bar several times. Counting silently, Harm was surprised to find that he was struggling a bit when he reached thirty, his arms were starting to protest, straining against the weight they were being asked to move.
He was grateful when Clay grabbed the bar and got it back into the holders. "Thanks," he said, out of breath. Sitting up, he grabbed a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. "Want to give it a try?"
"I'll stick timmiimming," Clay said, grinning as he turned toward the door that into the cavernous swimming area. It wasn't busy - in fact, Clay only two two other people in the area - and they might have been hotel employees. It being during the school year, there were few children staying at the hotel to play around, something for which Clay was grateful as he stripped off the t-shirt he was wearing, dropping it onto a deck chair, and dove cleanly into the water, feeling it glide past him in a way that never stopped amazing him. Swimming was one of those things that he enjoyed doing and didn't do nearly enough of.
As he swam thegth gth of the pool, he sat Harm standing on the diving board, and remained at the edge to watch the man dive into the pool and come back up. Grinning, Clave uve under the water and came up behind him, grabbing Harm's shoulder to push him back under the water as well.
Laughing, Clay watched Harm surface, sputtering and shaking the water from his hair and face. "Oh, so that's the way you want this to go down," Harm said, and Clay dove back into the water, with Harm right behind. Reaching the stairs, Clay thought he had the battle won, but suddenly Harm's hand clasped firmly around Clay's ankle. "You're not going anywhere, Clay," he muttered playfully.
Clay returned his playful smile. "Let me go and I’ll race you across the pool and back," he promised.
"Winner gets to pick where we eat dinner this evening," Harm challenged.
"You're on," Clay agreed, releasing the handrail and falling back into the water, splashing Harm in the process.
Harm reaching the 'finish line' just seconds ahead of Clay. "No fair," Clay accused. "You're taller than I am."
"No, *you* are out of practice," Harm countered, poking him in the chest with a finger. "Look at you. You're out of breath, shaking. How often do you exercise?"
"Not as often as I should," Clay admitted, lifting himself out of the pool with his arms to sit on the edge, letting his legs dangle in the water. "With my schedule -"
"Mine's not much better," Harm pointed out, resting his arms on the tiles. "But I find the time. You have to make the time. Figure out a schedule and stick to it if at all possible. You're a prime candidate for a heart attack as it is. High-stress job, you don't rit right, don't exercise -"
"Your job is high stress," Clay pointed out.
"One out of three," Harm snorted.
"Why are you so concerned about having a heart attack?" Clay asked.
"My mother's father died at forty-five after a heart attack," Harm explained.
"And you father and paternal grandfather died flying airplanes. But you do that."
"Now you're starting to sound like my mother," Harm said, pushing off the wall for another lap across the pool.
*********
"Have you decided where we're going to eat?" Clay asked, giving Harm a surprised look as he came out of the bathroom to find Harm wearing a suit and tie.
"Alamains," Harm said without hesitation. Seeing Clay's expression, Harm grinned. "Too expensive for your expense account?" he teased.
"No. But last I heard, they don't serve red meat."
"Which is exactly why I chose it," Harm pointed out as Clay fastened his vest and slipped into the suit jacket.
"What about reservations?" Clay said. "I'm sure it's not easy to -"
"Already done," Harm said. "I called while you were in the shower. We have a table reserved for eight."
Clay glanced at his watch. "Then we'd better get going, hadn't we?"
"After you," Harm said, opening the door into the hallway.
*****
Harm wasn't sure why he was suddenly so more relaxed around Clay. Maybe it was the fact that the CIA agent had gone out of his way to help him the previovenivening. "Above and beyond" was the term he used for Clay's actions. While he and Clay differed on some views, he was finding that he enjoyed the man's company. Even the prospect of having to "pretend" to be Clay's boyfriend at the bar later didn't phase him for once.
They were friends, whether either of them said the words aloud or not. He owed Clay a lot - for getting information he needed over the years - sometimes at the risk of his own career - and for bringing Sergei back to DC, getting him out of that POW camp. Sure Clay's missions usually ended in disaster, but Harm felt able to handle whatever might be tossed his way. He'd agreed to help Clay in London because after a month in the brig without any of his friends coming to see him, Harm had needed time away from DC and JAG, time to get his head clear.
Watching as Clay finished the chicken dish he'd ordered, he asked, "So, how was it?"
"Not bad," Clay admitted, albeit reluctantly. "How come I hahe uhe uneasy feeling that you've decided I need someone to watch what I eat?"
"Because you do," Harmlarelared. "I need a project."
"Oh, so now I'm one of your obsessions," Clay returned. "No thanks. I already have a mother to nag me."
"I can't see your mother nagging you about anything, Clay," Harm said. "And it's not an obsession."
Clay signaled the waiter to bring the check, and Harm thought he saw the man pale just slightly as he looked t ant and handed over a credit card to pay for it. "Unless we're going to wear these suits to the bar, we need to stop in at the hotel en route." He signed the credit card ticket, adding a tip for the waiter's attentiveness, and then looked at Harm again. "You're sure you want to go with me? You don't have to if you think you'll feel uncomfortable."
"They'll just think that I'm embarrassed about last night," Harm pointed out. "And if Ian starts after you, I'll stop him by telling him that I want to apologize -"
"You stay away from Ian, Harm," Clay said, and Harm was momentarily shocked by the determination in the other man's voice. "I mean it."
******
For all Harm's big talk about being "able to handle" going back to the bar, when he stood on the sidewalk outside waiting for Clay to pay the taxi driver, he felt his knees start to shake. What if Ian was inside, he wondered. Would he be able to face the man without showing his distaste?
rm?\rm?" Clay questioned quietly, and Harm felt the warmth of Clay's hand through the sleeve of his black shirt. "It's not too late to change your mind. I can flag down another taxi -" he lifted his other hand to do just that, but Harm reached up to grab it.
"No. I'll be fine," he said.
"Deep breaths," Clay said, taking one himself as an example. "In -" he paused, waiting for Harm to follow his lead "- and out." Clay smiled. "That's it. Better now?"
"Yeah." He suddenly realized that he was still holding Clay's hand, and broke the contact with a surprising regret. "Let's get this over with."
"It's like getting back into an F-14 after your ramp strike," Clay suggested. "You were probably terrified."
"Truthfully?" Harm asked, and then smiled. "I was petrified."
"But you got through it, and you'll get through this. Now *breathe*," Clay prompted again, and took Harm's arm to lead him toward the front doors of the bar.
Harm and Clay went to their "usual" table and sat down momentforefore the waiter approached, giving Harm a sympathetic smile. "Glad you came back," he said. "I wasn't sure you would. Your usual?" he asked. "American beer and scotch?"
"Thanks," Clay said, shaking his head as the young man moved away toward the bar. "I think you made a conquest in that one," he said to Harm, his eyes scanning the crowd as he spoke.
"Ian said the same thing last night," Harm informed him. "Suggested that I dump you for someone who could appreciate me."
Clay's eyes were on him again, and Harm wondered why it was so hard to breathe. "Believe me, I appreciate you - David," he added with a grin as his hand slid over Harm's. "More than you know." The waiter returned with the drinks, his smile both regretful and relieved to see them obviously getting along after the previous night. Heaving a deep sigh, the waiter moved on to another table. "Ian's here," Clay said, maintaining both the eye and physical contact. "Your three o'clock. I don't think he's seen us."
Harm picked up his beer and glanced to his right. Ian was standing at the bar, talking to another man that Harm didn't recall having seen there before. The second man moved away, and Ian's blue eyes found Harm. Trying to hide his gut-wrenching reaction to the man, Harm managed to smile and lift his glass before turning back to Clay. "He has now."
As Harm focused on the beer sitting before him, he felt Clay lift his hand and press his lips against the palm. "You're going to have to play along, Harm," Clay said, reaching up to touch Harm's cheek and turn his face towards his. "I have to go," he said, and Harm braced himself for the same sense of nausea and revulsion as he'd felt the night before as Clay's lips met his in a brief caress before Clay pulled back. "Stay out of trouble."
Harm nodded, but if someone had asked him what Clay had said after the kiss, he would have been hard pressed to tell them. He felt as if he'd just received an electrical shock throughout his entire body. The expected feelings weren't there. Instead, Harm had felt butterflies - *butterflies!* - in his stomach, fluttering madly. He felt flushed, and fevered, - nothing at all like he'd felt after Ian had kissed him. This had been - unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and as he picked up his beer, he realized that his hand was shaking.
Looking at the beer, Harm noticed a movement to his right, and saw Ian heading for the restroom area. Recalling Clay's admonition that he not have anything to do with the man, Harm also knew that if Ian *was* a spy, Clay might be hurt, and Harm didn't want that happen. They were friends, after all, Harm told himself as he stood up. And he protected his friends as best he could. Even if that meant having to confront a man who made his skin crawl.
"Ian!" he called out, rising to his feet and quickly intercepting the man, giving him a nervous and - he hoped - an embarrassed smile.
"What do you want?" Ian asked.
"Just to apologize for last night," Harm began.
"Fine apology accepted," Ian said, starting to move past him.
"What's your hurry? I don't think you really accept my apology, Ian," he said.
"Look, I don't need this, okay? If you want to make that friend of yours jealous, go find someone else to play with. I've got other things to do than to salve the conscience of a cock-tease."
Harm blanched at the accusation. "I wasn't - I mean, I was just trying to have a little fun, like I said. It didn't mean anything, -"
"Fine, fine," Ian nodded, looking past Harm and frowning.
Seeing that look, Harm thought that maybe Clay was had returned and slowly turned, expecting to see him. But the only person he saw was the man who had been with Ian at the bar earlier, heading down the hallway past the restroom, another man with him.
Harm froze when he felt Ian's hand fall on his shoulder. "Why don't we have a drink and talk about it, David?" he suggested, turning Harm back toward the table. "Perhaps we can think of a suitable way for you to make things up to me, eh?"
Sitting down at the table, Harm noticed that his beer was almost empty. "I'll get some refills," he said to Ian, starting to stand up. But Ian grabbed Harm's forearm to prevent the move.
"Why don't we let Gary do it?" he suggested smoothly, lifting his free hand to summon the waiter to the table. "After all, that's what he's paid to do."
Harm looked up at Gary, sending him a silent message, hoping that the younger man would pick up on what he needed. "Can I get you something?" he asked, looking at Harm.
"Another beer for my Yank friend," Ian said. "And a bourbon for me."
"Right away," Gary promised.
Harm pulled his arm out of Ian's strong grip. "Now," Ian said as he placed his hand once again on Harm's shoulder, "what were we talking about?"
"I was apologizing for last night. Sometimes I go a little overboard."
"Yes," Ian agreed, lifting a finger to trace the line of Harm's jaw. "I'm sure you do."
Harw Gaw Gary return with a tray full of drinks, several of them containing ice. As he reached their table, he balanced the tray on the edge, very close to where Ian was sitting - and accidentally let it fall - directly into Ian's lap.
The blond yelped and jumped out of his seat, releasing his hold on Harm, yelling. "You bloody fool! You did that deliberately!" he accused.
"No, sir," Gary insisted as he took a towel from his arm and started trying to blot at the wet spot on Ian's trousers.
Harme hie him a quick 'thumbs up' and took off for the hallway beyond the bathrooms.
There was a metal fire door there, clearly marked "EXIT", and when Harm was through it, he looked up and down the alley that he found himself in. The faint sounds of a scuffle seemed to be coming from the road just nd tnd the corner of the building, and Harm approached cautiously, only to be startled as a wide-eyed Middle-Eastern man leapt out from behind a trash dumpster, nearly knocking him over in his haste to escape by running the opposite direction.
Once he recovered, Harm peeked around the corner and saw two men - one of them Ian's friend from the bar - hitting Clay as they stood beside a car with doors open and waiting.
Knowing that he wasn't going to have long before Ian discovered as gas gone and followed, Harm moved to the first man, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey!" he said, and when the man turned around, Harm through a punch into the man's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and sending him to the ground hard.
With only one opponent, Clay managed to land a kick on the second man's leg, and Harm finished him off with a punch to the jaw. He winced at the pain in his hand before he realized that Clay was sliding toward the ground himself.
"Steady," he said, slipping Clay's arm over his shoulder and glancing down the short alleyway back out to the street. "This way."
"Achmed," Clay muttered.
"He got away," Harm said, half-carrying Clay out to the street and flagging down a taxi. He got Clay into the taxi and followed, glancing back down the alley just in time to see Ian come around the corner.
"Where to?" the driver asked, giving Clay and Harm a doubtful look in the rear view mirror.
"The nearest hospital," Harm announced, but Clay shook his head, wincing as though the movement was painful.
"No. The Ambassador Hotel," he told the driver.
"Clay, you need to see a doctor," Harm insisted, but Clay was adamant. "I'l fin fine," he said through cut and swollen lips. "Just a little rest -"
Harm glanced at the driver. "The hotel," he nodded.
******
Harm got Clay into the hotel through a side door after tossing the taxi driver some money, including a good size tip with the admonition, "You never saw us."
"Got a lousy memory," the driver had replied. "Good luck. Hope your friend's okay."
He had to prop Clay against the wall to get his hotel key and open the door, then closed and put on the safety chain before helping Clay over to the bed.
Going into the bathroom, Harm got a wet washcloth and went back out, sitting on the edge of the bed to try and wipe some of the blood from Clay's face. "Is my nose broken again?" Clay asked.
"I don't think so," Harm replied, not smiling at the attempted joke. "But it's going to bruise. Loose teeth?" he asked, and saw Clay moving his tongue around, checking before he shook his head, which elicited a soft moan. "Clay, you have a concussion - and probably some broken ribs - maybe internal injuries. You need to see a doctor."
"Can't risk - him finding us," Clay said, wincing as he took a deep breath. "Don't think there are any broken - ribs. Just -" he winced again, "bruised." He grabbed Harm's right hand and looked at it. "Playing the White Knight suits you," he said, studying the skinned knuckles. "How'd you know to come out there?"
"It's a long story," Harm said, going into the bathroom for a clean towel in which to place some ice from the small refrigerator/freezer under the wet bar. Coming back, he held it out to Clay, placing it against his already darkening cheek. Seeing Clay's eyes on him, Harm realized that he wasn't going to get out of explaining. "If I explain, will you please agree to let me take you to see a doctor?"
"In my suitcase - card file," Clay said.
Harm went to the suitcase and opened it. "Where?"
"Lining- at front."
Harm pulled the lining back and found not only a small leather card file, but Clay's passport as well. Leaving the passport, he took the card file back to the bed. Clay opened it and held it out. "Call him. Tell him to come here."
Frowning, Harm picked up the telephone beside the bed and dialed the number on the card, which said only, "Dr. William Morley, M.D." and the number.
"Dr. Morley," a man answered in a clipped British voice.
"Yes, I'm calling for - Clayton Webb. He's been hurt."
"Who is this?"
Harm saw Clay hold out his hand for the phone, and gave it to him. "Bill, it's Clay . . . Yeah, look, I - ran into some trouble this evening. Could you come to the Ambassador, Room 436 ASAP? . . . Thanks." He held the phone out for Harm to take. "Used to work for the Company," he told Harm, his eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing without pain. He opened one eye to look at Harm. "You owe me an explanation."
"After you - left," Harm said, glossing over his reaction to Clay's light kiss, "I saw Ian moving toward the men's room."
"So you intercepted him. After I told you not to."
"And if I hadn't, then you'd probably be who knows where by now - if not dead," Harm pointed out.
"Point taken," Clay sighed. "Go on."
"I apologized for leading him on last night - he said a few things that, well, weren't exactly complimentary - and suggested that I was trying to make you jealous, I should findeoneeone else, because he wasn't going to play the game."
"Good for him," Clay muttered, his eyes still closed.
"That's when I noticed him looking at someone behind me. I thought you were back, but it was only the man he was at the bar with when we first saw him. I saw him and another man heading down the hallway that led to the fire exit. I would have followed, but Ian insisted that I apologize again over a drink and ticatically pulled me over to the table, keeping his hand on my shoulder or arm so I wouldn't leave."
"Bastard," Harm thought he heard Clay say under his breath. "How'd you get away?" he asked, opening his eyes again.
"The waiter - Gary? He saw what was going on and somehow managed to spill an entire tray of iced drinks on Ian."
Clay tried to laugh, but wound up holding his chest, groaning. "Damn. That hurts. You might be right after all." He reached out and captured Harm's injured hand again. "Leaving you to escape and come to my rescue. I owe you."
"I figure we're even," Harm said, shaking his head. "After last night."
"You're sure Achmed got away?"
"Someone who was probably him practically mowed me down running out from behind a dumpster. About your height, thin, dark hair, needed a shave?"
"That was him. He was waiting just inside the hallway out of sight when I saw him. He motioned for me to follow him outside, and told me that there was someone else in the men's room and he didn't like their look. We'd just made the transfer when - when Ian's friends came out of the building and tried to grab us both. I distracted them long enough for him to get away, I hoped."
"You did," Harm assured him again. "I'll go rinse this out," he said, taking the washrag.
When he returned, Clay's eyes were closed and his breathing was even. Harm remained standing beside the bed, looking at him. Even with bruises and cuts, he suddenly realized that Clayton Webb was a good-looking man. Not in the classical sense, maybe, but he was. His lips - Harm once against felt that brief contact between them, and lifted his hand to his own lips, still confused and amazed by the difference in his reaction to Ian's kiss and Clay's.
Clay's eyes opened suddenly, and Harm felt the blood rushing through his ears, and then felt himself start to lean forward, closer and closer to Clay's mouth, wanting to feel that connection again -
A knock on the door brought Harm out of whatever daze he was in, and he blinked, realizing what he had been about to do. "The doctor," Clay said, and Harm nodded, unable to speak. Harm started to turn away, but Clay reached out to grab his arm. "Ask who it is first." Harm glanced down at Clay's hand, and covered it with his own before nodding and going to the door.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Dr. Morley," was the response. "I believe the code word he's looking for is 'Geronimo'."
Harm turned to look at Clay, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Clay nodded, and Harm removed the security chain and opened the door. "Dr. Morley," he said, stepping back to allow the middle-aged man into the room. "Harmon Rabb."
"You're the one who called?" he asked, going directly to the bed where Clay was laying.
"Yeah."
"Hello, Clayton. You know, you really need to come see me when you're *not* injured sometime." He inspected Clay's bruised and battered face, inspecting his nose. "It's not broken," he pronounced, and Harm gave Clay a smile. As Dr. Morley began to unbutton Clay's shirt with an impersonal touch, Harm moved to the window and looked outside. "Does that hurt?" he asked, and hearing Clay's gasp of pain, Harm turned back to look at the bed. "I'll take that as a yes," Morley said, continuing his examination, unfastening Clay's trousers to gain access to his patient's lower abdomen. "I don't believe there are any broken ribs. Cracked, perhaps. You're going to sore for a while. No internal injuries that I can find without an x-ray or other tests -" Harm saw Clay shake his head in refusal. "You've also got a concussion. I'll wrap your chest with an elastic bandage before I go, and leave some pain pilif yif you think you'll use them."
"No," Clay said more firmly than he'd said anything since the assault.
"Clay, you're in pain. If you need something -"
"No drugs, Harm," Clay insisted, his tone brooking no argument. "I need a clear head."
Harm turned away again as Dr. Morley took an elastic bandage out of his medical bag. "You're going to have to sit up, I'm afraid." Harm looked around again to se. Mo. Morley giving him a look. "Would you mind assisting, Mr. Rabb?" he said, carefully removing Clay's dirty, torn shirt.
"Harm," he told the doctor, moving around the bed again to place an arm around Clay's shoulders and gently pull him into a sitting position.
"Are you with the Company?" Morley asked as he worked to wrap the bandage around Clay's bruised and battered ribs.
Clay snorted, and instantly regretted it.
"No," Harm said. "I'm a friend."
"Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb Jr.," Clay told Morley.
"United States Navy?" Morley questioned, giving Harm a surprised look.
"He agreed to help me out on a mission," Clay explained.
"It's lucky that he did, apparently," Morley said. "I'm guessing that he's the one who also got you out of whatever trouble you'd gotten yourself into?"
"You'd guess correctly, Doctor," Harm said with a smile. 'd 'd hate to think of what might have happened if I hadn't come along when I did."
"And you said we were even," Clay muttered.
"There," Morley said, fastening the end of the bandage with clips. "Keep the cuts clean, and apply ice to the bruises. As for the concussion -"
"I know. Have someone keep an eye on me and wake me every few hours," Clay sighed as he sat there on the edge of the bed.
"I'll do that," Harm promised.
"Not much more I can do for you, Clay," Morley said.
"Harm's right hand was injured -"
"It's nothing," Harm insisted, giving Clay a look that said he knew was Clay was doing. But when Dr. Morley stood there, looking at him, Harm extended his hand. "I've had worse."
"It's going to hurt," Morley told him. "I'll clean it and bandage it, for you -" he said, and saw Harm start to object as he added, "- to ease Clay's mind."
Once he had finished with Harm's hand, Bill Morley closed his medical bag and stood up. "Call me if he gets any worse," he told Harm. "Give your mother my regards, Clay."
Harm walked to the door with the man, shaking his hand. "Thank you."
"Just doing my job, Harm," he replied. "Keep an eye on him."
"I will." Harm closed the door behind Morley, and put the security chain back into place before turning to the room. "He knows your mother?"
"He worked with my father," Clay explained. "I've known him since I was five years old." Placing a hand to his chest, he grimaced. "Can't take a deep breath with this on."
"You need some help getting into something for bed?" Harm asked.
"I think I can manage. If you'll put the blankets on the sofa -"
"No. You're sleeping in the bed tonight," Harm said, and this time it was *his* voice that refused to hear an argument.
"And you'll sleep on the sofa?"
"I doubt I'll sleep much," Harm said. "Need to wake you up every few hours, remember?"
"That's not necessary, Harm," Clay insisted, standing upthatthat he could remove his trousers. "Whoa," he said, and Harm moved quickly to keep him from falling.
"Not necessary?" he questio kee keeping Clay upright while he pulled the covers back on the bed. With the same gentleness that Clay had shown him the night before, Harm helped Clay into the bed, pulling the covers over him. "I'll be over there if you need anything."
"Harm about earlier -"
"We can talk tomorrow, Clay," Harm said quietly, and was unable to stop himself from softly touching the man's cheek. "Get some sleep." Harm reached down and picked up Clay's trousers.
"In the pocket," Clay said. "The flash memory Achmed gave me. Need to look at it -"
"Tomorrow," Harm said, folding the pants and placing them over the back of a chair. "Go to sleep." He turned out the light beside the bed.
Going into the sitting area, Harm left those lights off, recalling that first night when the light from the desk had kept *him* awake. Going to the bar, he poured some scotch into a glass. Returning to the sofa, Harm sat down, hands clasped around the glass.
For a moment, Harm allowed himself to relieve the terror he'd felt at the idea of losing Clay when he'd seen those two men beating him up and trying to force him into that car. Somehow over the last couple of days, Clay had become very important to Harm. So important that all Harm had been able to think about was getting Clay to safety and making sure he was all right. When had that happened, Harm wondered. And why?
*He's no more gay than you are.* Clay's voice. Talking about Achmed al Faad. Not 'no gay gay than you or *I* are'. He sat back on the sofa, resting his head.
Clayton Webb was gay.
No wonder Clay hadn't felt uncomfortable at that bar - or pretending to be Harm's 'partner'. So many other things were starting to make sense now. The teasing, Clay's comment about Has fls flirting. The hurt tone in his voice when he'd mentioned Harm flirting with him to get what he wanted.
He wasn't attracted to Clayton Webb, Harm thought, taking a sip of the scotch, and closed his eyes as the taste reminded him somehow of the man. The memory of that kiss returned again - along with the feelings it had evoked in him. It had been so different from his reaction to Ian's kiss.
No, just the birth of an aching, burning *need*. Something unnamed, unthinkable. Harm finished the scotch in one drink and put the glass onto the coffee table. Something that could never, ever happen, Harm reminded himself. He was straight. He was in the Navy, which didn't allow for him to be anything else. He'd never *wanted* to be anything pt apt a Naval Aviator, like his father, and his father before him.
Harm sighed, putting his head into his hands, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. How the hell was he supposed to be able to put this aside and ignore it without losing the friendship he and Clay shared?
****
A
After waking Clay up several times during the night to insure that he wasn't suffering any ill effects of the concussion he'd received, Harm went into the bathroom to take a shower before waking him up again. He'd spent all night thinking, trying to figure out what was going to happen - even *if* anything was going to happen. And whether he wanted anything to happen.
And still had no answers to give. Everything was a jumbled mess, he decided, letting the water run over his body, clearing his head. But the only thing that was clear to him was the memory of his reaction to Clay's kiss - and the fact that he wanted to see if it had been a one-time occurrence or if lightning would strike twice. The idea that it might sent Harm's mind back into the same void of confusion and uncertainty that it had been in all night.
When he opened the bathroom door, Harm saw that Clay was awake, and attempting to sit up on the edge of the bed. "What the hell are you doing?" Harm asked, crossing to the bed to place his hands on Clay's shoulders, stopping him. He pushed the way that the feel of Clay's skin beneath his hands made him feel. Giving in to it was unthinkable.
"I'm trying to get out of bed," Clay told him.
"*Not* by yourself," Harm declared, releasing Clay's shoulders and helping him up. "Take it slow," he warned as Clay rose slowly to his feet. Waiting a moment, he asked, "Dizzy?"
Clay shook his head slowly, as if expecting the dizziness to suddenly appear. "Not so far."
"Knew that hard head would come handy for something," Harm said with a grin.
Clay pointed toward the restr "I "I - uh, -" He moved stiffly, bound by the bandage around his chest.
"Okay. I'll be out here if you - need any - help," Harm said.
"I think I can handle it myself," Clay said, giving him a grin as he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
"Should I order some breakfast?" Harm asked through the door?"
"Yeah. Something light."
"Oatmeal?" Harm suggested, and smiled as he heard Clay groan loudly in refusal. "What? You don't like oatmeal?"
"I was thinking something like French toast," Clay returned. "With a side of bacon. I'll even share if you like."
"No thanks," Harm said, chuckling as he picked up the phone to call room service. "I've had my fatty meat for this week."
"We'll see," Clay said, and Harm heard the water running in the sink as he gave the order for breakfast.
When he came out, Clay was wearing his bathrobe that he'd hung on the back of the bathroom door. "How're you feeling this morning?" Harm asked, watching as the other man moved to the pants he'd worn the previous evening and stuffed a hand into one of the pockets.
"Like I was hit by a Mack truck," Clay said. "But it could have been worse if you hadn’t shown up," he said, holding up the item he'd been looking for. "The flash memory," he said, and started toward the desk.
"That can't wait?" Harm asked, itching to move forward and help, but afraid that prolonged contact Cla Clay would make him say something that would be a mistake.
"No. I need to find out if this is the last of the information.med med didn't have time to say anything last night."
"You are *not* going to meet him again," Harm said. "It would be suicide." He watched Clay gently sit down in the chair before the desk and open the laptop. Plugging the portable device into a port, he began to concentrate on the screen. "Clay, Ian's probably combing the city, trying to find out where you are. The safest thing to do is to get the hell of out here."
"Shh," Clay hissed, reading.
When a knock came at the door, Clay finally looked up from the monitor to where Harm was standing. His finger hovered over a hot-key that would delete all of the information on the computer's hard drive if pressed. "Keep the chain on the door," he said, and Harm nodded, having already made that decision as he opened the door to find the bellman that he'd seen every morning standing there.
"Breakfast, sir," the young man said with a smile.
"Just a minute," Harm said, closing the door to remove the chain before opening it again. "Sorry," he apologized when the man gave him a concerned look. "We had a little problem with someone else on the floor last night - I think he was drunk and kept insisting this was his room."
The bellman's frown deepened. "Did you call the desk about it?" he asked.
"It wasn't necessary," Harm assured him, taking Clay's wallet out of the trousers that he'd left on the bed to tip the man. "He went off to his own room finally."
"Thank you, sir," the man said, leaving the room again.
After pouring two cups of coffee, Harm carried one over to Clay, who was again engrossed in the information he'd gotten from Achmed at the risk of his own life. "Anything interesting?" Harm asked.
"Hmm."
"I gave the bellman a twenty dollar tip," Harm said conversationa
"Uh-huh."
Harm sighed and put his hand on the back of the laptop monitor, slowlshinshing it forward. "Harm!" Clay protested.
"Time for breakfast, Clay. You can bury yourself in work again after you finish." He went to the cart and brought Clay's French Toast and bacon over as Clay reluctantly moved the computer out of his way, balancing his own plate as well. "This looks good," he said, picking up his fork.
"Sure you don't want a slice of bacon?" Clay said, tempting him by waving it in front of his face. "It's really good."
"Okay," Harm agreed, and grinned when Clay looked surprised. "At least if I eat it, that's one less slice that *you'll* eat," he pointed out.
Clay laughed and cut into the French toast on his plate, then stopped, looking up at Harm with a frown. "What was that about a twenty dollar tip?"
Harm laughed out loud.
********
"I have to meet him again, Harm."
"Clay-" Harm said, ready to make every argument he could against that idea.
"I don't have any choice."
"What about the choice for survival?" Harm asked. "Clay, you could have been killed last night. If I'd gotten there two minutes later, you would have been -" Harm stopped, not wiling to consider the alternative to what he'd found in that alley. He sat down heavily on the sofa, unable to speak for fear of saying too much.
As he felt the now familiarch och of Clay's hand on his back, Harm closed his eyes, fighting the reaction rising within his body. "Harm, I'll try to contact Achmed. See if there's not an alternate location where we can meet. Someplace where Ian and his friends won't be able to reach us."
"And if he can't? If he insists on your going back to that club?"
"I'll go," Clay said, and Harm opened his eyes to look at the other man. "It's my job," Clay said, lifting a hand to touch Harm's face. "I know you don't understand, but I have the same feeling when I hear you've gone up in an F-14 or -"
Harm captured Clay's hand in his injured one, ignoring the pain in his bruised knuckles. "I'll never go up in another one if you tell Achmed that you won't meet him there," Harm promised, fully aware of what he was doing. "I could have lost you last night, Clay. I wt rit risk it happening again. Whoever Ian is working for -"
"Probably Russia," Clay supplied. "Officially, they've been supporting the war on terror. But privately, they've been trying to block every attempt we've made at gathering intelligence on bin Laden."
"I don't give a damn," Harm declared. "I won't risk it. I can't." He leaned forward, finding it almost impossible to breathe.
"Harm," Clay said gy, sy, smoothing his hair. "Look at me."
Harm shook his head, afraid of what he'd find in the other man's eyes.
"Harm," Clay said again, placing his hand beneath his chin to gently pull Harm's head over so he could see him. "I think we need to talk, don't we?"
"I don't know what we need to do, Clay," Harm said, "I can't seem to think straight when you're around, when you -touch me. K-kiss me."
Afterwards, Harm wasn't sure if those last two words had been a continuation of his previous statement, or a plea. But it didn't matter as Clay's bruised lips found his. When his arms moved to encircle tmallmaller man, he felt the gasp of pain and backed off. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
"Don't be," Clay said. "I've wanted this to happen ever since we first "
"
"Clay, I -"
"I know. You're confused, and don't know what's going to happen next. It's up to you, Harm. If you decide you don't want to acknowledge this, I'll live with that, be your friend."
"I don't know what I want," Harm sighed, resting his head against Clay's. "I've never - I'm straight. At least, I've always thought I was. I'm in the Navy, for God's sake. Something like this -"
"You don't have to make any decisions, Harm," Clay said quietly. "Nothing has to change unless you want it to. I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Will you ask Achmed to meet you somewhere else? Please?"
Clay relaxed a little, catching his breath as his ribs started to hurt again. "I'll send him an encrypted email, see if he responds. If Ian's men recognized him before he got away, he's already dead."
******
"Trafalgar Square," Clay told Harm later that afternoon as he read the email from Achmed. "Ten PM between the fountain and Nelson's Column."
"That's an awfully public place," Harm sighed.
"Which could be good," Clay pointed out. "Besides, you'll be there to watch my back," he pointed out. "Won't you?"
"Try and stop me," Harm declared.
They still hadn't really discussed what was happening, and Harm felt guilty that he was content about that fact. If they didn't talk, he wouldn't have to face the truth. Wouldn't have to admit that he might be something other than straight-arrow Harmon Rabb, Jr., poster boy for the US Navyroicroic aviator and JAG Top Gun.
"Is this the last time you have to meet him?"
"Should be."
"How much longer will we be in London?" Harm wondered.
"I think we'll leave tomorrow sometime. Depends on how things go tonight." Harm could feel Clay looking at him. "Eager to get home, Harm?" he asked.
"I'm not sure what I want at the moment, Clay," Harm sighed, moving to the suitcase and pulling out a pair of running shorts. "I'm going down to the gym fowhilwhile. Need to run." He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Will you be okay here alone?"
"Yeah. Go on."
After the door closed, Clay called himself every kind of fool in the book. It wasn't his usual style, seducing straight men. When the opportunity to spend time with Harm had come along, he'd jumped at it, never considering the idea that it might end up confusingm tom to the degree that it had. The Naval officer had always seemed so sure of his sexuality, almost always had a beautiful woman around: Mac, Bobbi Latham, Jordan Parker, Renee Peterson. Harmon Rabb defined himself by his career. Anything that inteed wed with that career was something that he would avoid like the plague.
Staring at the computer screen, Clay silently cursed whoever had arranged for him to fall head over heels for a man who could never return that feeling, and then cursed the military that required its members to subjugate a part of themselves in order to remain part of a job that they loved and did well.
He wouldn't press the issue, Clay decided. The last thing Harm needed was to feel he was being compelled to make a decision that he feared could destroy everything that made him the man he needed to be - and that Clay had fallen in love with almost at first sight.
********
When Harm returned to the room, he found Clay lying on the bed, his eyes closed, apparently asleep. He'd showered downstairsthe the gym before putting his street clothes back on, and now he tossed the shorts into the dirty clothes bag.
"Have a nice run?" Clay asked, and Harm turned to look at him.
"Thought you were asleep?" he questioned.
"I'm a light sleeper," was Clay's response.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm sore as hell and I look like I went ten rounds with a gorilla, but I'll be fine -" he tried to sit up, and wi. ". "If you'll help me up, that is."
Harm slipped his arm around Clay's shoulders and helped him into a sitting position, belatedly realizing that the action put his lips close to the other man's. Harm's eyes locked with Clay's and he felt himself moving forward, meeting those bruised lips again, and experiencing the same reactions as before.
When the kiss ended, Harm's fingers trailed down Clay's cheek before he drew a shaky breath. "I'll order something for dinner," he said. "Unless you'd rather go out -"
"No. Less chance of Ian or one of his friends seeing us here," Clay said.
"Any preferences?" Harm asked, dialing the number.
"Something healthy?" he suggested, and Harm gave him a smile.
"I knew you'd come around sooner or later."
"I'm injured," Clay returned. "I can't be held responsible."
While he placed an order with Room Service Harm watched as Clay put a hand to his side for extra support as he rose slowly from the bed and moved across the room to sit down at the computer again.
m hum hung up. "Should be here in half an hour." Clay nodded that he'd heard. "Clay, we need to talk -"
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harm," Clay replied, looking at the closed laptop in front of him. "Why don't we wait -?"
"Wait? For how long?"
"Until the mission's over, for one thing. And until you see how you feel once we get back to DC and into familiar surroundings. Considering everything that's happened over the last couple of days, I’m not sure you should trust your feelings at the moment."
Harm had moved across the room, and when he placed his hands on Clay's shoulders, "Clay -" He felt the tension in Clay's shoulders, and very gently, mindful of the man's injuries, started to massage that tension away.
But Clay reached up and placed his hands over Harm's, stopping their movement. "A month after we get home," he said. "After you've gotteck ick into your life, gone out on a few dates. As much as I want more, I'm not wil to to risk our friendship to get it."
Harm took a deep breath, forcing himself to accept the truth in Clay's words. This could very well be simply a matter of convenience. He'd been forced into a world where he had no familiar signposts - except for Clay. It made sense that he'd be drawn to Clay after all they'd gone through. Once he was back home, it was possible that what he felt now would be forgotten quickly.
But somehow he doubted it.
***********
Trafalgar Square was still busy even at ten pm. Harm took up a position near the tall column dedicated to Lord Nelson, pretending an interest in the plaque on the base. To anyone watching, he was just another tourist, soaking up history. But his eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, looking for Ian's blond hair or either of his friends. Touching his ear, he said, "Clay? You there?"
Not far away, he saw Clay standing, looking at the fountain, his hands in his pockets. "I'm here," came the reply through the miniature headset in Harm's ear.
"Any sign of him yet?"
"Not yet. Any sign of gatecrashers?"
"Not so far." Harm continued to scan the area. "Clay, your friend's here. Coming from the south, heading toward your position."
"Keep an eye out for anyone else."
Now in full alert mode, Harm continued to monitor the conversation on the other end of the wire. Clay hadn't wanted to leave it on during his meeting, but Harm had insisted that they both needed to know what was going on - that being in the dark wasn't going to help Harm watch Clay's back. In the end, Harm and won the argument.
"Are you okay?" a man that Harm assumed was Achmed asked as he and Clay stood looking into the fountain, neither looking at the other.
"I'm fine," Clay assured him. In the dim lighting, Harm saw Clay pull a cigar out of his pocket, and then seem to be looking for something. "Excuse me, do you have a lighter I could borrow?" he asked Achmed, an apparent stranger.
"I think I might," was the reply as Achmed reached into his pocket. "Here." He handed something to Clay. As he saw a light flicker at the end of the cigar, Harm saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was approaching Clay and Achmed's position.
"Heads up," Harm said into the microphone. "Behind you at 5 o'clock. Might be one of Ian's friends."
Clay nodded at Achmed. "Thanks. Now go."
"There's another one directly in Achmed's path," Harm told Clay.
"Head him off," Clay said, still standing with his back to the man who was too close for Harm's peace of mind. "I've got this one."
Harm moved toward Achmed's pursuer, cutting him off and turning him away from the direction of Achmed's escape. Pretending to take something from his pocket, Harm asked, "Do you happen to have a light?" he asked, but the man snarled.
"Get out of my way," he said, revealing himself to be Russian by his heavy accent.
"Sure," Harm said, anticipating that the man would move toward the right, and moved that way as well, then to the left - until the man grabbed his shoulders and physically shoved him away. But Achmed was already out of sight.
Hearing a splash, Harm moved toward the fountain in time to see the man who had been behind Clay sputtering as he stood up in the fountain.
"Here now!" a policeman yelled, glaring at the dripping man. "You're not allowed in there!"
Clay slipped away, meeting up with Harm near the Nelson Column. "Achmed?"
"He's away safely," Harm nodded, noticing the pain lines on Clay's face. "Are you okay?"
"I've been better," Clay said. "I wonder where Ian is?"
"Why don't I answer that question, gentlemen?" Ian asked, appearing directly before them. He extended a hand. "I'll take the information Achmed gave you, Mr. Webb."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Clay bluffed. "I don't know anyone named Achmed."
"Oh, come now. Don't be tiresome. You've been meeting the man for the last four evenings."
"You've mistaken me for someone else," Clay continued.
"I might believe that," Ian said, his eyes glittering as he looked at Harm. "But I don't think I could ever forget your friend here. David was it?" A small caliber pistol appeared in Ian's hand, pointed toward Harm. "Give me the information, or I'll kill him."
"You can't shoot us both," Clay sai"And"And if you kill him, I'll kill you. Maybe not today - but I'd find you when you least expect it."
"I don't think you'll risk it," Ian said, taking aim at Harm's head.
"Don't give it to him," Harm said. "He won't risk shooting me here in public. Too many witnesses."
"Shall we test that theory?" Ian suggested, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Suddenly Clay lunged toward Ian, pushing the man's hands up as the gun went off, knocking them both to the ground and scatterthe the crowd. The commotion drew the attention of the police who were still trying to get information out of Ian's soaked friend.
Harm grabbed Clay's arm, pulling him to his feet and both men quickly moved away, escaping the scene without further incident. Once they were far enough away to feel secure, Harm noticed the thin line of Clay's mouth. "You okay?"
"I think one of those cracked ribs might be more than cracked."
"Well, falling on top of Ian probably didn't help," Harm pointed out, slipping his arm around Clay's shoulders for support. "Thanks for that, by the way," he said.
"My pleasure," Clay said, but the chuckle that followed it ended with a wince of pain. "Ouch."
"I'll call Dr. Morley when we get back to the hotel," Harm said.
Clay gave no objection to the statement.
********
Morley informed Clay that the rib wasn't broken, but that he'd been more than a little foolish in going out at all. "But I know you had to," he sighed. "You really need to think about staying behind a desk, Clayton. You're getting too old to be playing spy, taking risks the way you do."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Clay said. "Can I fly home tomorrow?"
"If I no, no, would you listen?"
"I doubt it. Harm and I need to get out England after tonight."
Morley's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: you were somehow involved in whatever's going on at Trafalgar Square." Seeing Harm and Clay's guilty looks, he shook his head. "I'm going to leave these pain pills. You might want them for the airplane ride."
"I'll take them," Harm offered, holding out his hand when Clay looked ready to refuse the medication.
"And when you get home, see your personal physician or someone at the Company immediately. Have the ribs x-rayed."
"I will." Morley stood up. "Good luck, and have a safe trip. It was nice meeting you, Harm."
"Same here, Doctor," Harm nodded as he closed the door and put the chain on it. Hearing something behind him, Harm turned to find Clay standing up from the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"
Clay held up the flash memory. "Checking this intel out before I go to sleep."
Harm shook his head in disbelief, but didn't say anything. "I'm going to start packing - what about plane reservations?"
"I can make them online," Clay said, already engrossed in the information on his computer screen. "If you put the blankets on the sofa, I'll sleep there tonight."
"You'll sleep in the bed," Harm declared. Apparently something in his tone made Clay look over at him.
"You can't stay awake all night again, Harm. I'll be fine on the sofa -"
"No. We'll share the bed, Clay." He smiled. "I promise to keep on my side."
Clay smiled in response as he turned back to what he'd been doing.
**********
Once their flight was in the air, Harm released his seatbelt and looked at Clay. Take off was pretty stressful on the body, even in a large passenger jet, and especially if someone had rib and chest injuries. "You sure you don't want a pain pill?" he asked.
"Would you take one in my place?"
"Probably not."
"You have my answer, then. I'll be fine, Harm. I got a good night's sleep -"
"Yeah. So did I." Even though waking up with his arm around Clay had been a cause of momentary embarrassment, Harm wouldn't have traded the sound sleep he'd gotten for anything.
"I guess you'll be glad to get home," Clay said.
"Yeah," Harm nodded, looking up at the flight attendant approached to see if they wanted something to drink.
"Coffee," Harm told her, smiling at her. Glancing at Clay, he noticed the other man roll his eyes at the look.
Seeing that the woman was still smiling at Harm, Clay cleared his throat to get her attention. "I'll have a coffee, too. If it's no trouble."
The attendant blinked, looking at Clay as though she hadn't seen him until that moment. "And you sir?"
Clay took a deep breath. "Coffee." Once the woman was gone, Clay shook his head. "That's a powerful weapon you have there, Harm. And what's even worse is that you can turn it on and off at will."
Harm widened his eyes. "Are you saying I do it deliberately?"
"Sometimes. When you think it will get you what you want," Clay stated. "Not that you haven't heard that before."
The attendant brought their coffee, lingering for a moment to ask Harm, "Anything else?" she asked.
Harm smiled again, but this time placed his hand over Clay's where it lay on thmresmrest. "I think we're okay." Clay froze as he took a sip from his cup. The attendant's eyes moved from Harm to Clay and back before she gave Harm a regretful sigh and moved on.
"Warn me next time you decide to use me as a smokescreen, okay?" Clay said. "You're lucky I didn't choke on my coffee."
"It was the only way I could think of to get rid of her," Harm said apologetically. "I hope you didn't mind."
Clay laughed, wincing and holding his chest. "No. But you'd better hope she doesn't figure out you're in the Navy," he said.
********
At the airport in Washington, Harm stowed Clay's suitcase into the back of the BMW and then stood beside the car, suddenly at a loss for words. "Well, -"
"Yeah. Thanks for your help."
"I'd say anytime, but -" Harm put his hands into his pockets as he fought the urge to grab Clay and pull him close. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?"
"I'll be fine, Harm. Thanks for the concern, but this isn't the first time I've gotten hurt on a mission."
"Don't forget about going to see a doctor," Harm said, taking the pain pills out of his pocket. "Here. You might be able to use these now."
Taking the bottle, Clay's fingers brushed against Harm's as he said, "Not likely. It's back to work tomorrow morning. I need to get that information from Achmed to my superiors."
"Yeah. I'll have to report in tomorrow as well." Harm looked across the parking lot for a moment. "One month, right?" He lowered he gaze back to Clay, and thought he saw flash of hope cross the other man's face.
"One month," Clay repeated. "Call me."
"I will," Harm said, opening the door of the car before watching Clay slowly get behind the steering wheel. "Be careful," he said and closed the door. After watching Clay leave, Harm went to his own SUV and unlocked it, tossing his cases inside before getting into it and starting the engine.
*******
A month later, Clay was sitting at home after work, enjoying a glass of scotch and listening to some music to relax when the telephone rang. Sighing, he rose from the chair and went to the telephone, glancing at the Caller ID display.
Seeing Harm's number, Clay's chest tightened painfully. Picking up the handset, he answered, "Webb."
"Hi, Clay."
"Harm." His voice was pitched lower than usual, reminding Clay of those times in London when they were quasi-flirting.
"How are you doing?"
"Recovered. Except when I forget and turn the wrong way. How are you doing?"
"Busy. I wouldn't have thought five days away would have resulted in so much backlogged paperwork. If I didn't know better, I'd think that the Admiral was punishing me for going with you."
"I doubt that."
"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?" Harm asked.
Tomorrow was Friday, and Clay had planned to drive up to Great Falls and spend the weekend with his mother. But to Harm, he said, "No. Nothing I can't get out of. Why?"
"I thought you might want to come over here. I'll make dinner."
"Something healthy, I bet," Clay said, finally smiling. "I'll bring some wine, if you'd like."
"Sounds good. Say, 1930?"
"Seven-thirty's fine," Clay agreed, automatically converting the time from Zulu. I'll be there."
"Good."
"Harm?"
"Hang up."
"Bye, Clay."
"Bye." Hanging up, Clay's chest only felt slightly less tight. Harm hadn't indicated what his decision was. But inviting him to dinner instead of meeting him in a bar for drinks probably meant he'd decided to pursue whatever had begun between the two of them in London. The question that Clay asked himself was whether or not Harm had thought it all the way through or was just acting on his emotions.
Taking another drink, he sat back down in the chair. Tomorrow. He'd have some of the answers then.
********
Clay knocked on the door to Harm's loft at 7:30 exactly. The door was opened quickly, and Clay thought that he might have been standing there, waiting - and then found it difficult to think at all as he saw Harm. Wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned at the neck and black jeans, he looked - wonderful was the only adjective that Clay was able to recall. Clay felt positively overdressed in his three-piece suit. "Hi," he said, knowing somehow that Harm had guessed his reaction by the look in those eyes. Holding up the wine, he said, "I brought the wine."
"Come in," Harm said, stepping back from the door as he took the wine.
The loft was dimly lit - well, it usually was, Clay recalled - but tonight it seemed more so. The light in the kitchen was on, and there were candles sitting on the glass-top dining room table, ready to be lit.
As Harm pulled the bottle of wine from the bag, Clay told him, "It's white. I figured it was a safe bet that we wouldn't be having red meat." He sat down at on one of the stools at the bar, looking at the pans on the stove.
Harm laughed. "You'd be right. But it's steamed whitefish."
"Works either way," Clay shrugged, watching as Harm took a corkscrew from a drawer. "Would you like me to open it?" He needed something to keep his hands busy and stop them from wanting to reach across the counter toward Harm.
"If you'd like," Harm said, handing him the bottle and utensil while he turned to get a couple of glasses from the cabinet.
Putting the glasses on the counter near Clay, Harm turned his attention to their meal. After opening the wine, Clay poured two glasses, watching Harm's easy, efficient movements as he worked. "It's been a long time since I did much cooking," he said.
Harm picked up his own glass. "I know what you mean. I don't do it as often as I'd like to. After working all day, it's usually easier just to pick up a salad or something on the way in. It's usually only when I want to impress someone that I cook these days."
Clay looked up at Harm over the rim of his glass. "And you want to impress me?"
"Is it working?" Harm asked, grinning.
"I was already impressed," Clay responded, his eyes meeting Harm's.
"I meant with my cooking," Harm replied, and Clay felt his temperature beginning to rise.
"Well, seeing as how I've never had any of your cooking, I couldn't impressed with that yet, could I?"
They were both skirting the issue, keeping things light, neither one wanting to spoil the mood, Clay decided, picking up his glass and wandering around the loft. "I've never told you that you did a good job on this place, did I?"
"That's right. You saw it when it was still a work in progress," Harm said, still in the kitchen. "Why don't you take off your jacket, Clay?" Harm suggested. "Make yourself more comfortable." Clay removed the jacket, looking around for a safe place to put it.
"There are some extra hangers in the closet," Harm told him, pointing in that direction with the wooden spoon in his hand.
Clay stepped up into the bedroom area, and went toward the closet. There was something - intimate about sharing a man's closet, he thought, removing his vest and tie to hang them with the jacket in the closet beside Harm's uniforms. He was unfastening the button at his neck as he returned to the larger room.
"That's better," Harm said. "The first thing I do when I walk in that door is take off my tie and jacket."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Clay asked, picking up his wine again.
"Light the candles?" he said. "There's a box of matches there -"
Clay easily found the matches and held them up. "Found them." He took one out and lit the two candles. Harm had already put the bottle of wine on the table, and now carried two plates over.
"It's ready," he announced, placing one of the plates on the table in front of where Clay was standing before repeating his movements for his own plate.
"You do that very well," Clay said, amused.
"I worked in a restaurant one summer when I was in high school. Waited on tables, washed dishes, cooked occasionally." He indicated that Clay should sit down as he pulled out his own chair and shook out a napkin. "There was a point where my mother thought she could talk me into becoming a chef instead of going into the Navy," he finished, refilling their glasses.
Clay took a bite of the whitefish, aware that Harm was watching him. "I'm officially impressed," he declared after he swallowed. "Practically melted in my mouth. What's that I taste? The seasoning?"
They spent the rest of the meal discussing cooking and recipes - and the merits of red meat over white or even fish. Harm took their empty plates over the sink, rinsing them and putting them into the dishwasher before returning to the table, where Clay was filling their glasses once again. "Why don't we move into the living room?" Harm suggested.
Once there, Clay sat on the sofa, Harm close by. "Dinner was excellent, Harm," Clay said, more to break the sudden, awkward silence that seemed to fall between them. "You're going to make someone a wonderful wife some day," he teased.
"That's what Mac keeps saying," Harm said.
"Mac's a smart woman," Clay nodded.
"Why *did* you ask me to go to London with you, Clay?" he asked. "I know you said it was because -"
"Because you're the best looking man I know?" Clay finished, and managed to smile at Harm's raised eyebrow. "I didn't phrase it that way, did I?"
"Not quite."
"That *was* part of it," Clay admitted. "I could have found someone at the Company to go, but I had the chance to spend some time alone, with you, get to pretend that you and I were closer than I ever thought we could be - it was selfish, and probably not the best idea I've ever had, but - I don't regret it."
Harm was sitting forward, his wine held between his knees, and he seemed focused on it as he spoke again. "Clay, how long have you known that you were -"
"Gay?"
Harm nodded but didn't speak.
"Since college. But I never really did anything about it for a long time after that. I still don't play the scene much. My job being what it is, I have to be able to trust the person I'm with. And that doesn't happen very often."
Harm was looking at him now, and Clay hoped that he understood what he was trying to say. "And those women we saw you with in Sydney?" Harm asked.
"They were contacts, agents. I was there on business, Harm. Gathering information. That's what I do."
"Does your mother know?"
Clay set his wine glass on the coffee table. "Yes. But we don't talk about it much."
"Do you think she's - disappointed?"
"That I'm gay? I doubt it. She's probably more relieved than anything else. As much as Mother used to talk about wanting to see me settled with a family to 'carry on the family name', she knows that my doing that would mean she would see even less of me than she already does."
"Understandable, I guess," Harm nodded. "You're all she's got."
"There are a few cousins, but basically, yeah."
Harm was staring at his glass again. "After we got back from London a month ago, I went out with a girl I met before we went. She's an assistant to a Senator -. I tried. I really think I tried, but it wasn't the same." He stood up and went to the table, pouring another glass of wine. "I mean, it felt just the way it always had - kissing her, being with -" his voice trailed off as his eyes met Clay's. "But it wasn't anything like the way I felt when we kissed. I'd never felt anything like that before. It wasn't because of what we went through, or pretending to be lovers - it was -" he paused, as if searching for the words.
Standing up, Clay moved toward him. "Like lightning?" he suggested.
"Yes," Harm agreed, letting Clay take his glass and put it onto the bar. "Every time we touched, every time we kissed, I felt it."
Clay's hand cupped Harm's cheek. "You mean like this?" he asked, and Harm moved his head up and down slowly, his blue eyes darkening. "Harm, if we continue this -"
"We'll work it out. Even if it means I have to resign, we'll find a way," Harm said in a breathless voice. His own hand was now on Clay's face, mirroring Clay's touch on his. "Can we try?" he asked, and Clay struggled to take a breath at the look on his face.
For a brief moment, Clay was terrified as all of the things that could go wrong went through his mind. Harm could change his mind, decide that the risk was too great, that he preferred being who he'd been for almost forty years over being with Clay, that he wanted someone else - but all of that paled at the look on Harm's face, and Clay *knew* beyond all doubt, that this was right. And true.
Sliding his hand around to the back of Harm's head, he pulled the other man closer until lips met lips, and tongue met tongue, exploring, giving, receiving, *needing*. The only thing that ended the kiss was a mutual need for air, and Clay, his legs shaking, drew Harm back to the sofa, pulling him down at his side. They'd take it slow for now. He'd made the mistake once of rushing a relationship with someone - and while it had burned white -hot for a few weeks, it had quickly burned itself out leaving only ashes and regret.
Clay didn't want things to end that way with Harm. He didn't want it to end at all. But they also needed to talk, to get everything out and in the open between them, so that they knew where they stood. He felt Harm's arm circling his shoulders, and smiled at the way it made him feel protected, and loved.
"We *do* have to talk, Harm. I don't expect you to give up the Navy. It's your life." He pressed a hand to the man's mouth as he would have spoken. "Let me finish." Harm nodded, but clasped Clay's hand in his to kiss the palm, causing Clay to close his eyes at the sensations that fluttered from that contact to his groin. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Harm's were half closed, and he groaned as Harm kissed his palm again. "Harm, you're not going to make this easy, are you?"
"No. I'm not," Harm admitted. "I've spent the last week thinking about tonight, about being with you - about howwerewere gong to be able to do this - everyone at JAG already knows that I consider you a friend. We'll have to be discreet, and I already have my resignation for personal reasons written in case someone finds out what's going on. But you're wrong about something. The Navy's not my life anymore. You are. Now, is there anything else we need to talk about?" he asked, his fingers slowly working on unbuttoning Clay's shirt.
"We need to take this slow, Harm. I've had years to understand who I am - you -" Harm's hand slid inside Clay's now unbuttoned shirt, brushing against a nipple. "Harm -"
"Shut up, Clay," Harm muttered, pressing him back against the cushions . . .
*******
So much for taking it slow, Clay thought much later as he lay in bed wrapped in Harmon Rabb's arms. What Harm had lacked in experience, he'd more than made up for with willingness to learn, Clay recalled, smiling against Harm's shoulder as he remembered all of the firsts that Harm had experienced during the last few hours. He could understand now why all of those women had seemed so satisfied with Harm. The man was a totally unselfish lover, giving of himself totally and wholly without hesitation.
Even to Clay.
The other lovers Clay had been with over the years had usually been more concerned with their own pleasure than in his. But Harm - Clay pressed a kiss to the side of Harm's neck and smiled as he felt his lover shiver in reaction.
"Mmmm," Harm murmured, pulling Clay closer to him. "I thought you were asleep."
"Thinking," Clay said.
"You think too much."
"I was thinking about you," Clay explained.
"Oh, well, that's okay, then," Harm said, and Clay chuckled.
"And here I was thinking how unselfish you are."
"Unselfish?" Harm questioned, his hand on Clay's hip.
"You are, and you know it. I was just trying to decide how to repay you for this evening."
"You don't have to -" Harm began, and then stopped as he realized he'd just proved Clay's point for him and that Clay was trying not to laugh. "Okay, so did you think of a way to repay me?" he asked.
"I'm still thinking about it."
Harm rolled them over so that he was half lying on Clay. "Well, while you're thinking, I have a few ideas of my own."
The End
Author: JAGslashLady
Pairing: Harm/Clay Harm/Other
Rating: R m/m
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Wish I did, though. Anyway, I'll return them once they're finished, I mean, once I'm finished with them. Relatively unscathed, but maybe a little out of breath
Timeframe: End of Season 8. After Harm is released after being accused of Singer's murder. Webb was not reassigned to S. America due to the Angelshark case, and the entire arc about Paraguay never happens. Season 9 would be VERY different.
Archiving: Archived at Slashfanfiction.com, jagslash@yahoogroups.com and menofjagslash@yahoogroups.com, and adult-fanfiction.org . Anywhere else: Ask first. I'll probably say yes, but I really like to know where my stories end up.
Summary: Harm agrees to go to London to help Clay with a mission. Only the mission isn't quite what Harm was lead to believe - and could have seriousercuercussions
===========================================
Harmon Rabb Jr. drummed his fingers on the table, wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation. When Clayton Webb had come to him three days ago and asked for his help on a "situation", Harm's first instinct had been to refuse the man's request.
He should have listened to his instincts. Then he wouldn't have been sitting here in a bar in London, waiting for Clay to finish whatever business it was that he had here. It wasn't so much that it was a *bar*, but it happened to be a *gay* bar. Harm had been fending off would-be 'partners' all night, assuring them that he was waiting for his 'friend' to rejoin him.
He was going to kill Clayton Webb, he decided, watching as that man walked across the smoky, dimly lit room to sit down beside him. "Having fun?" Clay asked, grinning at Harm's 'go-to-hell' glare.
"Took you long enough," Harm muttered. "Can we leave now?"
Clay lifted his empty glass to get the attention of the man behind the bar. "Sorry. Need to give my contact time to get away. Want another beer?"
"No, thanks."
"Come on, Harm," Clay pressed, still grinning. "You look as if you're not enjoying your visit to London."
"What's to enjoy?" Harm asked as the bartender brought Clay another glass of scotch. "So far, I've seen the inside of the hotnd tnd this place."
"Fair enough," Clay nodded. "We'll go sightseeing tomorrow."
"We?" Harm questioned. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
Clay reached over and put his hand over Harm's wrist, refusing to let him jerk it away from the contact. "We'll go together. If anyone from here is suspicious and follows us, I'm not having them catch you out and about alone, Rabb," he said, his hazel eyes boring into Harm's. Harm looked at his wrist, and Clay smiled, grasping Harm's hand in his and lifting it to press his soft lips against it. "Play the game, Harm," he urged.
"I guess I’m not as good a game player as you are, Webb," Harm said, wondering why he felt suddenly warmer than he had a moment ago. It was *not* because Clayton Webb was holding his hand and kissing the back of it, he told himself. "And you never told me that I'd have to pretend to be -"
"Gay?" Clay questioned, grinning when Harm couldn't the the word.
"When you asked me to help you on this mission," Harm finished. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get into if anyone saw me that knows who I am?"
"I doubt anyone from JAG or the Navy is here, Harm," Clay said, sitting back and releasing Harm's hand. "And if they are, they're going to have a vested interest in not going public. So relax, okay?"
"Easy for you say," Harm sighed, picking up his beer and finishing it. "How much longer?" he asked.
Clay's eyes moved toward the far side of the bar, narrowing for a moment. "Another five minutes should do it."
"Thank God."
"Careful, Harm, or I might think you don't like my company," Clay said, laughing softly as he took a drink of his scotch…
*******
They returned to the hotel around midnight, and it suddenly dawned on Harm that there was only the one king sized bed and a short sofa for sitting on in the room. "You take the sofa," Harm told Clay.
"Not willing tore, re, Harm?" Clay asked, grinning, and then lifted his hands in a defensive measure. "Okay, okay. Just kidding. I was planning on taking the sofa anyway. I've slept in worse places," he sighed, watching as Harm headed toward the bathroom.
Harm made sure to lock the bathroom door before he undressed and took a quick shower. After brushing his teeth, he unlocked the door and opened it, surprised to find Clay sitting at a small desk in the room, engrossed in something on the laptop computer he'd brought with him. Wearing a pair of sweats, Harm climbed into bed, turning out the light beside it.
"Night, Harm," Clay said. "Thanks for being such a good sport tonight."
"Just as long as it doesn't go on too much longer," Harm told him, and then pulled the covers up around his head to block out the light from the desk where Clay was working.
It didn't do any good, he realized, and pushed the covers to his waist, turning onto his back. "How much longer are you going to be working?" he asked.
"There's a lot of information to go over," Clay told him.
"Can't you do it tomorrow morning?" Harm asked, and saw Clay look up at him, smirking.
"Why? The light bothering you?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah, it is. Go to sleep, Webb."
"Is that an order, Commander?" Clay asked.
Harm's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Would it do any good to make it one?"
"Nope," Clay said. "Not in the military, remember?"
"Good thing," Harm muttered, turning over again and pulling the covers completely over his head.
He thought he heard laughter in Clay's voice when he responded. "Night, Harm."
The light went off.
*********
Harm was awakened the next morning by someone knocking on the door. Floating between sleep and wakefulness, Harm heard Clay tell someone, "Thanks," and the door closed.
Turning over, Harm blinked, trying to figure out where he was and who Clay might have been thanking.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Clay said. "Breakfast is ready."
Harm saw Clay holding a cup of coffee out toward him and sat up in bed. "Uh, thanks," he said, taking the coffee.
"Cream and sugar, right?" Webb asked.
"Yeah. Thanks," Harm said, sipping the dark liquid as memory solidified. He was in a London hotel room with Clayton Webb, on one of Webb's covert ops. He was undercover, pretending to be Webb's "boyfriend" while he and Webb spent time in a London gay bar to make contact with an information source. "What's for breakfast?" he asked.
"Eggs and bacon for me," Clay said, and Harm started to groan. "Vegetarian omelet for you," he finished, removing the dome cover on the plate.
Harm threw back the covers, grabbing his robe from the end of the bed before going to the table/desk where Clay had placed their food. Wincing as he saw Clay tear into the bacon, Harm said, "That stuff'll kill you, Webb."
"Everyone has to die sometime," Webb said, smiling as he took another bite.
The fatalistic attitude bothered Harm, but he pushed the thought away. "What's on the agenda for today?" he asked.
"Sightseeing, remember?"
"I've been to London, Webb," Harm said.
"Seen the changing of the Palace Guard?" Clay asked.
"Well, no, but -"
"The Tower of London?"
"No, but-"
"You will today. With me."
"Clay, there's no reason for us both to go. You can stay here and take care of that paperwork you were looking at last night. I can find my way around -"
"We're undercover, remember?" Clay pointed out, picking up a slice of heavily buttered toast. "Which means we could be under surveillance. We go everywhere together to maintain our cover."
Harm rolled his eyes. "Why me, Clay?" he asked.
"What?"
"Why did you ask me on this mission? I'm sure there were all kinds of CIA agents you could have asked to come here -"
"I didn't need another operative for this mission. Just someone who looked good."
"I beg your pardon?" Harm asked, uncertain if he'd heard correctly.
Clay finished his eggs and got up from his chair to take the plate back to the cart, where he refilled his coffee. "I needed someone good looking," Clay said. "Someone who would create enough of a distraction in a gay bar so that no one would pay attention to my meeting with a contact."
Harm turned to look at him in disbelief. "You asked me to come along because of my *looks*?"
"What's the matter, Harm?" Clay asked. "Not used to being thought of that way?"
"In what way? As a piece of meat?"
"Not how I would phrase it," Clay said, still grinning as if he were enjoying their verbal sparring. "But appropriate, I think."
"Why you -"
Clay laughed, heading toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower," he said, ducking into that room and closing the door before Harm could react further.
*******
After a day of sightseeing, Harm had to admit that Clayton Webb could be charming and good company when he put his mind to it. The only uncomfortable moment had been while they were having lunch and Webb's eyes had flicked across the room before he moved closer to Harm and turned to whisper in Harm's ear.
"Heads up. Someone from the club last night is here. He saw us. Play along if he comes over, okay?"
Webb's breath had been warm against Harm's ear, startling him, but instead of pulling away, Harm simply nodded, picking up the water he'd ordered with his meal, his own eyes scanning the crowd without seeing a familiar face. "Where?" he asked, turning to look at Clay - only to find the other man's lips perilously close to his own. For a fleeting moment - almost too fast to register fully - Harm found himself wondering what those lips would feel like before he looked away again. Quickly turning his head to the front again, Harm wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He was *not* attracted to men. And even if he was, Clayton Webb was the *last* man he'd be attracted to.
But Clay didn't move, speaking into Harm's ear once more. "Tall blond in black jeans and a grey button-down shirt," he said.
Harm finally noticed the man, nodding as he picked up his water again, wishing that it was something a little stronger.
Clay signaled the waitress for the check. "Where to now?" he asked, and Harm smiled at the young woman when she approached the table, ignoring Clay's question for the moment. Clay paid the bill, frowning now, and pulled on Harm's arm. "Come on," he muttered, turning around to leave the restaurant, leaving Harm to follow.
Catching up with Clay outside, Harm saw the anger on the smaller man's face. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked.
"You were flirting with the waitress," Clay accused.
"I was not," Harm denied, although he knew he was lying. "I *smiled* at her. That's not flirting."
"You were flirting, Harm," Clay said again. "You always flirt. With everyone."
"I -"
Clay looked up at him as they stood on the sidewalk, people passing by them. "You may not be aware of it, but you do. Every woman who comes into your orbit gets that patented Harmon Rabb smile. And not just women. Hell, Harm, you even flirt with *me* when you want something from me." He looked around, as if suddenly realizing that they were on a public street and other people could overhear the conversation. Turning away, Clay started back down the street. "Come on," he said again, leaving Harm with no real option but to follow him once again.
"Look, Webb -"
"Shut up, Harm," Clay said, not looking at him. "We are *not* discussing this in public."
"Where are we going?" Harm asked.
"Back to the hotel," Clay said, his eyes still straight ahead. "I have to finish going over that paperwork before tonight's meeting with my contact."
"I'll see you there, then," Harm decided, stopping.
Clay stopped as well, and Harm saw his shoulders rise and fall as he sighed before turning around, moving to stand so close that Harm could see the gold flecks in the man's hazel eyes. "Harm, I told you last night -"
"I can take care of myself, Webb," Harm said quietly. "Don't worry. I'll be on time to go to the club with you as your cover. I just need some time alone."
Clay stared at him. "Just promise me you won't go chasing after some skirt, okay? The last thing I need is for someone there tonight to have seen you romancing a woman." Harm felt his jaw tighten as Clay continued, placing a hand on Harm's chest as he spoke. "You're here - with *me* - as a gay American tourist. Remember that." The hand slid up to touch Harm's cheek before Clay turned and left him standing there. "Have fun," he called back.
Harm stood there, trying to understand his reaction to the touch of Clayton Webb's hand on his cheek. His heart was beating abnormally fast, as if he'd just run five miles, his knees were shaking, and the air around him felt suddenly cool against Harm's fevered skin. What the *hell* was happening to him?
He started walking, ending up near a corner pub that reminded him vaguely of McMurphy's back in DC. Feeling the need of at least semi-familiar surroundings, Harm went inside and sat down at the bar, ordering a pint.
The majority of the crowd seemed to be sightseers, Harm decided, watching the room behind him in the mirror behind the bar. After finishing his pint, Harm felt a bit more relaxed, but still as confused as ever. He and Clay had touched before without him reacting this way - as if every nerve ending in his body had come to life.
It was just the situation, he decided, the pretense of being gay and being Clay's partner was planting ideas in his head - ideas that had no business being there. He loved Mac - even though he still wasn't able to tell *her* that - and had no desire to be with anyone else. Especially a man. Especially *Clay*. He lifted his mug to let the barman know that he needed a refill, and glanced in the mirror again to see the blond man from the restaurant entering the pub.
Harm watched as the man approached the bar, sitting down next to him. The barman gave Harm his drink as the man said, "I'll have the same." He was English, Harm decided. "Hello," he said, smiling at Harm.
"Hi."
"You're a Yank, aren't you?"
"Guilty," Harm said, smiling at the man's reflection in the mirror. "Here on vacation with a friend."
The man's blue eyes glittered. "Didn't I see you last night?"
"Might have," Harm admitted. "Depends on where you were."
"I don't think I'd mistake seeing a face like yours," the man said. "I'm Ian," he said.
Harm nodded, picking up his mug as he gave the name that he and Clay had agreed upon for public distribution. "David." It was his middle name, and, as Clay had pointed out, more generic than "Harm". Harm pushed the man's comment about his looks aside, since they only reinforced Clay's stated reason for asking Harm to accompany him.
"Where's your friend?" Ian asked, looking around.
"Went back to the hotel," Harm said, finishing his drink. Putting his hand into his pocket, he started to pull out some money, but Ian put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Allow me. Hands across the water and all that."
"That's okay," Harm said, stepping back enough to break the physical contact. "I'd rather pay." He put some money onto the counter, sliding it toward the barman, who nodded his thanks.
"See you around, David," Ian said as Harm turned away.
"You r knr know," Harm nodded, leaving the pub.
Halfway back to the hotel, Harm stopped to look into a storefront window and caught sight of Ian out of the corner of his eye. Entering the store, he glanced at the menswear it contained for a moment, picking out a pair of charcoal grey slacks, then spoke to the gentleman behind the counter. "Excuse me - I'm being followed - is there a back way out of here - into an alley or something?"
The man looked at him. "Oh, dear," he sighed, sounding alarmed. "Should I call the authorities?"
"No, I just need an escape route," Harm said.
The man pointed to the back of the store. "Past the fitting rooms - you go through to them, and past them, there's a door that opens into the alley beyond."
"Thanks," Harm said. "If you don't mind, I'll leave these in the fitting room in case he's watching through the windows."
"Of course," the man said, watching as Harm went into the fitting room area. The actual rooms were visible from outside, but the doors were double swinging doors, open at the top and the bottom. Harm went into the one closest to the back door, and dropped the gray slacks onto the bench inside before dropping to the floor and sliding beneath the doors - unseen from outside because of the counters and racks of clothing. He stayed close to the floor until he was sure he wouldn't be seen, then opened the back door and peered into the alley beyond to make sure that Ian hadn't somehow guessed what he was going to do.
Once in the alley, he went to the entrance and flagged down a taxi instead of walking back to the hotel.
******
Clay looked up when Harm entered the room. "Have fun?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Harm said, dropping onto the sofa. "Saw your friend from the bar last night again," he said conversationally, and saw Clay look at him, frowning. "His name's Ian, by the way."
Clay got up. "You *talked* to him?"
"He tried to buy me a drink in a pub," Harm explained. "I *thought* he was trying to pick me up," Harm said, linking his hands behind his neck as he stretched his legs out in front of him.
"I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"
"But when he followed me, I decided there was more to it than that."
"He *followed* you?" Clay was standing up now, looking alarmed.
"I lost him, Clay," Harm said, not moving. "Ducked into a men's shop and snuck out the back, then took a taxi here."
"Damn," Clay sighed, dropping onto the other end of the sofa. "He'll be there tonight, and this time he'll be watching me."
"You think he's another spook?" Harm questioned.
"Probably." Clay stood up and started to pace. "If he is there, I'll need something to distract him -"
Harm shook his head as Clay turned to look at him, a speculative gleam in his hazel eyes. *Hazel with gold flecks,* Harm thought, recalling seeing them up close earlier. "No, Webb."
"Just a couple of drinks, Harm," Clay said. "And then I'll be back and run him off. I promise. Just long enough for me to touch bases with my contact."
"And what am I supposed to tell him you're doing while I'm sitting there alone?"
"That I'm in the men's room," Clay said. "Like last night."
Harm rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay. But if he wants anything more than a couple of drinks -"
"I give you my word," Clay promised again. "I'll be back before you know it."
********
The club was even more crowded than it had been the previous evening, Harm decided, waving away the fog of tobacco smoke that seemed determined to surround him. Moments afHarmHarm and Clay had sat down, he saw Ian sitting at the bar alone. Clay finished his first glass of scotch and turned to Harm. They had deliberately put on an air of being out of sorts with each other as soon as they spotted the man, so that Harm's offer to buy him a drink would seem genuine instead of a set up. "I'll be right back," he said shortly. "Get me a refill."
Harm nodded, picking up the empty glass and taking it to the bar, "accidentally" bumping into Ian, who was heading in the same direction as Clay had gone. "Ian, isn't it?" he asked, giving the man a bright smile.
"Uh, yes," Ian said, glancing at him before looking toward Clay's retreating back. "David, right?"
"Told you we'd see each other again," Harm pointed out.
"Actually, I believe that *I* was the one who said that," Ian pointed out.
"Doesn't really matter. Let me buy you a drink?" he asked, deliberately increasing the wattage of his smile.
"What about your friend?"
"He's sulking about something," Harm said. "Being moody. I'm looking for some fun tonight. Drink?" he offered again, putting his arm around Ian's shoulders and turning him toward his and Clay's table, where his own beer was still sitting. "What'll you have?" he asked once they were sitting down again. He lifted his hand to get the attention of a waiter.
Seeing Ian's assessing gaze, Harm almost wished he could rephrase his question. The man sat back, looking more relaxed. "Bourbon. Neat," he said in a crisp tone.
"Bourbon neat," Harm told the waiter, who had been giving him the eye the previous evening. "And I'll have another beer."
"Right away, sir," the waiter said with a smile and wink, taking Clay's empty glass with him as he left.
"You've made a big hit, you know," Ian said, sliding his arm along the back of Harm's chair. "With your looks, you could have your pick of almost any man in here, I'd wager."
"Ah, but I'd prefer to be wanted for more than just my looks," Harm said, grinning as he picked up his glass. Maybe Clay was right. He *did* flirt. A little.
He felt Ian's hand against his back, and fought the shiver of distaste that it sent through him. "Well, it's a start, isn't it? One has to get close to find out if there's more than just a pretty face," he said, glancing up as the waiter returned with their drinks.
"Thanks," Harm said. "Put it on the tab." He glanced toward the area in which Clay had disaredared, willing the man to suddenly appear.
"So, how long have you and your friend been together?"
"A long time," Harm said. He *had* known Clay for a long time, he reasoned. So he wasn't lying.
"Where do you live in the States?"
"Vermont," Harm answered, sticking to the cover story Clay had laid out. "He's in computer software."
"And what do you do?" Ian asked, looking at Harm over the rim of his glass. His hand had moved up Harm's back and was resting on Harm's neck, his thumb rhythmically rubbing the sensitive skin there.
Harm smiled. "Whatever I want to," he answered, glancing across the restaurant as he took a drink of his beer.
"Sounds interesting. So you're - not dependent on your friend for - financial matters? Say - a place to stay while you're in London?"
"I'm my own man, if that's what you're asking," Harm replied as the man's fingers moved to circle his ear.
"You know, David, I think it's positively shameless the way you let him ignore you," Ian said, and Harm realized that he was sitting closer, his lips practically touching Harm's ear as he spoke. "You deserve someone who'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated -"
Harm didn't move except to pick up his beer again. "Uh, Ian - I’m flattered, but -"
"You're not interested," Ian said, starting to pull away. "Why don't I go see what keeping your friend?" he suggested, moving to stand up.
"No," Harm said as he grabbed the man's arm, keeping him in the chair. "I didn't say I wasn't interested, exactly," he said, and Ian smiled at him. Harm felt the other man's hand slide around his neck, felt that hand applying ever so slight pressure to bring Harm closer to him. Harm swallowed as he felt Ian's lips touch his and struggled to keep the bile down that rose in response to the kiss.
"What the hell's this?" Clay asked, and Harm pushed Ian away, giving Clay a look of gratitude, anger, and guilt all at the same time. "I leave you alone for a couple of minutes and you're kissing the first guy you see?"
"It was more than a 'couple' of minutes, friend," Ian pointed out smoothly. "I think he'd rather be with someone who'll pay attention to him instead of spending all evening in the loo."
Several other patrons of the bar were watching and listening as the scene unfolded. Clay's eyes turned to Harm. "Is that true, David?" he asked. "Would you rather be with someone else?"
Harm shook off the nausea that was still threatening as a result of Ian's kiss, and answered. "No," he said. "I was just -"
"Flirting," Clay finished for him. "And as usual you went too far." Clay tossed some money onto the table before turning to look at Harm. "One of these days, David," he said gently, lifting a hand to Harm's face, cupping it, "I'm going to leave you to face the consequencf yof your actions. But not tonight. Come on. Let's go back to the hotel," he said, sounding disappointed and not so much angry as accepting of his partner's flirtatiousness. Harm preceded Clay from the table, heading for the doors.
Once outside, Harm drew a deep breath of cool air into his lungs, still fighting the queasiness in his stomach while Clay called for a taxi. Harm shook his head. "I'd rather walk a few minutes," he said. "Clear my head."
"Okay," Cnoddnodded, bending to the window of the taxi that had stopped. "Start the meter and meet up three blocks up the street," he said.
The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb again.
"I told you buy him a drink, Harm," Clay muttered. "Not kiss him."
"I *didn't* kiss him," Harm replied. "*He* kissed *me*."
Clay exhaled loudly. "You need a keeper, Rabb," he said, shaking his head as he placed a hand on Harm's back and gave him a concerned look. "You okay? You look a little green around the gills."
Harm noticed Clay glancing behind them before he pushed Harm into an alleyway. "Put your head down," he suggested. "And take deep breaths."
"I've been doing that," Harm told him, bending over. "It hasn't helped." He stood there, continuing to gulp down fresh air as Clay rubbing his back in soothing, circular movements. At last Harm felt the nausea begin to fade, and slowly straightened back up.
"Feel better?" Clay asked, the concern visible in his eyes as he continued to rub Harm's back through his shirt.
"Yeah. Thanks, Clay."
"No problem. Let's go find that cab. I think your new friend gave up on finding us when he saw the cab moving down the street."
"Don't remind me of him," Harm said, not bothering to suppress the shudder at the memory of Ian's lips against his.
"I can't take you anywhere, Harm," Clay sighed, but he was smiling again as he said it.
The taxi was parked where Clay told the driver to wait, and the two men got inside.
******
Harm heard Clay drop his room key onto the table beside the door as he moved toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced.
"Okay." He heard the concern that still lingered in Clay's voice, but wasn't in any shape to react to it. At the moment, all Harm wanted to do was try and wash the scent and memory of Ian from his body and his mind. A long shower seemed just the thing. Going into the bathroom, he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could stand, and then stripped out of his clothes, leaving them on the floor before stepping under the water, grabbing the bar of hotel soap. He started scrubbing the back of his neck, and then his face, trying to get rid of every trace of Ian's touch on his skin.
"Harm?"
He jumped as he heard Clay's voice and saw his shadow on the other side of the plastic shower curtain. For a moment, he wondered how the CIA agent had gotten into the room, and then remembered that he hadn't locked the door to the bathroom. "What?"
"Just making sure you're okay. You've been in there for a long time."
"I'm fine," Harm said over the sound of the water. "How long have I been in here?"
"Almost an hour," Clay told him, and Harm blinked. An *hour*?! He *never* took long showers. Not alone, anyway. "Harm?
He leaned back against the cool tiles, trying to breathe. "I'm okay," he said, and wondered why he didn't *sound* okay. He saw Clay's hand reach through the curtain to turn off the water before it disappeared, only to reappear holding a towel.
"Here," Clay said. "I'll get you something to wear."
Harm nodded instead of saying anything as he took the towel, suddenly feeling tired and incapable of stringing two words together. A moment later he heard Clay come back into the bathroom.
"Your sweats are on the back of the door," he said.
Harm nodded, not realizing that Clay couldn't hear him.
"Harm?
"Thanks," Harm managed.
Once he heard the door close again, Harm opened the curtain and stepped out of the tub, grabbing the sweats from the hook on the door and putting them on. He went to the sink and turned on the water, intending to brush his teeth, but when he looked into the mirror, he froze, sled led by the look on his face, the knowledge that he'd kissed another man - and the bile rose again. This time, he was unable to stop it and he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach.
He felt Clay's hand on his back again, the same soothing, circular motions as before, and then a wet washcloth against his face. Those same hands gently assisted Harm to his feet and out of the bathroom to the bed, pulling the covers over him as Harm started to shiver and curled up into a fetal position.
"C-c-cold," he said between chattering teeth. "S-s-so c-c-cold."
The lights went out, and Clay was gone, leaving Harm shivering in delayed reaction to what had happened - until he felt something warm against his back and moved closer to it, seeking it out like a child might seek out the warmth of someone who loves him for solace. Closing his eyes, Harm felt safe and protected, and started to relax. He heard someone muttering soothing words, rubbing his arm, assuring him that he was safe and everything would be okay. Harm slowly felt his body begin to relax and he drifted off to sleep.
******
When he opened his eyes the next morning, it was to the already familiar sound of Clay answering the door to let room service in with their breakfast. The smell of hot coffee finished waking him, and he turned over, trying to remember something that was important. But the previous evening after he and Clay had left the club was hazy and he could only recall bits and pieces.
Sitting up, he saw Clay glance in his direction as he poured a cup of coffee. "Feeling better this morning?" he asked. The other man was already dressed, not a hair out of place as usual.
"Yeah," Harm nodded, taking the coffee. "Thanks."
He saw Clay looking at him for a moment before Clay smiled and shook his head. "Breakfast is here if you're hungry. Pancakes this morning. For both of us."
"I'll bet you ordered bacon on the side for you," Harm said with grin as he got out of bed and wandered over to the desk.
Clay grinned as he removed the cover from his plate. "Sausage."
"Ugh," Harm said. "You're hopeless, Clay."
"Never know what you're missing til you try it, Harm," he replied, spearing a link with his fork and holding it out. "Want one?"
Harm opened his mouth to refuse, then said, "*Just* one," he nodded, watching as Clay dropped the link onto his plate.
The men ate in silence for a few minutes before Clay spoke again. "I can get you cketcket back to DC. This was mistake -"
Harm frowned. "What about your mission?" he asked. "Is it finished?"
"No. I need to meet with my contact at least two more times. But I'll figure out another way to do it."
"I'm not going anywhere, Webb," Harm declared, standing up to refill his coffee, and then held up the pot in silent question.
"Thanks," Clay nodd "H "Harm, this was a stupid idea -," he sighed, watching Harm pour the coffee. "There's no reason for you to have to face Ian again."
"I doubt he'll bother with me again," Harm said. "Especially after you told him I was a habitual flirt."
Clay looked surprised. "Is that an admission that I was right?"
Harm waited until he was sitting down before answering. "You're the one that said it," he said. "Not me. Seriously, Clay. I'll be fine. Ian just - caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting him to -"
"And if it were to happen again?" Clay asked.
Harm felt his stomach twist into a knot, and he dropped his fork onto the plate, pushing the half-eaten pancakes away, his appetite gone. "I'll handle it," he declared, "I agreed to help you out, and I refuse to go running back to DC with my tail between my legs."
"You're sure?" Clay wondered, watching him closely. "If you decided to leave, I wou't h't hold it against you."
"I'm sure," Harm declared, moving toward the bathroom. "I'm going to take a *quick* shower and get dressed -" As he passed the bed, he frowned as he noticed that the side he hadn't slept looked as if it had been neatly made up - and Harm paused, frowning at a memory of something - or someone - keeping him warm as he fell asleep. Slowly, he turned around to look at Clay. "Did you -?"
Clay was watching him again, as if trying to decide how to answer thestiostion. "You were in shock, Harm. Shivering so badly that your teeth were chattering. It was the only way that I knew of to keep you warm. It's a typical response after someone's feels they've been violated in some way."
"I wasn't -" Harm started to deny, but Clay stood up.
"Yes, you were. If I hadn't needed to go back there tonight, I'd have probably decked Ian and told him to keep his hands and lips to himself. And I'm sorry that wasn't able to."
Harm laughed nervously. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Webb."
"You weren't in any shape to do it," Clay pointed out, those hazel eyes locked onto his, daring Harm to deny his words. "You could barely stand on your own two feet, much less take someone out." Harm looked down at his feet.
"Thanks," Harm said at last. "And I'll stay to see this through," he told Clay, who nodded once. "What's on for today?"
"Hanging around here, mostly," Clay said, looking through one of the high windows of their room. "The fog's so thick you can cut it with a knife. You said something about bringing some case files along to read?"
"Yeah. The Admiral thought I needed to catch up a little afteing ing locked up," he said with a grim smile. "I'll ack ack in a minute," he said, continuing on to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes out of his suitcase and the closet en route.
The remainder of the morning was spent in a companionable silence as both men attended to business. Harm was reading over a file he'd brought, trying to get a handle on a good defense for a Petty Officer accused of stealing tires from the motor pool for his personally owned Hum-Vee. Glancing up, he saw Clay stretching, wincing before he brought a hand to his neck.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Sitting still staring at this computer too long, I guess," Clay explained. "My neck's stiff."
Closing his file, Harm placed it on the sofa with the others before standing up and approaching Clay's chair. As soon as he was close, Clay closed the laptop. Harm grinned, placing his hands on Clay's shoulders, massaging the tight muscles there.
"I guess I haven't earned the right to know what's going on," he commented, continuing to move his fingers.
"My contact is a man named Achmed al Faad," Clay explained, bending his head forward so that Harm could work on the muscles on the back of his neck. "He's from Afghanistan and occasionally gets information for me about Al Quaeda."
"Why all the secrecy?" Harm asked.
"Contrary to what you might think, it's not because I like playing spook," Clay answered. "If it were discovered that Achmed as been funneling information to the CIA, his life would be in danger."
"Why the bar? Couldn't he find another place to meet?"
"It was his decision," Clay said.
"He's gay?" Harm asked, and felt Clay's chuckle.
"Hardly. He's no more gay than you are. He's married to an Englishwoman and has three kids. Guess he figured that he'd be less likely to run into someone he knows there." Clay sighed and relaxed. "That feels good. Anyone ever tell you that you've got magic fingers, Harm?" he asked.
Harm smiled. "A few."
"No wonder your girlfriends stay around so long - afraid to lose out on Harmon Rabb's Therapeutic Magic Massaging fingers," Clay said, and Harm was suddenly aware of an air of tension in the room that almost a thick as the fog outside of the window. Not sure of the reason for the tension, Harm lifted his hands from Clay's shoulders and put half the room between them.
"Better?" he asked, picking up another folder without looking at Clay. He knew that Clay had turned to look at him, his eyes revealing their disappointment that the massage was finished.
"Yeah," Clay said. "Thanks."
Tossing the file back with the others, Harm sighed, stretching his own shoulders. "I need to run," he said. "I haven't since we left DC. Didn't I see something in one of the hotel brochures about a gym downstairs?" he asked.
"There's a fully equipped gym, running/walking track and a full-sized Olympic pool in the basement," Clay recalled.
"I think I'll change and go down there for a little while," Harm decided, pausing halfway to the bathroom to ask, "Care to jme?\me?"
"Running? No, thank you. The only running I do is if I don't have any other choice."
"You did in the '88 Olympics," Harm reminded him, thinking. "Shooting, fencing, riding, swimming *and* running."
"Ancient history, Harm," Clay said, and then frowned. "How did you know about that?"
"When we thought you were dead Bud Bud and I went to your place," Harm reminded him. "Come on, Webb." He smiled cajolingly. "A run will do you good."
Clay looked at him. "You're doing it again," he said with a sigh.
"Doing what?"
"Flirting to get me to do what you want me to," Cllarilarified.
"I wasn't," Harm denied, grimacing as he realized Clay was right. "I was. Damn."
Clay laughed. "I won't hold it against you, Harm. I learned a long time ago that your flirting doesn't menythnything. You can't stop anymore than you can stop breathing. Go on. Have your run. I might be down later to take a few laps around the pool."
"Good," Harm said, grabbing his shorts from the suitcase as he continued toward the bathroom. "Because I need someone I can trust spotting for me on the weights."
Once the hotel room door closed behind Harm, Clay sat forward at the computer, burying his head in his hands. Harm *trusted* him. He wouldn't if he ever found out the real reason that Clay had practically begged him to help on this mission. It had been pure hell last night, being so close to Harm and not being able to do more than comfort him after his reaction to Ian kissing him and touching him.
He should have pressed the issue about Harm returning to DC, he decided. He wasn't comfortable with the role he was being asked to play - but Clay also knew that he *wanted* Harm there, close by. And by God, he wasn’t going to end this early. If all they could ever be was the friends, then he'd take that as better than being enemies or not registering on Harm's radar at all.
********
Harm was just finishing his run when he saw Clay enter the open basement area. He waved, smiling as hw thw that Clay was wearing a very conservative swimsuit. "Have fun?" Clay asked as Harm jogged toward him.
"Yeah. Worked off some of the energy. You going for a swim?" Harm was surprised to discover that the tailored three-piece suits that Clay usually wore were hiding a body that was more muscular than it appeared to be. Harm caught himself up, dismissing it from his mind.
"I thought I might - unless you need me to spot for you?"
"Tell you what, spot for me and then we'll *both* go for a swim."
"Sounds like a deal," Clay nodded and moved with Harm over to the weight bench, helping Harm placed the weights onto the bar.
"You've done this before," Harm said, glancing up at him.
"There's a weight room at Langley," Clay explained, moving to the head of the bench as Harm lay down, placing his hands on the bar outside of Clay's.
"I can't quite see you bench pressing, Clay," Harm said, lifting the bar up and out of the holder.
"I don't usually. But I spot for some of the others on occasion," he said, watching Harm lower and lift the bar several times. Counting silently, Harm was surprised to find that he was struggling a bit when he reached thirty, his arms were starting to protest, straining against the weight they were being asked to move.
He was grateful when Clay grabbed the bar and got it back into the holders. "Thanks," he said, out of breath. Sitting up, he grabbed a towel and wiping the sweat from his face. "Want to give it a try?"
"I'll stick timmiimming," Clay said, grinning as he turned toward the door that into the cavernous swimming area. It wasn't busy - in fact, Clay only two two other people in the area - and they might have been hotel employees. It being during the school year, there were few children staying at the hotel to play around, something for which Clay was grateful as he stripped off the t-shirt he was wearing, dropping it onto a deck chair, and dove cleanly into the water, feeling it glide past him in a way that never stopped amazing him. Swimming was one of those things that he enjoyed doing and didn't do nearly enough of.
As he swam thegth gth of the pool, he sat Harm standing on the diving board, and remained at the edge to watch the man dive into the pool and come back up. Grinning, Clave uve under the water and came up behind him, grabbing Harm's shoulder to push him back under the water as well.
Laughing, Clay watched Harm surface, sputtering and shaking the water from his hair and face. "Oh, so that's the way you want this to go down," Harm said, and Clay dove back into the water, with Harm right behind. Reaching the stairs, Clay thought he had the battle won, but suddenly Harm's hand clasped firmly around Clay's ankle. "You're not going anywhere, Clay," he muttered playfully.
Clay returned his playful smile. "Let me go and I’ll race you across the pool and back," he promised.
"Winner gets to pick where we eat dinner this evening," Harm challenged.
"You're on," Clay agreed, releasing the handrail and falling back into the water, splashing Harm in the process.
Harm reaching the 'finish line' just seconds ahead of Clay. "No fair," Clay accused. "You're taller than I am."
"No, *you* are out of practice," Harm countered, poking him in the chest with a finger. "Look at you. You're out of breath, shaking. How often do you exercise?"
"Not as often as I should," Clay admitted, lifting himself out of the pool with his arms to sit on the edge, letting his legs dangle in the water. "With my schedule -"
"Mine's not much better," Harm pointed out, resting his arms on the tiles. "But I find the time. You have to make the time. Figure out a schedule and stick to it if at all possible. You're a prime candidate for a heart attack as it is. High-stress job, you don't rit right, don't exercise -"
"Your job is high stress," Clay pointed out.
"One out of three," Harm snorted.
"Why are you so concerned about having a heart attack?" Clay asked.
"My mother's father died at forty-five after a heart attack," Harm explained.
"And you father and paternal grandfather died flying airplanes. But you do that."
"Now you're starting to sound like my mother," Harm said, pushing off the wall for another lap across the pool.
*********
"Have you decided where we're going to eat?" Clay asked, giving Harm a surprised look as he came out of the bathroom to find Harm wearing a suit and tie.
"Alamains," Harm said without hesitation. Seeing Clay's expression, Harm grinned. "Too expensive for your expense account?" he teased.
"No. But last I heard, they don't serve red meat."
"Which is exactly why I chose it," Harm pointed out as Clay fastened his vest and slipped into the suit jacket.
"What about reservations?" Clay said. "I'm sure it's not easy to -"
"Already done," Harm said. "I called while you were in the shower. We have a table reserved for eight."
Clay glanced at his watch. "Then we'd better get going, hadn't we?"
"After you," Harm said, opening the door into the hallway.
*****
Harm wasn't sure why he was suddenly so more relaxed around Clay. Maybe it was the fact that the CIA agent had gone out of his way to help him the previovenivening. "Above and beyond" was the term he used for Clay's actions. While he and Clay differed on some views, he was finding that he enjoyed the man's company. Even the prospect of having to "pretend" to be Clay's boyfriend at the bar later didn't phase him for once.
They were friends, whether either of them said the words aloud or not. He owed Clay a lot - for getting information he needed over the years - sometimes at the risk of his own career - and for bringing Sergei back to DC, getting him out of that POW camp. Sure Clay's missions usually ended in disaster, but Harm felt able to handle whatever might be tossed his way. He'd agreed to help Clay in London because after a month in the brig without any of his friends coming to see him, Harm had needed time away from DC and JAG, time to get his head clear.
Watching as Clay finished the chicken dish he'd ordered, he asked, "So, how was it?"
"Not bad," Clay admitted, albeit reluctantly. "How come I hahe uhe uneasy feeling that you've decided I need someone to watch what I eat?"
"Because you do," Harmlarelared. "I need a project."
"Oh, so now I'm one of your obsessions," Clay returned. "No thanks. I already have a mother to nag me."
"I can't see your mother nagging you about anything, Clay," Harm said. "And it's not an obsession."
Clay signaled the waiter to bring the check, and Harm thought he saw the man pale just slightly as he looked t ant and handed over a credit card to pay for it. "Unless we're going to wear these suits to the bar, we need to stop in at the hotel en route." He signed the credit card ticket, adding a tip for the waiter's attentiveness, and then looked at Harm again. "You're sure you want to go with me? You don't have to if you think you'll feel uncomfortable."
"They'll just think that I'm embarrassed about last night," Harm pointed out. "And if Ian starts after you, I'll stop him by telling him that I want to apologize -"
"You stay away from Ian, Harm," Clay said, and Harm was momentarily shocked by the determination in the other man's voice. "I mean it."
******
For all Harm's big talk about being "able to handle" going back to the bar, when he stood on the sidewalk outside waiting for Clay to pay the taxi driver, he felt his knees start to shake. What if Ian was inside, he wondered. Would he be able to face the man without showing his distaste?
rm?\rm?" Clay questioned quietly, and Harm felt the warmth of Clay's hand through the sleeve of his black shirt. "It's not too late to change your mind. I can flag down another taxi -" he lifted his other hand to do just that, but Harm reached up to grab it.
"No. I'll be fine," he said.
"Deep breaths," Clay said, taking one himself as an example. "In -" he paused, waiting for Harm to follow his lead "- and out." Clay smiled. "That's it. Better now?"
"Yeah." He suddenly realized that he was still holding Clay's hand, and broke the contact with a surprising regret. "Let's get this over with."
"It's like getting back into an F-14 after your ramp strike," Clay suggested. "You were probably terrified."
"Truthfully?" Harm asked, and then smiled. "I was petrified."
"But you got through it, and you'll get through this. Now *breathe*," Clay prompted again, and took Harm's arm to lead him toward the front doors of the bar.
Harm and Clay went to their "usual" table and sat down momentforefore the waiter approached, giving Harm a sympathetic smile. "Glad you came back," he said. "I wasn't sure you would. Your usual?" he asked. "American beer and scotch?"
"Thanks," Clay said, shaking his head as the young man moved away toward the bar. "I think you made a conquest in that one," he said to Harm, his eyes scanning the crowd as he spoke.
"Ian said the same thing last night," Harm informed him. "Suggested that I dump you for someone who could appreciate me."
Clay's eyes were on him again, and Harm wondered why it was so hard to breathe. "Believe me, I appreciate you - David," he added with a grin as his hand slid over Harm's. "More than you know." The waiter returned with the drinks, his smile both regretful and relieved to see them obviously getting along after the previous night. Heaving a deep sigh, the waiter moved on to another table. "Ian's here," Clay said, maintaining both the eye and physical contact. "Your three o'clock. I don't think he's seen us."
Harm picked up his beer and glanced to his right. Ian was standing at the bar, talking to another man that Harm didn't recall having seen there before. The second man moved away, and Ian's blue eyes found Harm. Trying to hide his gut-wrenching reaction to the man, Harm managed to smile and lift his glass before turning back to Clay. "He has now."
As Harm focused on the beer sitting before him, he felt Clay lift his hand and press his lips against the palm. "You're going to have to play along, Harm," Clay said, reaching up to touch Harm's cheek and turn his face towards his. "I have to go," he said, and Harm braced himself for the same sense of nausea and revulsion as he'd felt the night before as Clay's lips met his in a brief caress before Clay pulled back. "Stay out of trouble."
Harm nodded, but if someone had asked him what Clay had said after the kiss, he would have been hard pressed to tell them. He felt as if he'd just received an electrical shock throughout his entire body. The expected feelings weren't there. Instead, Harm had felt butterflies - *butterflies!* - in his stomach, fluttering madly. He felt flushed, and fevered, - nothing at all like he'd felt after Ian had kissed him. This had been - unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and as he picked up his beer, he realized that his hand was shaking.
Looking at the beer, Harm noticed a movement to his right, and saw Ian heading for the restroom area. Recalling Clay's admonition that he not have anything to do with the man, Harm also knew that if Ian *was* a spy, Clay might be hurt, and Harm didn't want that happen. They were friends, after all, Harm told himself as he stood up. And he protected his friends as best he could. Even if that meant having to confront a man who made his skin crawl.
"Ian!" he called out, rising to his feet and quickly intercepting the man, giving him a nervous and - he hoped - an embarrassed smile.
"What do you want?" Ian asked.
"Just to apologize for last night," Harm began.
"Fine apology accepted," Ian said, starting to move past him.
"What's your hurry? I don't think you really accept my apology, Ian," he said.
"Look, I don't need this, okay? If you want to make that friend of yours jealous, go find someone else to play with. I've got other things to do than to salve the conscience of a cock-tease."
Harm blanched at the accusation. "I wasn't - I mean, I was just trying to have a little fun, like I said. It didn't mean anything, -"
"Fine, fine," Ian nodded, looking past Harm and frowning.
Seeing that look, Harm thought that maybe Clay was had returned and slowly turned, expecting to see him. But the only person he saw was the man who had been with Ian at the bar earlier, heading down the hallway past the restroom, another man with him.
Harm froze when he felt Ian's hand fall on his shoulder. "Why don't we have a drink and talk about it, David?" he suggested, turning Harm back toward the table. "Perhaps we can think of a suitable way for you to make things up to me, eh?"
Sitting down at the table, Harm noticed that his beer was almost empty. "I'll get some refills," he said to Ian, starting to stand up. But Ian grabbed Harm's forearm to prevent the move.
"Why don't we let Gary do it?" he suggested smoothly, lifting his free hand to summon the waiter to the table. "After all, that's what he's paid to do."
Harm looked up at Gary, sending him a silent message, hoping that the younger man would pick up on what he needed. "Can I get you something?" he asked, looking at Harm.
"Another beer for my Yank friend," Ian said. "And a bourbon for me."
"Right away," Gary promised.
Harm pulled his arm out of Ian's strong grip. "Now," Ian said as he placed his hand once again on Harm's shoulder, "what were we talking about?"
"I was apologizing for last night. Sometimes I go a little overboard."
"Yes," Ian agreed, lifting a finger to trace the line of Harm's jaw. "I'm sure you do."
Harw Gaw Gary return with a tray full of drinks, several of them containing ice. As he reached their table, he balanced the tray on the edge, very close to where Ian was sitting - and accidentally let it fall - directly into Ian's lap.
The blond yelped and jumped out of his seat, releasing his hold on Harm, yelling. "You bloody fool! You did that deliberately!" he accused.
"No, sir," Gary insisted as he took a towel from his arm and started trying to blot at the wet spot on Ian's trousers.
Harme hie him a quick 'thumbs up' and took off for the hallway beyond the bathrooms.
There was a metal fire door there, clearly marked "EXIT", and when Harm was through it, he looked up and down the alley that he found himself in. The faint sounds of a scuffle seemed to be coming from the road just nd tnd the corner of the building, and Harm approached cautiously, only to be startled as a wide-eyed Middle-Eastern man leapt out from behind a trash dumpster, nearly knocking him over in his haste to escape by running the opposite direction.
Once he recovered, Harm peeked around the corner and saw two men - one of them Ian's friend from the bar - hitting Clay as they stood beside a car with doors open and waiting.
Knowing that he wasn't going to have long before Ian discovered as gas gone and followed, Harm moved to the first man, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey!" he said, and when the man turned around, Harm through a punch into the man's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and sending him to the ground hard.
With only one opponent, Clay managed to land a kick on the second man's leg, and Harm finished him off with a punch to the jaw. He winced at the pain in his hand before he realized that Clay was sliding toward the ground himself.
"Steady," he said, slipping Clay's arm over his shoulder and glancing down the short alleyway back out to the street. "This way."
"Achmed," Clay muttered.
"He got away," Harm said, half-carrying Clay out to the street and flagging down a taxi. He got Clay into the taxi and followed, glancing back down the alley just in time to see Ian come around the corner.
"Where to?" the driver asked, giving Clay and Harm a doubtful look in the rear view mirror.
"The nearest hospital," Harm announced, but Clay shook his head, wincing as though the movement was painful.
"No. The Ambassador Hotel," he told the driver.
"Clay, you need to see a doctor," Harm insisted, but Clay was adamant. "I'l fin fine," he said through cut and swollen lips. "Just a little rest -"
Harm glanced at the driver. "The hotel," he nodded.
******
Harm got Clay into the hotel through a side door after tossing the taxi driver some money, including a good size tip with the admonition, "You never saw us."
"Got a lousy memory," the driver had replied. "Good luck. Hope your friend's okay."
He had to prop Clay against the wall to get his hotel key and open the door, then closed and put on the safety chain before helping Clay over to the bed.
Going into the bathroom, Harm got a wet washcloth and went back out, sitting on the edge of the bed to try and wipe some of the blood from Clay's face. "Is my nose broken again?" Clay asked.
"I don't think so," Harm replied, not smiling at the attempted joke. "But it's going to bruise. Loose teeth?" he asked, and saw Clay moving his tongue around, checking before he shook his head, which elicited a soft moan. "Clay, you have a concussion - and probably some broken ribs - maybe internal injuries. You need to see a doctor."
"Can't risk - him finding us," Clay said, wincing as he took a deep breath. "Don't think there are any broken - ribs. Just -" he winced again, "bruised." He grabbed Harm's right hand and looked at it. "Playing the White Knight suits you," he said, studying the skinned knuckles. "How'd you know to come out there?"
"It's a long story," Harm said, going into the bathroom for a clean towel in which to place some ice from the small refrigerator/freezer under the wet bar. Coming back, he held it out to Clay, placing it against his already darkening cheek. Seeing Clay's eyes on him, Harm realized that he wasn't going to get out of explaining. "If I explain, will you please agree to let me take you to see a doctor?"
"In my suitcase - card file," Clay said.
Harm went to the suitcase and opened it. "Where?"
"Lining- at front."
Harm pulled the lining back and found not only a small leather card file, but Clay's passport as well. Leaving the passport, he took the card file back to the bed. Clay opened it and held it out. "Call him. Tell him to come here."
Frowning, Harm picked up the telephone beside the bed and dialed the number on the card, which said only, "Dr. William Morley, M.D." and the number.
"Dr. Morley," a man answered in a clipped British voice.
"Yes, I'm calling for - Clayton Webb. He's been hurt."
"Who is this?"
Harm saw Clay hold out his hand for the phone, and gave it to him. "Bill, it's Clay . . . Yeah, look, I - ran into some trouble this evening. Could you come to the Ambassador, Room 436 ASAP? . . . Thanks." He held the phone out for Harm to take. "Used to work for the Company," he told Harm, his eyes closed as he concentrated on breathing without pain. He opened one eye to look at Harm. "You owe me an explanation."
"After you - left," Harm said, glossing over his reaction to Clay's light kiss, "I saw Ian moving toward the men's room."
"So you intercepted him. After I told you not to."
"And if I hadn't, then you'd probably be who knows where by now - if not dead," Harm pointed out.
"Point taken," Clay sighed. "Go on."
"I apologized for leading him on last night - he said a few things that, well, weren't exactly complimentary - and suggested that I was trying to make you jealous, I should findeoneeone else, because he wasn't going to play the game."
"Good for him," Clay muttered, his eyes still closed.
"That's when I noticed him looking at someone behind me. I thought you were back, but it was only the man he was at the bar with when we first saw him. I saw him and another man heading down the hallway that led to the fire exit. I would have followed, but Ian insisted that I apologize again over a drink and ticatically pulled me over to the table, keeping his hand on my shoulder or arm so I wouldn't leave."
"Bastard," Harm thought he heard Clay say under his breath. "How'd you get away?" he asked, opening his eyes again.
"The waiter - Gary? He saw what was going on and somehow managed to spill an entire tray of iced drinks on Ian."
Clay tried to laugh, but wound up holding his chest, groaning. "Damn. That hurts. You might be right after all." He reached out and captured Harm's injured hand again. "Leaving you to escape and come to my rescue. I owe you."
"I figure we're even," Harm said, shaking his head. "After last night."
"You're sure Achmed got away?"
"Someone who was probably him practically mowed me down running out from behind a dumpster. About your height, thin, dark hair, needed a shave?"
"That was him. He was waiting just inside the hallway out of sight when I saw him. He motioned for me to follow him outside, and told me that there was someone else in the men's room and he didn't like their look. We'd just made the transfer when - when Ian's friends came out of the building and tried to grab us both. I distracted them long enough for him to get away, I hoped."
"You did," Harm assured him again. "I'll go rinse this out," he said, taking the washrag.
When he returned, Clay's eyes were closed and his breathing was even. Harm remained standing beside the bed, looking at him. Even with bruises and cuts, he suddenly realized that Clayton Webb was a good-looking man. Not in the classical sense, maybe, but he was. His lips - Harm once against felt that brief contact between them, and lifted his hand to his own lips, still confused and amazed by the difference in his reaction to Ian's kiss and Clay's.
Clay's eyes opened suddenly, and Harm felt the blood rushing through his ears, and then felt himself start to lean forward, closer and closer to Clay's mouth, wanting to feel that connection again -
A knock on the door brought Harm out of whatever daze he was in, and he blinked, realizing what he had been about to do. "The doctor," Clay said, and Harm nodded, unable to speak. Harm started to turn away, but Clay reached out to grab his arm. "Ask who it is first." Harm glanced down at Clay's hand, and covered it with his own before nodding and going to the door.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Dr. Morley," was the response. "I believe the code word he's looking for is 'Geronimo'."
Harm turned to look at Clay, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Clay nodded, and Harm removed the security chain and opened the door. "Dr. Morley," he said, stepping back to allow the middle-aged man into the room. "Harmon Rabb."
"You're the one who called?" he asked, going directly to the bed where Clay was laying.
"Yeah."
"Hello, Clayton. You know, you really need to come see me when you're *not* injured sometime." He inspected Clay's bruised and battered face, inspecting his nose. "It's not broken," he pronounced, and Harm gave Clay a smile. As Dr. Morley began to unbutton Clay's shirt with an impersonal touch, Harm moved to the window and looked outside. "Does that hurt?" he asked, and hearing Clay's gasp of pain, Harm turned back to look at the bed. "I'll take that as a yes," Morley said, continuing his examination, unfastening Clay's trousers to gain access to his patient's lower abdomen. "I don't believe there are any broken ribs. Cracked, perhaps. You're going to sore for a while. No internal injuries that I can find without an x-ray or other tests -" Harm saw Clay shake his head in refusal. "You've also got a concussion. I'll wrap your chest with an elastic bandage before I go, and leave some pain pilif yif you think you'll use them."
"No," Clay said more firmly than he'd said anything since the assault.
"Clay, you're in pain. If you need something -"
"No drugs, Harm," Clay insisted, his tone brooking no argument. "I need a clear head."
Harm turned away again as Dr. Morley took an elastic bandage out of his medical bag. "You're going to have to sit up, I'm afraid." Harm looked around again to se. Mo. Morley giving him a look. "Would you mind assisting, Mr. Rabb?" he said, carefully removing Clay's dirty, torn shirt.
"Harm," he told the doctor, moving around the bed again to place an arm around Clay's shoulders and gently pull him into a sitting position.
"Are you with the Company?" Morley asked as he worked to wrap the bandage around Clay's bruised and battered ribs.
Clay snorted, and instantly regretted it.
"No," Harm said. "I'm a friend."
"Lt. Commander Harmon Rabb Jr.," Clay told Morley.
"United States Navy?" Morley questioned, giving Harm a surprised look.
"He agreed to help me out on a mission," Clay explained.
"It's lucky that he did, apparently," Morley said. "I'm guessing that he's the one who also got you out of whatever trouble you'd gotten yourself into?"
"You'd guess correctly, Doctor," Harm said with a smile. 'd 'd hate to think of what might have happened if I hadn't come along when I did."
"And you said we were even," Clay muttered.
"There," Morley said, fastening the end of the bandage with clips. "Keep the cuts clean, and apply ice to the bruises. As for the concussion -"
"I know. Have someone keep an eye on me and wake me every few hours," Clay sighed as he sat there on the edge of the bed.
"I'll do that," Harm promised.
"Not much more I can do for you, Clay," Morley said.
"Harm's right hand was injured -"
"It's nothing," Harm insisted, giving Clay a look that said he knew was Clay was doing. But when Dr. Morley stood there, looking at him, Harm extended his hand. "I've had worse."
"It's going to hurt," Morley told him. "I'll clean it and bandage it, for you -" he said, and saw Harm start to object as he added, "- to ease Clay's mind."
Once he had finished with Harm's hand, Bill Morley closed his medical bag and stood up. "Call me if he gets any worse," he told Harm. "Give your mother my regards, Clay."
Harm walked to the door with the man, shaking his hand. "Thank you."
"Just doing my job, Harm," he replied. "Keep an eye on him."
"I will." Harm closed the door behind Morley, and put the security chain back into place before turning to the room. "He knows your mother?"
"He worked with my father," Clay explained. "I've known him since I was five years old." Placing a hand to his chest, he grimaced. "Can't take a deep breath with this on."
"You need some help getting into something for bed?" Harm asked.
"I think I can manage. If you'll put the blankets on the sofa -"
"No. You're sleeping in the bed tonight," Harm said, and this time it was *his* voice that refused to hear an argument.
"And you'll sleep on the sofa?"
"I doubt I'll sleep much," Harm said. "Need to wake you up every few hours, remember?"
"That's not necessary, Harm," Clay insisted, standing upthatthat he could remove his trousers. "Whoa," he said, and Harm moved quickly to keep him from falling.
"Not necessary?" he questio kee keeping Clay upright while he pulled the covers back on the bed. With the same gentleness that Clay had shown him the night before, Harm helped Clay into the bed, pulling the covers over him. "I'll be over there if you need anything."
"Harm about earlier -"
"We can talk tomorrow, Clay," Harm said quietly, and was unable to stop himself from softly touching the man's cheek. "Get some sleep." Harm reached down and picked up Clay's trousers.
"In the pocket," Clay said. "The flash memory Achmed gave me. Need to look at it -"
"Tomorrow," Harm said, folding the pants and placing them over the back of a chair. "Go to sleep." He turned out the light beside the bed.
Going into the sitting area, Harm left those lights off, recalling that first night when the light from the desk had kept *him* awake. Going to the bar, he poured some scotch into a glass. Returning to the sofa, Harm sat down, hands clasped around the glass.
For a moment, Harm allowed himself to relieve the terror he'd felt at the idea of losing Clay when he'd seen those two men beating him up and trying to force him into that car. Somehow over the last couple of days, Clay had become very important to Harm. So important that all Harm had been able to think about was getting Clay to safety and making sure he was all right. When had that happened, Harm wondered. And why?
*He's no more gay than you are.* Clay's voice. Talking about Achmed al Faad. Not 'no gay gay than you or *I* are'. He sat back on the sofa, resting his head.
Clayton Webb was gay.
No wonder Clay hadn't felt uncomfortable at that bar - or pretending to be Harm's 'partner'. So many other things were starting to make sense now. The teasing, Clay's comment about Has fls flirting. The hurt tone in his voice when he'd mentioned Harm flirting with him to get what he wanted.
He wasn't attracted to Clayton Webb, Harm thought, taking a sip of the scotch, and closed his eyes as the taste reminded him somehow of the man. The memory of that kiss returned again - along with the feelings it had evoked in him. It had been so different from his reaction to Ian's kiss.
No, just the birth of an aching, burning *need*. Something unnamed, unthinkable. Harm finished the scotch in one drink and put the glass onto the coffee table. Something that could never, ever happen, Harm reminded himself. He was straight. He was in the Navy, which didn't allow for him to be anything else. He'd never *wanted* to be anything pt apt a Naval Aviator, like his father, and his father before him.
Harm sighed, putting his head into his hands, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. How the hell was he supposed to be able to put this aside and ignore it without losing the friendship he and Clay shared?
****
A
After waking Clay up several times during the night to insure that he wasn't suffering any ill effects of the concussion he'd received, Harm went into the bathroom to take a shower before waking him up again. He'd spent all night thinking, trying to figure out what was going to happen - even *if* anything was going to happen. And whether he wanted anything to happen.
And still had no answers to give. Everything was a jumbled mess, he decided, letting the water run over his body, clearing his head. But the only thing that was clear to him was the memory of his reaction to Clay's kiss - and the fact that he wanted to see if it had been a one-time occurrence or if lightning would strike twice. The idea that it might sent Harm's mind back into the same void of confusion and uncertainty that it had been in all night.
When he opened the bathroom door, Harm saw that Clay was awake, and attempting to sit up on the edge of the bed. "What the hell are you doing?" Harm asked, crossing to the bed to place his hands on Clay's shoulders, stopping him. He pushed the way that the feel of Clay's skin beneath his hands made him feel. Giving in to it was unthinkable.
"I'm trying to get out of bed," Clay told him.
"*Not* by yourself," Harm declared, releasing Clay's shoulders and helping him up. "Take it slow," he warned as Clay rose slowly to his feet. Waiting a moment, he asked, "Dizzy?"
Clay shook his head slowly, as if expecting the dizziness to suddenly appear. "Not so far."
"Knew that hard head would come handy for something," Harm said with a grin.
Clay pointed toward the restr "I "I - uh, -" He moved stiffly, bound by the bandage around his chest.
"Okay. I'll be out here if you - need any - help," Harm said.
"I think I can handle it myself," Clay said, giving him a grin as he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
"Should I order some breakfast?" Harm asked through the door?"
"Yeah. Something light."
"Oatmeal?" Harm suggested, and smiled as he heard Clay groan loudly in refusal. "What? You don't like oatmeal?"
"I was thinking something like French toast," Clay returned. "With a side of bacon. I'll even share if you like."
"No thanks," Harm said, chuckling as he picked up the phone to call room service. "I've had my fatty meat for this week."
"We'll see," Clay said, and Harm heard the water running in the sink as he gave the order for breakfast.
When he came out, Clay was wearing his bathrobe that he'd hung on the back of the bathroom door. "How're you feeling this morning?" Harm asked, watching as the other man moved to the pants he'd worn the previous evening and stuffed a hand into one of the pockets.
"Like I was hit by a Mack truck," Clay said. "But it could have been worse if you hadn’t shown up," he said, holding up the item he'd been looking for. "The flash memory," he said, and started toward the desk.
"That can't wait?" Harm asked, itching to move forward and help, but afraid that prolonged contact Cla Clay would make him say something that would be a mistake.
"No. I need to find out if this is the last of the information.med med didn't have time to say anything last night."
"You are *not* going to meet him again," Harm said. "It would be suicide." He watched Clay gently sit down in the chair before the desk and open the laptop. Plugging the portable device into a port, he began to concentrate on the screen. "Clay, Ian's probably combing the city, trying to find out where you are. The safest thing to do is to get the hell of out here."
"Shh," Clay hissed, reading.
When a knock came at the door, Clay finally looked up from the monitor to where Harm was standing. His finger hovered over a hot-key that would delete all of the information on the computer's hard drive if pressed. "Keep the chain on the door," he said, and Harm nodded, having already made that decision as he opened the door to find the bellman that he'd seen every morning standing there.
"Breakfast, sir," the young man said with a smile.
"Just a minute," Harm said, closing the door to remove the chain before opening it again. "Sorry," he apologized when the man gave him a concerned look. "We had a little problem with someone else on the floor last night - I think he was drunk and kept insisting this was his room."
The bellman's frown deepened. "Did you call the desk about it?" he asked.
"It wasn't necessary," Harm assured him, taking Clay's wallet out of the trousers that he'd left on the bed to tip the man. "He went off to his own room finally."
"Thank you, sir," the man said, leaving the room again.
After pouring two cups of coffee, Harm carried one over to Clay, who was again engrossed in the information he'd gotten from Achmed at the risk of his own life. "Anything interesting?" Harm asked.
"Hmm."
"I gave the bellman a twenty dollar tip," Harm said conversationa
"Uh-huh."
Harm sighed and put his hand on the back of the laptop monitor, slowlshinshing it forward. "Harm!" Clay protested.
"Time for breakfast, Clay. You can bury yourself in work again after you finish." He went to the cart and brought Clay's French Toast and bacon over as Clay reluctantly moved the computer out of his way, balancing his own plate as well. "This looks good," he said, picking up his fork.
"Sure you don't want a slice of bacon?" Clay said, tempting him by waving it in front of his face. "It's really good."
"Okay," Harm agreed, and grinned when Clay looked surprised. "At least if I eat it, that's one less slice that *you'll* eat," he pointed out.
Clay laughed and cut into the French toast on his plate, then stopped, looking up at Harm with a frown. "What was that about a twenty dollar tip?"
Harm laughed out loud.
********
"I have to meet him again, Harm."
"Clay-" Harm said, ready to make every argument he could against that idea.
"I don't have any choice."
"What about the choice for survival?" Harm asked. "Clay, you could have been killed last night. If I'd gotten there two minutes later, you would have been -" Harm stopped, not wiling to consider the alternative to what he'd found in that alley. He sat down heavily on the sofa, unable to speak for fear of saying too much.
As he felt the now familiarch och of Clay's hand on his back, Harm closed his eyes, fighting the reaction rising within his body. "Harm, I'll try to contact Achmed. See if there's not an alternate location where we can meet. Someplace where Ian and his friends won't be able to reach us."
"And if he can't? If he insists on your going back to that club?"
"I'll go," Clay said, and Harm opened his eyes to look at the other man. "It's my job," Clay said, lifting a hand to touch Harm's face. "I know you don't understand, but I have the same feeling when I hear you've gone up in an F-14 or -"
Harm captured Clay's hand in his injured one, ignoring the pain in his bruised knuckles. "I'll never go up in another one if you tell Achmed that you won't meet him there," Harm promised, fully aware of what he was doing. "I could have lost you last night, Clay. I wt rit risk it happening again. Whoever Ian is working for -"
"Probably Russia," Clay supplied. "Officially, they've been supporting the war on terror. But privately, they've been trying to block every attempt we've made at gathering intelligence on bin Laden."
"I don't give a damn," Harm declared. "I won't risk it. I can't." He leaned forward, finding it almost impossible to breathe.
"Harm," Clay said gy, sy, smoothing his hair. "Look at me."
Harm shook his head, afraid of what he'd find in the other man's eyes.
"Harm," Clay said again, placing his hand beneath his chin to gently pull Harm's head over so he could see him. "I think we need to talk, don't we?"
"I don't know what we need to do, Clay," Harm said, "I can't seem to think straight when you're around, when you -touch me. K-kiss me."
Afterwards, Harm wasn't sure if those last two words had been a continuation of his previous statement, or a plea. But it didn't matter as Clay's bruised lips found his. When his arms moved to encircle tmallmaller man, he felt the gasp of pain and backed off. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
"Don't be," Clay said. "I've wanted this to happen ever since we first "
"
"Clay, I -"
"I know. You're confused, and don't know what's going to happen next. It's up to you, Harm. If you decide you don't want to acknowledge this, I'll live with that, be your friend."
"I don't know what I want," Harm sighed, resting his head against Clay's. "I've never - I'm straight. At least, I've always thought I was. I'm in the Navy, for God's sake. Something like this -"
"You don't have to make any decisions, Harm," Clay said quietly. "Nothing has to change unless you want it to. I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Will you ask Achmed to meet you somewhere else? Please?"
Clay relaxed a little, catching his breath as his ribs started to hurt again. "I'll send him an encrypted email, see if he responds. If Ian's men recognized him before he got away, he's already dead."
******
"Trafalgar Square," Clay told Harm later that afternoon as he read the email from Achmed. "Ten PM between the fountain and Nelson's Column."
"That's an awfully public place," Harm sighed.
"Which could be good," Clay pointed out. "Besides, you'll be there to watch my back," he pointed out. "Won't you?"
"Try and stop me," Harm declared.
They still hadn't really discussed what was happening, and Harm felt guilty that he was content about that fact. If they didn't talk, he wouldn't have to face the truth. Wouldn't have to admit that he might be something other than straight-arrow Harmon Rabb, Jr., poster boy for the US Navyroicroic aviator and JAG Top Gun.
"Is this the last time you have to meet him?"
"Should be."
"How much longer will we be in London?" Harm wondered.
"I think we'll leave tomorrow sometime. Depends on how things go tonight." Harm could feel Clay looking at him. "Eager to get home, Harm?" he asked.
"I'm not sure what I want at the moment, Clay," Harm sighed, moving to the suitcase and pulling out a pair of running shorts. "I'm going down to the gym fowhilwhile. Need to run." He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Will you be okay here alone?"
"Yeah. Go on."
After the door closed, Clay called himself every kind of fool in the book. It wasn't his usual style, seducing straight men. When the opportunity to spend time with Harm had come along, he'd jumped at it, never considering the idea that it might end up confusingm tom to the degree that it had. The Naval officer had always seemed so sure of his sexuality, almost always had a beautiful woman around: Mac, Bobbi Latham, Jordan Parker, Renee Peterson. Harmon Rabb defined himself by his career. Anything that inteed wed with that career was something that he would avoid like the plague.
Staring at the computer screen, Clay silently cursed whoever had arranged for him to fall head over heels for a man who could never return that feeling, and then cursed the military that required its members to subjugate a part of themselves in order to remain part of a job that they loved and did well.
He wouldn't press the issue, Clay decided. The last thing Harm needed was to feel he was being compelled to make a decision that he feared could destroy everything that made him the man he needed to be - and that Clay had fallen in love with almost at first sight.
********
When Harm returned to the room, he found Clay lying on the bed, his eyes closed, apparently asleep. He'd showered downstairsthe the gym before putting his street clothes back on, and now he tossed the shorts into the dirty clothes bag.
"Have a nice run?" Clay asked, and Harm turned to look at him.
"Thought you were asleep?" he questioned.
"I'm a light sleeper," was Clay's response.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm sore as hell and I look like I went ten rounds with a gorilla, but I'll be fine -" he tried to sit up, and wi. ". "If you'll help me up, that is."
Harm slipped his arm around Clay's shoulders and helped him into a sitting position, belatedly realizing that the action put his lips close to the other man's. Harm's eyes locked with Clay's and he felt himself moving forward, meeting those bruised lips again, and experiencing the same reactions as before.
When the kiss ended, Harm's fingers trailed down Clay's cheek before he drew a shaky breath. "I'll order something for dinner," he said. "Unless you'd rather go out -"
"No. Less chance of Ian or one of his friends seeing us here," Clay said.
"Any preferences?" Harm asked, dialing the number.
"Something healthy?" he suggested, and Harm gave him a smile.
"I knew you'd come around sooner or later."
"I'm injured," Clay returned. "I can't be held responsible."
While he placed an order with Room Service Harm watched as Clay put a hand to his side for extra support as he rose slowly from the bed and moved across the room to sit down at the computer again.
m hum hung up. "Should be here in half an hour." Clay nodded that he'd heard. "Clay, we need to talk -"
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Harm," Clay replied, looking at the closed laptop in front of him. "Why don't we wait -?"
"Wait? For how long?"
"Until the mission's over, for one thing. And until you see how you feel once we get back to DC and into familiar surroundings. Considering everything that's happened over the last couple of days, I’m not sure you should trust your feelings at the moment."
Harm had moved across the room, and when he placed his hands on Clay's shoulders, "Clay -" He felt the tension in Clay's shoulders, and very gently, mindful of the man's injuries, started to massage that tension away.
But Clay reached up and placed his hands over Harm's, stopping their movement. "A month after we get home," he said. "After you've gotteck ick into your life, gone out on a few dates. As much as I want more, I'm not wil to to risk our friendship to get it."
Harm took a deep breath, forcing himself to accept the truth in Clay's words. This could very well be simply a matter of convenience. He'd been forced into a world where he had no familiar signposts - except for Clay. It made sense that he'd be drawn to Clay after all they'd gone through. Once he was back home, it was possible that what he felt now would be forgotten quickly.
But somehow he doubted it.
***********
Trafalgar Square was still busy even at ten pm. Harm took up a position near the tall column dedicated to Lord Nelson, pretending an interest in the plaque on the base. To anyone watching, he was just another tourist, soaking up history. But his eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, looking for Ian's blond hair or either of his friends. Touching his ear, he said, "Clay? You there?"
Not far away, he saw Clay standing, looking at the fountain, his hands in his pockets. "I'm here," came the reply through the miniature headset in Harm's ear.
"Any sign of him yet?"
"Not yet. Any sign of gatecrashers?"
"Not so far." Harm continued to scan the area. "Clay, your friend's here. Coming from the south, heading toward your position."
"Keep an eye out for anyone else."
Now in full alert mode, Harm continued to monitor the conversation on the other end of the wire. Clay hadn't wanted to leave it on during his meeting, but Harm had insisted that they both needed to know what was going on - that being in the dark wasn't going to help Harm watch Clay's back. In the end, Harm and won the argument.
"Are you okay?" a man that Harm assumed was Achmed asked as he and Clay stood looking into the fountain, neither looking at the other.
"I'm fine," Clay assured him. In the dim lighting, Harm saw Clay pull a cigar out of his pocket, and then seem to be looking for something. "Excuse me, do you have a lighter I could borrow?" he asked Achmed, an apparent stranger.
"I think I might," was the reply as Achmed reached into his pocket. "Here." He handed something to Clay. As he saw a light flicker at the end of the cigar, Harm saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was approaching Clay and Achmed's position.
"Heads up," Harm said into the microphone. "Behind you at 5 o'clock. Might be one of Ian's friends."
Clay nodded at Achmed. "Thanks. Now go."
"There's another one directly in Achmed's path," Harm told Clay.
"Head him off," Clay said, still standing with his back to the man who was too close for Harm's peace of mind. "I've got this one."
Harm moved toward Achmed's pursuer, cutting him off and turning him away from the direction of Achmed's escape. Pretending to take something from his pocket, Harm asked, "Do you happen to have a light?" he asked, but the man snarled.
"Get out of my way," he said, revealing himself to be Russian by his heavy accent.
"Sure," Harm said, anticipating that the man would move toward the right, and moved that way as well, then to the left - until the man grabbed his shoulders and physically shoved him away. But Achmed was already out of sight.
Hearing a splash, Harm moved toward the fountain in time to see the man who had been behind Clay sputtering as he stood up in the fountain.
"Here now!" a policeman yelled, glaring at the dripping man. "You're not allowed in there!"
Clay slipped away, meeting up with Harm near the Nelson Column. "Achmed?"
"He's away safely," Harm nodded, noticing the pain lines on Clay's face. "Are you okay?"
"I've been better," Clay said. "I wonder where Ian is?"
"Why don't I answer that question, gentlemen?" Ian asked, appearing directly before them. He extended a hand. "I'll take the information Achmed gave you, Mr. Webb."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Clay bluffed. "I don't know anyone named Achmed."
"Oh, come now. Don't be tiresome. You've been meeting the man for the last four evenings."
"You've mistaken me for someone else," Clay continued.
"I might believe that," Ian said, his eyes glittering as he looked at Harm. "But I don't think I could ever forget your friend here. David was it?" A small caliber pistol appeared in Ian's hand, pointed toward Harm. "Give me the information, or I'll kill him."
"You can't shoot us both," Clay sai"And"And if you kill him, I'll kill you. Maybe not today - but I'd find you when you least expect it."
"I don't think you'll risk it," Ian said, taking aim at Harm's head.
"Don't give it to him," Harm said. "He won't risk shooting me here in public. Too many witnesses."
"Shall we test that theory?" Ian suggested, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Suddenly Clay lunged toward Ian, pushing the man's hands up as the gun went off, knocking them both to the ground and scatterthe the crowd. The commotion drew the attention of the police who were still trying to get information out of Ian's soaked friend.
Harm grabbed Clay's arm, pulling him to his feet and both men quickly moved away, escaping the scene without further incident. Once they were far enough away to feel secure, Harm noticed the thin line of Clay's mouth. "You okay?"
"I think one of those cracked ribs might be more than cracked."
"Well, falling on top of Ian probably didn't help," Harm pointed out, slipping his arm around Clay's shoulders for support. "Thanks for that, by the way," he said.
"My pleasure," Clay said, but the chuckle that followed it ended with a wince of pain. "Ouch."
"I'll call Dr. Morley when we get back to the hotel," Harm said.
Clay gave no objection to the statement.
********
Morley informed Clay that the rib wasn't broken, but that he'd been more than a little foolish in going out at all. "But I know you had to," he sighed. "You really need to think about staying behind a desk, Clayton. You're getting too old to be playing spy, taking risks the way you do."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Clay said. "Can I fly home tomorrow?"
"If I no, no, would you listen?"
"I doubt it. Harm and I need to get out England after tonight."
Morley's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess: you were somehow involved in whatever's going on at Trafalgar Square." Seeing Harm and Clay's guilty looks, he shook his head. "I'm going to leave these pain pills. You might want them for the airplane ride."
"I'll take them," Harm offered, holding out his hand when Clay looked ready to refuse the medication.
"And when you get home, see your personal physician or someone at the Company immediately. Have the ribs x-rayed."
"I will." Morley stood up. "Good luck, and have a safe trip. It was nice meeting you, Harm."
"Same here, Doctor," Harm nodded as he closed the door and put the chain on it. Hearing something behind him, Harm turned to find Clay standing up from the side of the bed. "What are you doing?"
Clay held up the flash memory. "Checking this intel out before I go to sleep."
Harm shook his head in disbelief, but didn't say anything. "I'm going to start packing - what about plane reservations?"
"I can make them online," Clay said, already engrossed in the information on his computer screen. "If you put the blankets on the sofa, I'll sleep there tonight."
"You'll sleep in the bed," Harm declared. Apparently something in his tone made Clay look over at him.
"You can't stay awake all night again, Harm. I'll be fine on the sofa -"
"No. We'll share the bed, Clay." He smiled. "I promise to keep on my side."
Clay smiled in response as he turned back to what he'd been doing.
**********
Once their flight was in the air, Harm released his seatbelt and looked at Clay. Take off was pretty stressful on the body, even in a large passenger jet, and especially if someone had rib and chest injuries. "You sure you don't want a pain pill?" he asked.
"Would you take one in my place?"
"Probably not."
"You have my answer, then. I'll be fine, Harm. I got a good night's sleep -"
"Yeah. So did I." Even though waking up with his arm around Clay had been a cause of momentary embarrassment, Harm wouldn't have traded the sound sleep he'd gotten for anything.
"I guess you'll be glad to get home," Clay said.
"Yeah," Harm nodded, looking up at the flight attendant approached to see if they wanted something to drink.
"Coffee," Harm told her, smiling at her. Glancing at Clay, he noticed the other man roll his eyes at the look.
Seeing that the woman was still smiling at Harm, Clay cleared his throat to get her attention. "I'll have a coffee, too. If it's no trouble."
The attendant blinked, looking at Clay as though she hadn't seen him until that moment. "And you sir?"
Clay took a deep breath. "Coffee." Once the woman was gone, Clay shook his head. "That's a powerful weapon you have there, Harm. And what's even worse is that you can turn it on and off at will."
Harm widened his eyes. "Are you saying I do it deliberately?"
"Sometimes. When you think it will get you what you want," Clay stated. "Not that you haven't heard that before."
The attendant brought their coffee, lingering for a moment to ask Harm, "Anything else?" she asked.
Harm smiled again, but this time placed his hand over Clay's where it lay on thmresmrest. "I think we're okay." Clay froze as he took a sip from his cup. The attendant's eyes moved from Harm to Clay and back before she gave Harm a regretful sigh and moved on.
"Warn me next time you decide to use me as a smokescreen, okay?" Clay said. "You're lucky I didn't choke on my coffee."
"It was the only way I could think of to get rid of her," Harm said apologetically. "I hope you didn't mind."
Clay laughed, wincing and holding his chest. "No. But you'd better hope she doesn't figure out you're in the Navy," he said.
********
At the airport in Washington, Harm stowed Clay's suitcase into the back of the BMW and then stood beside the car, suddenly at a loss for words. "Well, -"
"Yeah. Thanks for your help."
"I'd say anytime, but -" Harm put his hands into his pockets as he fought the urge to grab Clay and pull him close. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?"
"I'll be fine, Harm. Thanks for the concern, but this isn't the first time I've gotten hurt on a mission."
"Don't forget about going to see a doctor," Harm said, taking the pain pills out of his pocket. "Here. You might be able to use these now."
Taking the bottle, Clay's fingers brushed against Harm's as he said, "Not likely. It's back to work tomorrow morning. I need to get that information from Achmed to my superiors."
"Yeah. I'll have to report in tomorrow as well." Harm looked across the parking lot for a moment. "One month, right?" He lowered he gaze back to Clay, and thought he saw flash of hope cross the other man's face.
"One month," Clay repeated. "Call me."
"I will," Harm said, opening the door of the car before watching Clay slowly get behind the steering wheel. "Be careful," he said and closed the door. After watching Clay leave, Harm went to his own SUV and unlocked it, tossing his cases inside before getting into it and starting the engine.
*******
A month later, Clay was sitting at home after work, enjoying a glass of scotch and listening to some music to relax when the telephone rang. Sighing, he rose from the chair and went to the telephone, glancing at the Caller ID display.
Seeing Harm's number, Clay's chest tightened painfully. Picking up the handset, he answered, "Webb."
"Hi, Clay."
"Harm." His voice was pitched lower than usual, reminding Clay of those times in London when they were quasi-flirting.
"How are you doing?"
"Recovered. Except when I forget and turn the wrong way. How are you doing?"
"Busy. I wouldn't have thought five days away would have resulted in so much backlogged paperwork. If I didn't know better, I'd think that the Admiral was punishing me for going with you."
"I doubt that."
"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?" Harm asked.
Tomorrow was Friday, and Clay had planned to drive up to Great Falls and spend the weekend with his mother. But to Harm, he said, "No. Nothing I can't get out of. Why?"
"I thought you might want to come over here. I'll make dinner."
"Something healthy, I bet," Clay said, finally smiling. "I'll bring some wine, if you'd like."
"Sounds good. Say, 1930?"
"Seven-thirty's fine," Clay agreed, automatically converting the time from Zulu. I'll be there."
"Good."
"Harm?"
"Hang up."
"Bye, Clay."
"Bye." Hanging up, Clay's chest only felt slightly less tight. Harm hadn't indicated what his decision was. But inviting him to dinner instead of meeting him in a bar for drinks probably meant he'd decided to pursue whatever had begun between the two of them in London. The question that Clay asked himself was whether or not Harm had thought it all the way through or was just acting on his emotions.
Taking another drink, he sat back down in the chair. Tomorrow. He'd have some of the answers then.
********
Clay knocked on the door to Harm's loft at 7:30 exactly. The door was opened quickly, and Clay thought that he might have been standing there, waiting - and then found it difficult to think at all as he saw Harm. Wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned at the neck and black jeans, he looked - wonderful was the only adjective that Clay was able to recall. Clay felt positively overdressed in his three-piece suit. "Hi," he said, knowing somehow that Harm had guessed his reaction by the look in those eyes. Holding up the wine, he said, "I brought the wine."
"Come in," Harm said, stepping back from the door as he took the wine.
The loft was dimly lit - well, it usually was, Clay recalled - but tonight it seemed more so. The light in the kitchen was on, and there were candles sitting on the glass-top dining room table, ready to be lit.
As Harm pulled the bottle of wine from the bag, Clay told him, "It's white. I figured it was a safe bet that we wouldn't be having red meat." He sat down at on one of the stools at the bar, looking at the pans on the stove.
Harm laughed. "You'd be right. But it's steamed whitefish."
"Works either way," Clay shrugged, watching as Harm took a corkscrew from a drawer. "Would you like me to open it?" He needed something to keep his hands busy and stop them from wanting to reach across the counter toward Harm.
"If you'd like," Harm said, handing him the bottle and utensil while he turned to get a couple of glasses from the cabinet.
Putting the glasses on the counter near Clay, Harm turned his attention to their meal. After opening the wine, Clay poured two glasses, watching Harm's easy, efficient movements as he worked. "It's been a long time since I did much cooking," he said.
Harm picked up his own glass. "I know what you mean. I don't do it as often as I'd like to. After working all day, it's usually easier just to pick up a salad or something on the way in. It's usually only when I want to impress someone that I cook these days."
Clay looked up at Harm over the rim of his glass. "And you want to impress me?"
"Is it working?" Harm asked, grinning.
"I was already impressed," Clay responded, his eyes meeting Harm's.
"I meant with my cooking," Harm replied, and Clay felt his temperature beginning to rise.
"Well, seeing as how I've never had any of your cooking, I couldn't impressed with that yet, could I?"
They were both skirting the issue, keeping things light, neither one wanting to spoil the mood, Clay decided, picking up his glass and wandering around the loft. "I've never told you that you did a good job on this place, did I?"
"That's right. You saw it when it was still a work in progress," Harm said, still in the kitchen. "Why don't you take off your jacket, Clay?" Harm suggested. "Make yourself more comfortable." Clay removed the jacket, looking around for a safe place to put it.
"There are some extra hangers in the closet," Harm told him, pointing in that direction with the wooden spoon in his hand.
Clay stepped up into the bedroom area, and went toward the closet. There was something - intimate about sharing a man's closet, he thought, removing his vest and tie to hang them with the jacket in the closet beside Harm's uniforms. He was unfastening the button at his neck as he returned to the larger room.
"That's better," Harm said. "The first thing I do when I walk in that door is take off my tie and jacket."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Clay asked, picking up his wine again.
"Light the candles?" he said. "There's a box of matches there -"
Clay easily found the matches and held them up. "Found them." He took one out and lit the two candles. Harm had already put the bottle of wine on the table, and now carried two plates over.
"It's ready," he announced, placing one of the plates on the table in front of where Clay was standing before repeating his movements for his own plate.
"You do that very well," Clay said, amused.
"I worked in a restaurant one summer when I was in high school. Waited on tables, washed dishes, cooked occasionally." He indicated that Clay should sit down as he pulled out his own chair and shook out a napkin. "There was a point where my mother thought she could talk me into becoming a chef instead of going into the Navy," he finished, refilling their glasses.
Clay took a bite of the whitefish, aware that Harm was watching him. "I'm officially impressed," he declared after he swallowed. "Practically melted in my mouth. What's that I taste? The seasoning?"
They spent the rest of the meal discussing cooking and recipes - and the merits of red meat over white or even fish. Harm took their empty plates over the sink, rinsing them and putting them into the dishwasher before returning to the table, where Clay was filling their glasses once again. "Why don't we move into the living room?" Harm suggested.
Once there, Clay sat on the sofa, Harm close by. "Dinner was excellent, Harm," Clay said, more to break the sudden, awkward silence that seemed to fall between them. "You're going to make someone a wonderful wife some day," he teased.
"That's what Mac keeps saying," Harm said.
"Mac's a smart woman," Clay nodded.
"Why *did* you ask me to go to London with you, Clay?" he asked. "I know you said it was because -"
"Because you're the best looking man I know?" Clay finished, and managed to smile at Harm's raised eyebrow. "I didn't phrase it that way, did I?"
"Not quite."
"That *was* part of it," Clay admitted. "I could have found someone at the Company to go, but I had the chance to spend some time alone, with you, get to pretend that you and I were closer than I ever thought we could be - it was selfish, and probably not the best idea I've ever had, but - I don't regret it."
Harm was sitting forward, his wine held between his knees, and he seemed focused on it as he spoke again. "Clay, how long have you known that you were -"
"Gay?"
Harm nodded but didn't speak.
"Since college. But I never really did anything about it for a long time after that. I still don't play the scene much. My job being what it is, I have to be able to trust the person I'm with. And that doesn't happen very often."
Harm was looking at him now, and Clay hoped that he understood what he was trying to say. "And those women we saw you with in Sydney?" Harm asked.
"They were contacts, agents. I was there on business, Harm. Gathering information. That's what I do."
"Does your mother know?"
Clay set his wine glass on the coffee table. "Yes. But we don't talk about it much."
"Do you think she's - disappointed?"
"That I'm gay? I doubt it. She's probably more relieved than anything else. As much as Mother used to talk about wanting to see me settled with a family to 'carry on the family name', she knows that my doing that would mean she would see even less of me than she already does."
"Understandable, I guess," Harm nodded. "You're all she's got."
"There are a few cousins, but basically, yeah."
Harm was staring at his glass again. "After we got back from London a month ago, I went out with a girl I met before we went. She's an assistant to a Senator -. I tried. I really think I tried, but it wasn't the same." He stood up and went to the table, pouring another glass of wine. "I mean, it felt just the way it always had - kissing her, being with -" his voice trailed off as his eyes met Clay's. "But it wasn't anything like the way I felt when we kissed. I'd never felt anything like that before. It wasn't because of what we went through, or pretending to be lovers - it was -" he paused, as if searching for the words.
Standing up, Clay moved toward him. "Like lightning?" he suggested.
"Yes," Harm agreed, letting Clay take his glass and put it onto the bar. "Every time we touched, every time we kissed, I felt it."
Clay's hand cupped Harm's cheek. "You mean like this?" he asked, and Harm moved his head up and down slowly, his blue eyes darkening. "Harm, if we continue this -"
"We'll work it out. Even if it means I have to resign, we'll find a way," Harm said in a breathless voice. His own hand was now on Clay's face, mirroring Clay's touch on his. "Can we try?" he asked, and Clay struggled to take a breath at the look on his face.
For a brief moment, Clay was terrified as all of the things that could go wrong went through his mind. Harm could change his mind, decide that the risk was too great, that he preferred being who he'd been for almost forty years over being with Clay, that he wanted someone else - but all of that paled at the look on Harm's face, and Clay *knew* beyond all doubt, that this was right. And true.
Sliding his hand around to the back of Harm's head, he pulled the other man closer until lips met lips, and tongue met tongue, exploring, giving, receiving, *needing*. The only thing that ended the kiss was a mutual need for air, and Clay, his legs shaking, drew Harm back to the sofa, pulling him down at his side. They'd take it slow for now. He'd made the mistake once of rushing a relationship with someone - and while it had burned white -hot for a few weeks, it had quickly burned itself out leaving only ashes and regret.
Clay didn't want things to end that way with Harm. He didn't want it to end at all. But they also needed to talk, to get everything out and in the open between them, so that they knew where they stood. He felt Harm's arm circling his shoulders, and smiled at the way it made him feel protected, and loved.
"We *do* have to talk, Harm. I don't expect you to give up the Navy. It's your life." He pressed a hand to the man's mouth as he would have spoken. "Let me finish." Harm nodded, but clasped Clay's hand in his to kiss the palm, causing Clay to close his eyes at the sensations that fluttered from that contact to his groin. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Harm's were half closed, and he groaned as Harm kissed his palm again. "Harm, you're not going to make this easy, are you?"
"No. I'm not," Harm admitted. "I've spent the last week thinking about tonight, about being with you - about howwerewere gong to be able to do this - everyone at JAG already knows that I consider you a friend. We'll have to be discreet, and I already have my resignation for personal reasons written in case someone finds out what's going on. But you're wrong about something. The Navy's not my life anymore. You are. Now, is there anything else we need to talk about?" he asked, his fingers slowly working on unbuttoning Clay's shirt.
"We need to take this slow, Harm. I've had years to understand who I am - you -" Harm's hand slid inside Clay's now unbuttoned shirt, brushing against a nipple. "Harm -"
"Shut up, Clay," Harm muttered, pressing him back against the cushions . . .
*******
So much for taking it slow, Clay thought much later as he lay in bed wrapped in Harmon Rabb's arms. What Harm had lacked in experience, he'd more than made up for with willingness to learn, Clay recalled, smiling against Harm's shoulder as he remembered all of the firsts that Harm had experienced during the last few hours. He could understand now why all of those women had seemed so satisfied with Harm. The man was a totally unselfish lover, giving of himself totally and wholly without hesitation.
Even to Clay.
The other lovers Clay had been with over the years had usually been more concerned with their own pleasure than in his. But Harm - Clay pressed a kiss to the side of Harm's neck and smiled as he felt his lover shiver in reaction.
"Mmmm," Harm murmured, pulling Clay closer to him. "I thought you were asleep."
"Thinking," Clay said.
"You think too much."
"I was thinking about you," Clay explained.
"Oh, well, that's okay, then," Harm said, and Clay chuckled.
"And here I was thinking how unselfish you are."
"Unselfish?" Harm questioned, his hand on Clay's hip.
"You are, and you know it. I was just trying to decide how to repay you for this evening."
"You don't have to -" Harm began, and then stopped as he realized he'd just proved Clay's point for him and that Clay was trying not to laugh. "Okay, so did you think of a way to repay me?" he asked.
"I'm still thinking about it."
Harm rolled them over so that he was half lying on Clay. "Well, while you're thinking, I have a few ideas of my own."
The End