An offer too good to refuse

by Gail

(gem225@hotmail.com)

Pairing: Harmon Rabb/Clayton Webb

Rating: NC-17

Summary: It's a year since Harm and Clayton's last time alone, and Clayton has a visitor who has an idea about how to get them back together.

Series: Part 1 of the Solstice series, an alternative to Parts 4 and 5 of the Equinox series

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I never will, and I'll just have to live with that.

Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.

Spoilers: Imposter, Webb of Lies, Wilderness of Mirrors, Contemptuous Words.

Notes: Take Part 3 of the Equinox series, mess with the time so that that encounter happened between Webb of Lies and Wilderness of Mirrors, say, April 1999, add Harm's promotion to Commander, mix in all the Clark Palmer story, bring it up to March 2000, ignore what doesn't fit about the fifth season, and be prepared to put aside Parts 4 and 5 and suspend disbelief. After all, we're talking about Clark Palmer here, and it's been established that *he* can do anything. And in my work, he usually does.

In parts of this story the characters refer to events that happened in my non-slash story Getting his hands dirty. It isn't necessary to read that story to understand this one, but if you're interested in finding out exactly what they're talking about, you can find it here. If you haven't read Mareen's first three Equinox stories that these are branching off, you might want to do that. They're here, and they're great.

The Solstice series was a birthday present for Mareen. :-)


An Offer Too Good To Refuse
by Gail

I should know by now that the rain is going to make me remember him. Even the sound of it is too much for me these days, though it's been a year since he was here.

I make myself sip my wine. I haven't even bothered to try and pretend that I'm going to make dinner. Cooking even reminds me of him when it's raining, and it rains a lot around here. On a good day, I remember and pick up some take-out, or treat myself to a nice dinner, but it wasn't a good day at all. I did have some crackers and chevre when I got home, but that was hours ago, and I finished it all. And I've refilled my glass once or twice. I'm going to get drunk if I'm not careful. And careful is not what I'm feel like being tonight.

It would have been smarter of me to find something to do over at State, maybe volunteer to go to a party. The embassies are always having some holiday to celebrate, and it would look good for me to go. It's accepted that you're going to drink there, and I'd rate a limo so that it wouldn't matter that I was over the legal limit. But all I *really* wanted to do was go over and watch the lights through Rabb's windows, watching for his shadow, trying to figure out what he's doing. But I chose neither, because the rain also makes me dream about him coming back. And I'd need to be home for that.

A stupid dream. I've seen him since, of course. And we both act as though those times never happened. For a while I saw a look in his eyes when we ended up alone for a moment or two, but I could never read it, and I don't trust what I can't read. So I turned away and found something to talk about, something safe. And it's been a while since I saw that look. His eyes don't find mine that often any more, and when they do, they're pretty expressionless. But that's safer. I'm sure mine are, too. I know it. I don't allow myself any feelings in public about Harmon Rabb, Jr. Or in private, but that's easier said than done. Much easier.

One of the things I've done since that night is to learn about his women. It's always good to have complete information. Especially about Rabb. I didn't like it when I was the last one on that freighter to know he had a girlfriend. He's gone through quite a few since he's been here in Washington, and some of them certainly look like what a man like Rabb would want. But none of them lasted. I wonder if it's because none of them made him scream the way I did, not that he knew how I was going to make him scream when he was dating most of them. But then this is Rabb we're talking about. He probably just got bored, or they learned the hard way what I already knew, that Harmon Rabb was Navy first and foremost, no real room for anyone, except maybe Colonel MacKenzie. And she's just a friend. I could almost feel sorry for Rabb's women, the ones who lost him. I know how it is to want Harm and not be able to have him. And they don't have the excuse I have. They're supposed to be able to get the guy.

My glass is empty again. I think about refilling it, but it's just too much bother to go back into the kitchen, and the living room is really where I want to be. I want to pretend that if I just turn around, he'll be there, looking at me. Wanting me.

But I know he won't be there. So I make myself turn around and look at the couch where he sat, the same one I bent him over. There's no one there, of course. I should have replaced it. His come soaked in, and now there's a faint stain, even though the cleaning person did her best. You have to look for it, granted, but I know it's there. I really should have replaced it. But I won't. It's my only reminder sometimes that I did have him there. That, and the carpet, and nobody looks at a carpet that closely. Except me, and there's really nothing there to look at.

I fight the urge to check them both again when it comes. It's almost worse to remember that time. I was so stupid, so blind about Harmon Rabb. So insane. And I can't afford insanity. Not in my work.

This isn't getting me anywhere. I decide to get some water and take the wine glass into the kitchen. The doorbell rings while I'm filling the glass for a second time, and I have to make myself shut off the tap before going to answer it. It's not going to be him. Not now, not ever.

But I still find myself hurrying to the door.

I can't believe who's standing there, rain dripping off his overcoat. Clark Palmer, who should be in Leavenworth. My god. I wish I had my gun. But he's not doing anything but standing there. Then he smiles at me.

"Hey there, Clayton." He's as cool as if the last time we'd met had never happened. That damned Kamiko Maru. When he almost killed Harm, and me too. Over a superconductor that ended up not being worth the trouble. "May I come in?"

I don't answer him, just glare as I grab my cell phone and dial. I know that it would be better to talk to him, find out what's going on that he's out after only nine months when it was supposed to be more like life, but I just can't. And why in hell would I trust any story Palmer would give me? The man's a proven liar. He probably lies to himself about breathing.

He nods, as if he expected this. The bastard probably did. He always was too smart for anyone's good. "I'm surprised State didn't tell you," he says softly while I'm waiting for someone to pick up. "If I were you, I'd think about getting some better sources. I can recommend someone, but I don't know if you're willing to trust me."

I shoot him a look. Trust Palmer? He shrugs. But at least he's quiet. I don't take my eyes off him, not for a minute. I know what Palmer's capable of. I saw what was left of Rabb after that mirror game. And there was nothing I could do, nothing. He was locked in that doctor's arms as though he was never going to let her go. But he did. Went back to flying and left her behind. Still with no real word to me.

Damn. I'm back to thinking about him. And I'm not going to do that now.

I finally get a person on the phone. "I need a report on Clark Palmer." My voice is flat, but that only makes Palmer smile more. Why the hell is he smiling? And why is he letting me call? I don't know how I missed this. Someone should have told me, and I'm going to find out why no one did. I know that I've been preoccupied lately, but I've been checking out this situation that I think Rabb...

Shit. I hadn't let myself know that until now. I don't do favors for Rabb any more. Why won't this guy get me the information I need? Are they all incompetents there?

Palmer shifts position, then stills as my eyes bore into him. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Guess I'm lucky you're not carrying your gun right now. I'd have some more of those bullet wounds you and Rabb like to give me. I like to think of them as tokens of your affection."

I ignore him. Mind games are Palmer's specialty, I know that very well. I'm not going to fall for them.

There's someone there now, and what he has to say I just don't believe. I interrupt him and demand someone else, someone with more authority. He goes away.

"It's the truth, Clayton." It's Palmer, of course. "I do have friends, you know. Did you really think someone as valuable as I am would be allowed to rot in a cell for the rest of my life?"

I don't have to answer that because I've got someone I actually know on the line, and he's confirming what the first man said. I end the call and stare at Palmer.

"A pardon." I have to say it out loud.

"I didn't get to meet the president, though." Palmer glances at me, then decides to stay put. Good decision. "Too bad. I was looking forward to telling him that I thought they'd caught the wrong guy on that editorial."

I know what he's talking about. Of course. The whole contemptuous words fiasco. I'd done what I could to help in the search for the real culprit, nothing much, and I'd been told about Rabb's visit. Palmer must have loved when Rabb went down to try and get proof that the piece had been planted on his computer. I would have told him not to go, to let me handle it. But I never heard a word from him.

Since that last rainy night, I've never had Harmon Rabb ask me for a favor. Questions, sure, but never a favor.

That hurts.

I stow the phone. "All right." I know my voice is tight, but I can't change that. "What do you want?"

"I'd really rather talk inside." He looks just like any other guy in D.C., dark suit, not too bad a tie, decent shoes. "Come on, Clayton. If I'd wanted to kill you, I could have done that by now. Want to search me?" He's smiling, and I don't like that way he said that.

"Yes." My voice is flat again, and I'm expecting him to give me a hard time, but he surprises me by taking off his overcoat as soon as he's inside, then turning around to lean against the wall.

"What are you waiting for? Go ahead," he says when I just stand there.

I check the coat first, then move over and start running my hands over his body. There's nothing to him. Prison food must not have suited his taste. I finish quickly. I don't want to touch him. He's clean, the only thing big enough to worry about an unlabelled videotape. I look it over and hand it back to him, and he nods and stows it in his suit jacket. I don't know why he's carrying that around, and I don't want to think about it. I don't really want to know what kind of movies Palmer watches to relax. Probably something like 'The Day of the Jackal'. And I'm sure he was rooting for the assassin. Probably cries at the end when the guy dies. I wouldn't be surprised.

"All right, Palmer. Come in." I turn my back on him for the first time and go inside.

Of course we end up in the living room. Where else do you entertain guests, even ones like Clark Palmer? Certainly not the bedroom. I put on a calm face and decide to take the initiative.

"What do you want?"

He's frowning. "Clayton, I should have brought dinner. You look like hell. You O.K.?"

What's this game? He can't be trying to play this on me again. He knows it won't work. "I'm fine, Palmer. Get down to business."

"You're lucky I'm not after your life. You've been drinking your dinner tonight."

He can smell the wine on my breath. Damn. I haven't had that much. "Palmer, talk sense or leave."

He shrugs. "Fine. I'm just trying to help."

He goes over to the couch and sits down without asking. And he's in the same position that Rabb was. The very same position, even to the way he's holding his hands. This is insane, a coincidence that only a person who believed in a god could take. I don't, but I don't have a choice, either. I have to deal with this man, this dangerous, smiling man, and find out just what he wants with me, and what I need to do about it.

It's then that I remember. Of course. Palmer has made a study of Rabb, has Rabb's pattern in his head well enough that he managed to fool a whole courtroom of people as well as Admiral Chegwidden into thinking he was Rabb. So it's not really that insane that he'd act like Rabb, especially if he's got Rabb on his mind. And I'm fairly sure that this visit has something to do with Harmon Rabb. But then I think that most things do, these days.

I take a seat opposite him, completing the picture. It's the only sensible thing to do. I have to be able to see his face.

"Sense. Is that what you want?" He's giving me a quizzical look. What the hell is he seeing in my face? I can't ask him that. It would give too much away. And there's nothing to see. I know how to play the game as well as he can. Possibly better.

"You heard me." My voice is much too loud, and I try to lower it. "What game are you playing?"

"No game." He laughs suddenly when I let my face show that I don't believe that. "All right, there's a game. But I'm not here to play one on you, Clayton. My target is someone else." His eyes lock with mine. "Someone I think you'd be happy to see played."

And who would that be? I have a bad feeling about this. "So now we're two agents about to work together. No, Palmer. Pardon or no pardon, I don't trust you."

"That's funny, Webb. Because I trust you." I know my amazement's showing. "Hey, you were only doing your job on that ship. I know that. I don't have any hard feelings. Hell, I respect your loyalty to the CIA. I used to have an agency, too."

I snort. Trying to play me, I can tell. "And I'm supposed to feel sorry for you that you don't any more?"

"No. I'm doing fine. Do you want to hear my offer or not?"

I'm ready to tell him to leave. I'm too tired to get into whatever game Palmer's running. But he's got me curious. He's chosen me to tell this to, no one else, and it's always good to get more intel. "Go ahead."

"I've had my eye on Rabb for a long time, even when I was in Leavenworth."

I was right. It is about Rabb. And this is news, bad news. I had people sweep Rabb's place after the mirror game, and if Palmer's telling the truth, they missed things. "You've got to be kidding."

"No. DSD always had better surveillance devices than you Company guys. We kept that part of the research very well hidden." He sighs. "I wish I knew where to find those guys now. Probably over in Europe, making big money. I'll have to make a note to see what I can find out. I got some good ideas in prison, and I'd like to see if they could make them workable."

I've got to find out what he's got on Rabb, what he's planning. Because it's clear to me that he's got something in mind. But...

"Why are you telling me this?"

Palmer looks hurt, but I know it's fake. "Clayton, Clayton, Clayton. I learned my lesson in Leavenworth. No more attacks on Rabb. He's too smart for me." The smile is back, the one I'm sure Harm has seen even more often than I have. I hate that smile on him, because it means trouble. "Just ask him. He'll tell you."

"So you're telling me this so that I can remove the devices." I'm really not getting this. I can't believe a helpful Clark Palmer. I have to be missing something. I wish I'd had more food to go with the wine. I'm not drunk, but I'm not as sober as I'd like. I take deep breaths and hope that will help.

Palmer's on to impatience now. "I thought you were smart. No, Clayton, you couldn't find the devices. Your crack team certainly couldn't."

I knew it. This is a disaster. The DSD's been gone for two years, and they're still making trouble for us.

"And you'd only freak Rabb if you tried to tell him." His eyes are gleaming. "And of course you'd tell him. You're one of his friends. Right?"

"I work with Rabb occasionally." I manage a bored tone. "He can be useful."

"I'm sure he can." The pleasantness of Palmer's tone puts me on alert. What is the man up to? "But I'm sure his view of you is a little different. Let me prove it to you." He reaches into his suit jacket and brings out the video.

Of course. A surveillance tape. Of Rabb cussing me out? That I'd believe. But I don't want to see it.

"I'd really like you to see this," he says softly when I don't move to take it from him. "I think you'll find it very interesting."

I have to know what Palmer thinks he has. I get up and switch on the TV and VCR, then slap in the tape. Palmer watches calmly as I hit the play button. It's a pretty good picture of Rabb's bedroom, but there's no one there.

"It'll get interesting in a minute," he assures me when I flick my eyes over his face, and then it does. Rabb comes into the room, in full uniform. It should be illegal for him to go around in that. I stare at the screen as he strips out of his shirt. God, he looks good. That time on the carrier gave him some muscles, and I start thinking about how it would feel for my hands to go exploring that body. I swallow and push that thought away, checking the date/time stamp in the bottom corner. This was made a month ago. There are ways of altering those stamps, but I know the difference between a lieutenant commander's bars and a commander's. This is after his promotion. This is recent.

Now Rabb's undoing his pants in a quick motion, almost brutally pulling out his cock. It's hard, angry-looking, already seeping precome. I know how that tastes. My tongue darts out to touch my lips. I want that in my mouth.

"Harm does keep himself in good shape," Palmer offers. He's staring at me, and I know he saw what I just did. And what it means. "Oh, come on, Webb, it's not the biggest secret in the world that you like guys." His tone makes it sound like he's talking about preferring coffee ice cream to vanilla. "At least I never thought it was. Not that I'd tell anyone. I know how idiotic people can be. And I wouldn't want you hurt."

This from the man who was going to kill me over a briefcase. "Shut up, Palmer."

Not the smartest thing to say, but he just shrugs again and we watch the tape. Rabb got out of his pants and on the bed while we weren't watching, and now he has his right hand tight around his shaft, and, I can't believe this, his left hand down and probing at his anus. He's doing that?

"Well, well. Looks like Harm's gotten some interesting habits." I don't have to look at him to know he's smiling, and I don't. I don't know what my face is saying. "I'm curious to see how this finishes, Webb. How about you?"

Oh, I want to know. I can't believe that Rabb wants even a finger in his ass after the fucking I gave him. Could it be that he found that he liked something there? Obviously. But then maybe Jordan had a thing for his ass, and since she was a woman, he let her. That's probably it. And Palmer's here for some kind of game, hoping that I'll tell Rabb about this tape and freak him. Petty, but that's the only reason I can see. I refuse to consider any other. If Palmer knew about the dance Rabb and I did a year ago, he would have used it by now.

But I'm not going to give Palmer anything. "I really don't need to see Rabb get himself off," I say coolly and get up to stop the tape. But before I can do that, Harm stiffens, shoves that finger further up his ass along with another one, and moans one word.

My name. He's calling my name as he comes.

This is surreal. And I'm so hard I don't know if I can stand it.

I turn back to Palmer, and the look on his face helps me forget all about my hard-on. He's got an avid pleasure showing there. Bad loss of control. Except maybe it's because he knows it won't matter, because I'm hooked.

"Curious, Clayton." He's using the same name for me now that Rabb just did, and I know it's on purpose. "He calls for you, not some woman or even his mother. Now why is that?" He smiles. "Could it be that our Harmon Rabb is gay? Or maybe bi?" His tongue comes to trace his lips, and he's definitely doing it for effect. Too bad it's lost on me. "He wants you, Clayton." His voice is low and dark. "What did you do to our boy?"

He can't know. There's no way. I just look at him, keeping my face cool. This is high-stakes poker, and I've been in these kind of games before. Just not with Rabb as the stakes.

"Why, Palmer?" That tape isn't enough to get Clark Palmer over to my place making nice. "What do you think you know?"

"Better than I'd expected. At least you're not denying who you are." Palmer's smile is cool. "I admire that, Webb."

"Answer the question." I'm not admitting it, either. Not to Clark Palmer.

"What I know? What you just saw. But a good agent always follows his hunches. You taught me that."

Nice of him to give me credit. But I know better.

He pauses, and I think about ways he could know about what happened. I need to be prepared for the worst, and that would definitely qualify. There's surveillance, although if he had proof, I'm sure he would have played that instead, and I'd stack the Company's people against his devices any time. The cleaning service, especially after all the work it had taken to put my couch back into decent shape. And I'm sure that someone saw Rabb come in either time. He did stand out in that uniform, and that alone would give Palmer enough of an idea and something to work with. That is, if I am dumb enough to play along. But I'm not.

"I know Harmon Rabb, Clay. He's not the kind of guy to get a crush like some kind of schoolgirl. No, if Harm's calling your name, odds are that he knows just what he's calling for. How was he, Clay? Did he suck you off, or did you get in his ass? I hope you fucked him. He'd look good, oh, bent over this couch."

The dark voice again. Like I'd never been through training to know what kind of game he was trying to play on me. And he can't know that that's exactly what I did with Harm. Unless that's his subtle way of telling me he does. Well, he's going to have to get more direct before I admit anything.

"Are you expecting me to confirm that for you?" My voice is disinterested, a major miracle. My body is very interested. I hope my erection doesn't show. I cross my legs just to be sure. "Get out of my house, Palmer. You disappoint me."

That hits him. At last. "Really." His smile is tight, and I keep my eyes on him. On the defensive. Good. "I haven't been your pupil for a while now, Webb, and I'm not interested in your approval."

I'm the one with the shrug now. "Whatever you say, Clark." I use his first name on purpose, to remind him that there was a time when I gave the orders. Even though that wasn't the way it turned out. I lost a friend on that mission, a good one, and if I'd had any brains, I would have killed Palmer and dumped his body. Would have been better for everyone. Especially Harm.

Palmer smiles suddenly. "Oh, you're good, Clayton. You really had me going there." And like that, we're back to equals, and he's leaning against the back of my couch. I think about repeating my order for him to get out, but it's not time for the game to end. I still haven't found out what I need to know.

"I'm beginning to wonder just what you think you're doing here," I say conversationally. "You know I'm not going to play whatever little game you've decide to pull on Rabb." It's important to keep calling him by his last name. I can't let Palmer know that he means anything to me. "So why even bother trying? Was this the great plan you came up with in prison? I'm not impressed, Clark."

"But you haven't heard the plan yet." He leans forward, face almost as young and eager as when I met him in the office of the assistant head of the DSD, John Springer. I haven't thought of that name in years. I should really find out what happened to him. Did he get taken down with the rest of them? I wouldn't be willing to bet on that. Rats survive.

"We both know that I want to get Harm. I haven't made any secret of that." His eyebrows lift, giving him that satyr look I remember, too. The ears only make it more pronounced. "But I can't go after him. I'm not interested in going back to prison." Something dark and angry flashes in his eyes, and I hold myself still and ready in case he attacks. "It's hell in there. A hell with idiots and morons for company. It wasted my time." And that sounds like the worst thing he's got against it. Then the darkness and anger are gone, just like that. Clark was always mercurial. "So I need revenge on him. He deserves it. He put me there."

I'm not going to agree with any kind of statement like that. "You got what you deserved, Clark. If you didn't want to go to jail, you shouldn't have decided to break the rules of the game." Not society's rules, we both know those are a joke. Agents have different rules, and Palmer broke those left and right even before the DSD went down.

"Whatever. That's done."

And he dismisses it just like that. I'm not surprised, really. Palmer reforming would be too great a miracle for any supreme being.

"Listen, Clay. What better way to get Harm than by getting him to break that stupid gays-in-the-military rule?"

I keep my face still. Harm already has, but I seem to be the only one here who knows that. Maybe Palmer doesn't know as much as I thought. Good.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to make anything public. That's not my style. They'll be changing it someday soon. They'll have to. But right now, it's the law, and I want Harm to have to deal with the fact that he's done something he's not supposed to. And I want him desperate for it. Hungry." He licks his lips, and this time I know that it's not for effect. It's because he can't help himself. "Needing something he damned well knows he shouldn't. I want him to keep coming back to you for more and more and more."

He leans forward, and his breath is like a touch on my skin. I don't want him touching me, don't like how it's making me feel. I don't want Clark Palmer. "And after seeing that tape, I'm sure you're the one who can make that happen. Wouldn't you like that, Clayton? Harmon Rabb's strings in your hands?"

Want it? Of course I want what he's offering. I'm hard again right now, thinking about it. I want Harm to want me, and I don't really care right now how I make it happen. But I know that I should care. "I don't know why you think I'd give a damn about that." I try to keep my voice cool, but Palmer's not impressed. I can tell that from the smile.

"Here's why," he purrs, and before I know it, he's up, and his hand is down in my crotch, fingers learning just how hard I am. He's too fast to stop. "Nice, Clay. Very nice. Is this why Rabb's calling your name?"

His fingers are working through the fabric, learning too much, getting to me, and I grab his wrist and twist until he lets go. Even then I keep hold of him, my breathing harsh and angry. He's smiling, even though I'm sure that the angle I've got him at has to hurt.

"Hey, we both know that isn't for me. And I doubt you just get it up because the wind blows in the right direction. So that leaves one cause. And I'm the guy who can make him yours. Well?"

I let go of his arm, pushing him away from me. He has one beautiful moment of awkwardness as he lands on the couch, and I wish that I could keep him that way always, but then he's leaning against the cushions again and in control.

"I haven't heard anything to make me think that you have anything more to give me than words."

Damn. That gives him something more than I meant to. A lot more. And he isn't missing a thing. Should have gotten him a drink, but I realize that I don't even know what he drinks other than wine. I promise myself a long session with his file in the morning. And a team to follow him around and get more.

"So you are interested." His voice is pleasant, and the hunger is right back underneath. "All right, Clayton, you've got a very good point. I haven't told you the angle." He smiles when I just wait. "Now, what is the basic fact about Harmon Rabb?"

There's something about Palmer now that makes me think of a professor I had in college. He was brilliant, and the kindest word anyone ever used about his behavior was eccentric. Pity Palmer hadn't taken to academia...but the thought of him getting to push his twisted ideas onto young minds is enough to make me want to throw up. I manage to hold it down.

"You're the expert on Rabb. You tell me." I refuse to give him anything more.

"Oh, that's an easy one. Our Harm lives for obsessions. And I'm his current one." He smiles. Oh, I can see he's really happy about that. "Clay, do you think that Harm's going to like that I'm out of jail? And that nobody told him?"

That doesn't take many brains to answer. "No. But I doubt you were expecting him to throw you a party."

There's an amused look in his eyes. "Not really. But then I could always arrange one, if you'll help."

I'm not liking this. "Get to the point."

"That is the point. I know how to get to Rabb, what will always get his attention, throw him off-guard and have him ready," he pauses, "to do anything anyone asks of him."

He's waiting for me to ask. He can forget about that.

He finally gives up. "Promise him the inside track on me. You know that he's not going to accept any kind of world where I'm on the side of the right and the good. He's always going to be sure that I'm one step away from causing total world destruction. I think he's seen too many James Bond movies, myself. But guys like Harm love to think they're saving the world. Gives them a reason to get up in the morning."

I'm staring at him. He hasn't changed at all. He's setting up a mind game to fuck Harmon Rabb over, and he wants me to help. I know from how Palmer talks, from the hungry look in his eyes, that if Palmer thought he could get away with it, he'd go after Harm, keep after him, torture him with all the knowledge and skill he has until Harm's every thought was of Palmer and how he had to stop his arch-enemy. Until Harm was so obsessed that he threw away his whole life. And he wants me to help him, wants me to feed Harm's obsession. I can't do that to Harm. Even though he used me over and over again. Even though he never really wanted what I could give him.

But if that tape is right, he does. I meet Palmer's eyes, glittering with something I'm sure is madness. I wonder if that same look is in my own eyes. "And?"

"All you have to do is go to Rabb and tell him that you have information on me, that I'm out, Clayton. He'll want to know more, and then," he smiles with a predatory gleam, "you tell him that there's a price for the additional information. And that's his body. He'll go for it."

"That really sounds like it's going to work." I make my voice heavy with sarcasm instead of desire. What he's talking about sounds so good. Even though it shouldn't be tempting me. I know it's wrong. Even without my conscience to tell me that. No, I can't think about that now. "Do you really think Rabb is just going to jump into bed with me? Because I promise him information on you?"

"You saw the tape. And I'm sure you can come up with an approach that'll work. After all, you know him. You've been studying him for longer than I have.

Palmer makes it all sound so simple, but somehow in this conversation I've lost all deniability about my desire for Harm. I can't let this go on. "Palmer, this has really been amusing, but I'm tired and I'm not interested. Go away."

He just smiles. "Not until I have the answer I want, Clay. And I know that you're interested." His eyes flick down to my crotch, then up again, and I know I've lost that argument.

I know he's not going to leave, that trying to make him will take more than I've got, and I keep my eyes on him as he does the same.

"You can keep him on the strings as long as you want. Just call and say you've got more information. I'll give it to you. We wouldn't want Harm to think he's not getting what he's paying for, would we?" He laughs, but I don't find it that funny. "We both know that Harm isn't going to be able to find out what I'm doing. The only good contact he's ever had is you."

And he's right. Harm always came to me for information. When he did come to me. Which he doesn't any more.

"He calls Leavenworth every few weeks, you know."

I didn't. Oh, that's healthy, Harm. My god. And they're just sitting there in JAG, letting him do this? Idiots.

"Next time he calls, in, oh, about a week, if he stays on schedule, they'll tell him that there's no such prisoner on record. What do you think is going to happen then?"

He'll lose it. I've seen his face when he's got Palmer on his mind. It's like watching a man undergoing possession by demons. Palmer's got a point. This could work. My god, I'm actually considering doing this. I'm losing my mind.

"You can have him coming to you, Clayton. And I'm sure that it won't take that long for you to have him here for more than just information. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The dark note is in his voice again, and this time I'm not doing so well resisting it. I should get some more water, take a break from hearing Palmer's line of bull. But I don't want to get up. I want to hear what Palmer has to say.

I should just tell him to go to hell. I really should.

But I can't. The chance to get Harmon Rabb back, to make him do what I want, is too much. But I can tell there's something I need to be paying attention to...and then I've got it.

"You've got cameras at his place."

He smiles. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Why would you think I'd be interested in starring in porn films for free?"

"You wouldn't. I won't be taping. Just watching."

"How can I be sure of that?" I'm negotiating. I can't believe I'm doing this.

"Clay, you're missing something. You've got more on me than I do on you. Think. I've just admitted to you that I've been illegally tapping Harm's phone, videoing his home. You go to Justice with that and I'm back in that damned cell." The darkness that was there before when he talked about Leavenworth is back. "You can call right now, if you want to. Not that I'd stay around to get caught. But they'd find me, and it might be before I could pull everything from Harm's place. The odds favor you. Not me. And if I do tape you, I'm helping your case, not mine."

He's right. Palmer's put his freedom in my hands. So that he can get me to help him? The world is changing.

Palmer sees that I've accepted his argument. "Make the first time at his place. I want to see him have to get over his pride and know he's got to do some begging. Even if you don't want to keep it going, I'll have enough revenge for a while."

I'm an idiot to think Clark Palmer is going to give this up just because I won't help him. He'll find a way to get Harm. If not me, then someone else. I might as well. Better me than some stud out of a bar somewhere. I'd be an idiot to turn down this chance.

Just like I'm an idiot to think that Harmon Rabb will ever give a damn about me, who I really am. The only thing he'll ever give a damn about is what I can do to his body.

I stand. "I'm not playing your game for you, Palmer." This has gone far enough. I'm tired of being an idiot, and I don't like where my mind is taking me. I have to get him out of here.

He stands, too. "I don't think you really mean that, Clayton." I hate when he's so damned certain. I really should have killed him on that mission. It would have been so easy. But I didn't know what he really was then. "Tell you what, I'll go back to my hotel room and let you get some sleep. You think about this, and decide how you want to tell Harm about me." His eyes flicker over my face. "You know he's going to go ballistic when he hears. Do you really want him to get in trouble with Chegwidden over this? Or the SecNav? I know you've stepped in and made everything right with the Secretary a few times. Think you've got enough pull to do that again?"

How does he know about that? It took a hell of a lot to get him off the last time, but it was better for the country that Rabb stayed in JAG and not in some obscure post. That's the reason I did it. That's what I told myself. But I know now that's not true. I did it for Harm. So that he could stay in D.C. And for me.

"Rabb can take care of himself." My voice is cold, but not cold enough to stop Palmer's smile.

"Can he really? That's not what I've found. Harm needs his friends to take care of him. And you know just how to do it." He waits, but I'm not answering. "All right, Clayton. I'll leave you alone to think. And you can have the tape. I think it's only right."

I don't answer, but I don't pop the tape and make him take it, either. I walk with him to the door and wait while he shrugs on his coat.

"Think about it," Palmer says, very quietly. For once he's not being 'Clark Palmer, superagent.' He's a person, that same person who got me out of that hotel and back to D.C., who made sure I got home when my whole world crashed around my nose and even stayed to help me throw up. He's that person I thought would be a good agent. I was right. It's too bad I never got the chance to show him that he didn't have to be that other person, the one who thinks that people are just toys to be played with. But we met much too late for that. I think we did. "He wants you, Clayton. Not some guy out of a bar."

"Harmon Rabb only needs Harmon Rabb," I say coldly. I don't want to think about Harm going to a bar and picking up some idiot. I won't think about that.

Clark shakes his head. "Harmon Rabb needs someone who knows who he is." His voice is very soft. I can hardly hear him. "Just like we all do."

Before I know what he's doing, he leans over to stare in my eyes. For a moment I think he's going to kiss me. "Too bad I didn't meet you when I was young enough to change," he whispers. "But at least they didn't get you."

He's out the door before I can do anything. I will never understand Clark Palmer. Never. And who got him? The DSD? I hadn't thought of that.

I shut the door as his car pulls away, then head for the kitchen. I need to eat something more, so I cut some bread and put together a peanut-butter sandwich, using the strawberry jam I get every summer from the same farm. No one can make better jam, and I've tried kinds all over the world.

I end up sitting on the couch as I finish it. I want to think that I've made my decision, but I haven't. I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is that I'm going to be talking to Harmon Rabb tomorrow. Telling him that his enemy is free again. And Palmer's words echo in my head: *Harmon Rabb needs someone who knows who he is. Just like we all do.*

I need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'm going to give Harm some news he's not going to want to hear. And I need to be ready for that.

But I don't go to bed. Instead I stay in the living room, rewind the tape. I watch Harm cry out my name and come again. And again, and again, and again, stopping only to get myself off, until I realize that it's one in the morning, and I can't keep my eyes open any longer.

It's too late. I'm going to do what Clark Palmer wants. I'm going to go to Harm and use everything I've got to get him into bed with me. Because Harm needs me. I know who he is. I always have.

And I'm going to use any means necessary to show that to him. Even if it means hurting him. Even if it means hurting me.



The End