Title: Dirty little town

Author: Gail

Fandom: JAG

Pairing: Clark Palmer/Clayton Webb, Clayton Webb/Harmon Rabb

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Clark Palmer captures Clayton Webb and tries to make him into the person Palmer wants, but Webb's stronger than Palmer thinks. An alternate ending to the episode "Webb of Lies".

Archive: yes to Jagslash, Querstrich, RSA, CKOS, WWOMB. All others, please ask.

Email: gem225@hotmail.com

Web Page: http://free.freespeech.org/gem/work/main.html and the
Unholy Trinity, at: http://www.strangeplaces.net/trinity/main.htm

Disclaimer: All of the characters herein portrayed belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS, except for Robert McCall, who belongs to the people who own The Equalizer, whoever they may be.

Warnings: character death(s) and coercion; also references to m/f sex.

Spoiler: Webb of Lies, To Russia With Love, Gypsy Eyes, and general ones for second, third, and fourth seasons

Summary of "Webb of Lies": Webb is supposedly dead in an altercation on the ship Kamiko Maru, and there are rumors that he was leaking information to the DSD. Rabb, who doesn't believe that last at all, looks for his killer. Only thing is, Webb's not dead. He's hiding on the ship, waiting to find out who was the leak in the CIA and who will come after the superconductor he has hidden there. Rabb figures this out and goes to the ship, but guess who's either followed him there or was waiting...yes, Clark Palmer. There are some mind games Palmer plays on Rabb, then a shootout eventually. Palmer ends up capturing Webb and, with a
gun to Webb's head, forces him to give up the superconductor. Rabb then staggers over and shoots Palmer, who gets away, even though he gets shot some more.

This ending picks up with Rabb bleeding from his head somewhere on the ship, Palmer holding a gun on Webb, and Webb on his knees and hurt. The first line of dialogue is from the episode, and then this story diverges, big-time. For one thing, I totally ignore Rabb's relationship with Jordan Parker. I love her, but there's no place for her here. For another thing, Palmer doesn't
get shot by Rabb.

** denote thoughts. I'm tired of the file: thing that results from double slashes.

Thanks to Silk, who read this before it was posted, and to the people on the gemstories list who gave great and kind feedback and helped me feel that this one was ready.

This is for Alex, as so much of my work has been and shall continue to be. She died much too soon.

*****

This isn't a songfic, but these lyrics need to be here. For me they go back to the dialogue between Rabb and Palmer in theepisode Imposter when Rabb asks Palmer what happened to him to make him the way he is, and Palmer says, "Stay in Washington a few more years."

And I ain't got a friend in this dirty little town just run down sun down shadows always follow me around the souls in the junk yard, the river winds about the rusted out hulks surrounding people getting out

"Dirty Little Town", Jim Infantino, his CD Strawman, copyright
1993.

Dirty Little Town
by Gail

"You do good work, Webb." Clark Palmer closed the case with the superconductor that had been all the cause of this damned trouble and smiled at Webb, although of course still holding the gun on him.

Webb shrugged, keeping his eyes on Palmer and waiting for an opportunity. If one didn't come soon, he was going to make one. Palmer might be good, but so was he, and he was damned if he was going to let Palmer just kill him. His leg ached, but he told himself to ignore it.

"But now it's over." And Palmer was over before he could get himself on his feet, and god, how the hell had he gotten so fast? Palmer was going to do something, he knew it, and then Palmer did, slamming the gun down on his head.

Too slow, he thought, and then he was out.

*****

He woke up again, something he hadn't expected. His head was throbbing, but his leg didn't hurt. When he looked down, he saw that it had been dressed. But that wasn't necessarily good news. His right hand was cuffed to the metal frame of the bed, and when he went to try and see if he could get it open, the cuff held. He hadn't expected anything else.

He glanced at what he was wearing: a hospital gown. At least he had something on. But why the hell had Palmer gone to all this trouble? It had to be Palmer. He had been the last person to be in contact with him, and why else was he restrained? He thought about calling out, but decided against it. Someone had to have their eyes on him. He looked up. Yes, that looked like a camera. Too high for him to reach, of course, even if he had been free to move.

He sat and waited, and, as he'd expected, it wasn't long before someone came into the room.

"Clay." It was Palmer. "Good to see that you're awake." He motioned to the man who was with him. "I brought you some food. You have to be hungry." The man put the tray down on a table with wheels that was against the wall. "That will be all."

The man nodded first to Palmer, then to Webb, then left. What the hell was that? A gesture of respect to him, a CIA agent? The Defense Security Division, or what was left of it, hated the Central Intelligence Agency. This made no sense, not that any of this did yet.

Palmer pulled the table away from the wall and pushed it in front of him as he came closer. "Come on, Clay, say something." He put the table within Webb's reach, then pulled up a chair. Webb watched him. Too far away. Palmer was smart, not that he'd thought anything else.

"What did you want me to say? Thank you?" He imagined that he was in his usual three-piece suit as he gave Palmer a thin smile, the one he'd perfected for difficult informants and people who thought they could understand him on a first meeting. "There's a reason you took me off the ship, and I'm sure you'll tell me what it is when you're ready."

Palmer grinned. "Damn, you're good." The happiness in Palmer's voice made Webb tense. A happy Clark Palmer was a bad thing. "I made the right decision, not that I doubted myself at all. Go on, eat. I made sure the cook turned out something decent for a change. Now that you're back with us, I think I'll hire another cook. What's your favorite restaurant? Might make sense to get someone from there."

Palmer was talking as though they were partners, as though he was here of his own free will. Or, as if he wanted Webb to be happy. This was definitely a game. "I don't see the need to take anyone prisoner."

"That's why you're you, and I'm me," Palmer retorted, still happy as far as Webb could see. "All right, I'll wait on the cook. But just wait, you'll be telling me this is slop in a day or two." He chuckled. "I've wanted to get the chance to talk to you for so long, Clay. It's going to be so good to have you here. I'll learn so much." He leaned back. "Now eat, or I'll have to cuff your other hand and put the damned I.V. back in, and you fought that like a bastard. Had to drug the hell out of you. The doctor was wondering if you wanted to live. I told him you didn't, but that if you died, he'd be the one carrying your shield in hell." He paused, but Webb kept silent. "That's right. Hell doesn't frighten you. You'd make a deal with the devil himself if you had to. And now," he smiled again, "you have to. That devil being me. You going to eat that or just stare at it?"

There were times to fight, Webb knew, and this was not one of them. He needed to eat to keep his strength up, and from what he knew of Palmer, he'd carry out his threat. Webb picked up the plastic spoon, which was the only utensil he could see, and lifted the cover off the plate. Well, at least it was something he could eat with a spoon, some kind of chili with bread that was already buttered, and it smelled decent. He took a bite. Not bad.

"What's the deal?" He looked straight at Palmer.

"You know, I'm impressed. You haven't asked about Commander Rabb yet. I was betting with myself that you wouldn't be able to wait to find out what happened to him."

"I thought we were discussing this deal you were offering." He wasn't going to take that obvious bait. Either Rabb was here, or he wasn't. He'd bet on the latter, if he bet, which he never did. He took calculated risks.

Palmer chuckled again. "Of course. Eat more."

So that was the game. Food for information. Webb had another spoonful of the chili, then put down the spoon and bit into one of the pieces of bread.

"The deal is this. You're dead, Clay. You have no place to go, no one left to you. Oh, sorry, your mom, but you don't have to worry about her. I've got people protecting her."

Webb picked up the spoon and went back to eating the chili without bothering to answer that. His mother had protection. She didn't need anyone from the DSD.

"The Company already pulled Markov, Clay, as soon as they found out you were dead. I put in one of my own. She doesn't trust him yet, but then she's smart, like you. She'll be fine. He'll see to it."

Webb froze when he heard Palmer's flat statement. The Company had done what? His mother needed protection, had had it since his father died. But wait, this was Clark Palmer. It had to be a lie. He blinked and got himself back under control. "My mother will not trust any DSD agent."

"But she doesn't know he's DSD." Palmer's voice was surprisingly mild. What was he up to? "She thinks he's an Englishman with a yearning for the New World. He's good. You don't have to worry about her. I got someone in the kitchen staff, which is a damned shame, since he's a hell of an agent, but I know you, Clay. You need to know she's safe. The deal. You work with me, help me get what I want, and I give you anything. Except, of course, the way out of here. Well?"

He had to have gone even more insane than the Company had figured. But there was only one safe way to play this. "I'll have to think about it." Well, that wasn't the way, but it was *his* way.

Palmer was smiling again. "Sure." Webb kept eating, knowing Palmer was watching and waiting for the right time to say something more. Finally he did. "You know, Rabb bought it on the ship."

There was suddenly a blackness descending on him. Rabb dead. Harm. The idiot who'd come to the Kamiko Maru with no backup, no plan, nothing but a gun and a cell phone, and if Palmer was to be believed, was now dead. He wasn't going to believe that. He shook off the darkness and made himself keep eating.

"You don't believe me, of course. Good. Can't stop being Clayton Webb, can you? No, of course not. That will take time, and we have to be careful just how much of you we change." Webb looked at him, really looked this time. Palmer believed what he was saying. And he was dangerous when he was certain; the reports all agreed on that. A focused Palmer was bad news. "It'll all work out. You're one of us now."

That was not true, and he was not going to let Palmer get away with saying it. "So you came over to the CIA? How did you get past the personality tests? No, that would be easy. Your problem would be the evaluation."

Palmer just laughed. "No, Webb. You're not CIA any more." He smiled, but his eyes were intense as they bored into Webb's. "You're DSD. Or, if it's easier to understand, you're mine." He leaned closer as Webb held himself still. "Rabb's dead. Everyone thinks you're dead. I'm all you've got left. So get used to it." His voice got softer. "I know you wanted Rabb; hell, probably Rabb was the only one who didn't, but then he was always dense. He didn't deserve you, Clay. But here, with me, you can have it all. Just as long as you keep playing the game right."

Webb gave him a cold stare. He was insane. "I never 'wanted' Rabb, as you put it." //And I am and never will be Clark Palmer's, but that one is not worth dealing with now.//

"I know what I saw, but say what you like." Palmer straightened. "There's no way out of here for you. I've got you, and I'm keeping you. Of course, if you're too much trouble, I suppose I can give you over to one of my colleagues for just long enough to break you. Do you know we train for that?" Webb kept silent, and Palmer laughed. "Is that what you want? Keep in mind, if you're broken, the one who'll remake you will be me." His eyes were glittering now with what Webb knew was passion in addition to the insanity. "I'll make you into exactly what I want you to be. I doubt you'd enjoy that, but," he laughed again, "it won't be like you have a choice in the matter. And hell, I'll make sure that the Clayton Webb you turn into enjoys it very much. I suppose that's all that counts."

"You going to do that?" Webb refused to give. "I don't think so. You like this game we're playing too much."

"I might get tired of you fighting it all. So you have to decide, Clay. Are you going to make this deal? If so, in time you'll have the run of the place. Work to do, not too much of it. Computer access, but through a filter so that you can't get anything out that I don't want you to, and I'll even bring in anyone you want. Just as long as I get you when I want you."

Decide. Palmer wanted him for sex as well as his mind and skills. He'd never slept with anyone he didn't care about before. But this was a chance to get to Palmer, to find out more about him, to survive. Rabb might believe in honor over everything, but he knew better. Survive first, worry about honor later. Honor was something you could get back or live without.

"Tell me what you'd want," he said steadily, knowing Palmer would get what he was saying, which was that they were making that deal.

Palmer's eyes gleamed. "Clay, you just managed to surprise the hell out of me. I'd rather show you what I want." He glanced at Webb's hand, which still had the spoon in it. "Put that down, then give me your hand." He pulled out a set of cuffs. "Just in case you have any dumb ideas."

Important to seem willing enough, to play a game Palmer would expect. "I don't. And if you're so bad at whatever you've got planned that you have to have me restrained..." He let his voice trail off and saw Palmer grin.

"No, I'm good at everything I do. All right, Clay, just keep your hands to yourself. If you're good, you'll get your chance later." Palmer moved the table back against the wall, tossing the cuffs onto it, then got down on his knees and lifted Webb's hospital gown. "Yeah, that's nice," he breathed and took Webb's stirring cock into his mouth.

Webb stared down at the dark curly hair and kept breathing. That was a sight he'd never thought he'd see or cared to see: Clark Palmer on his knees. He'd get hard if Palmer did his part well enough; it was basic male physiology, and if Palmer wanted to keep sucking him off, he'd be fine. If Palmer wanted more, which Webb was sure he would, he'd deal with that when it happened. He wasn't going to forget that this was Clark Palmer, along with all that meant. He'd make the situation work for him.

Then Palmer took him all the way in, and he moaned. God, he was good. Who the hell had taught Palmer to suck cock? Palmer didn't seem to need to breathe at all, just kept sucking him, and it had been a while since anyone had been this good. He came in a rush of pleasure and heard himself moan even louder as he did.

Palmer pulled the flimsy fabric down again and stood. "You taste damned good, and you didn't even call out for Rabb. Nice, Clay." This time Palmer sat on the bed next to him, but Webb made himself sit still. It would be possible to take him out, but it wouldn't get him out. It was time to wait. "I'll want to fuck you, and I want your mouth, but that will wait. Right now it's time to show you how good it can be to be DSD. Oh, if there's anyone you see that you want here, tell me. You can have them. No women, sorry; we don't take women in the DSD, but I can get you one. You want that?"

Tell as much truth as possible. "Not now. I'll let you know." He wasn't going to ask, but Palmer didn't need to know that. Not unless it seemed like a way to get someone to help him, but since this was the DSD, he'd have to be careful who he approached, and it still would be smarter not to have Palmer think he wanted anyone other than him.

"I mean it. Just ask. They'll do it."

I'm sure they would, Webb thought. "I'll remember."

"All right. Want some clothes?"

Dumb question. "Yes."

Palmer laughed. "Yeah, that was stupid. Give me a few minutes, and I'll get you something comfortable. No suits. You don't get your armor back."

Palmer knew that much about him? But then he was smart. "Comfortable sounds fine."

"And I'll get the doctor in to check you over. Then I'll kill him."

Webb didn't even let himself blink at that. "That's necessary?"

"Yes. He's barely competent. I'm doing the world a favor."

He liked thinking that, Webb noticed and filed that fact away. He needed all the information on Palmer he could get. He was playing for his life here, and his opponent had his own rules. "Your call." He thought that was safe enough.

"Yeah, it is. Good you know that." Palmer stood. "Doctor first, then clothes. Don't bother being polite to him; he's already dead." Soft laugh. "He just doesn't know it."

Palmer left the room after pushing the table with the food back in front of Webb and one last touch to his shoulder. Webb sighed and picked up the spoon. All right. He'd made a deal with Palmer, Rabb was supposedly dead, and his mother possibly had two DSD agents in her house. If that was true, his mother would figure out what was going on. She'd taught him some of what he knew now, and as long as he played along with Palmer, she'd be safe. Rabb? Rabb was a survivor. Palmer was lying to him. He had to believe that. And his deal with Palmer, he was a survivor too. He'd survive this, and someday he'd be out of here.

He took another bite of the now-cool chili without really noticing the temperature. Survival. That was what it was all about.

*****

"No bodies have been found, sir. They've searched the whole ship."

Harmon Rabb nodded shortly and turned away. Dammit. What the hell had happened to Webb and Palmer? He had been found unconscious and bleeding by Mac and Bud when they came after him, but they'd gotten there too late. Not that he was thrilled that they'd come at all. What if Palmer had still been there? But he hadn't been.

Palmer had either killed or taken Webb. He wished he knew which one, but right now he was hoping that it was the latter. He'd bet on Webb against Palmer any day. There were other possibilities: Webb killing Palmer, or them killing each other, but then there'd be either Webb to explain it or two bodies, so he wasn't worrying about those.

His lips tightened. God, Clay, he thought silently, I fucked this up. I know that, so help me here. Just...help me. You've got to come back. I need you.

He'd been living with that thought since the first report of Webb's death days ago, and this time at least he had some kind of realistic hope Webb was alive. No reason for Palmer to hide a dead body. He hadn't bothered to with Candella, after all. Webb was alive. He just had to find him.

The problem was, he didn't know where the hell to look. Webb would know. But Webb was gone.

Rabb shook his head. Get the cobwebs out, he thought wryly. It was something he could hear Webb snap at him. Webb was full of expressions like that. Damn, he needed Webb back. He'd never known how much he'd relied on the CIA agent being there until he was gone.

Time to go back to JAG. The Admiral would be waiting for a report. He'd taken the whole matter very personally, and Rabb knew it was as much because it was about Webb as that he, an officer under his command, had been injured. They'd find Webb. They had to.

*****

Webb frowned at the screen. There. That was the pattern. He typed a few notes to himself. Palmer did have him working on interesting projects, but that was on purpose, part of his plan to get him. Palmer was damned good. If he hadn't been trained to resist brainwashing, he'd be in trouble. But every time he weakened, he made himself think of his mother, living with two fucking DSD agents watching her every move, and of Rabb lying on the deck, bleeding. Rabb wasn't dead. He'd seen the reports Palmer had filed, but hell, it wasn't like he was going to trust anything Palmer told him. No, Rabb was out there, thinking he was dead. But this was Rabb, who was stubborn as all hell. He'd be looking for the body, and when he didn't find it, he'd figure it out. //Watch your ass, Rabb. Don't forget this is Palmer you're dealing with. Tell someone what the fuck you're doing this time, but make it a safe someone. Say, Chegwidden and MacKenzie. They'll take care of you. Roberts, too, even though he gets on my nerves. He's smart. Probably should have been CIA.//

"Through working?" He didn't start at the hand that was on his shoulder. Palmer showed up when he felt like it, and obviously this was one of those times. "Get up."

He carefully cleared his mind of any thought of Rabb or escape. Palmer was smart, no need to forget that, and he had to play his part well if he was going to survive. "Sure." He got up from the computer, Palmer's hand still on his shoulder.

Palmer pulled him closer and ran his hands over Webb's back. "I want a break. With you."

Webb didn't smile. Palmer had told him not to fake it. When he did, Palmer called him on it, with that smile that always pissed him off, the one that said 'I'm DSD and so much better than you are'. "All right." His voice had no enthusiasm in it, but that didn't stop Palmer from grinning.

"I know you don't want it now, but you will. You always do. Go to the bed."

"So get me to want it. Convince me." Webb broke the hold and took the few steps over to the bed. That was part of the deal. He didn't have to want it, but he did have to do what he was told. He knew that without ever having tested it. He didn't want to find out how Palmer would reward undesired defiance.

"I like convincing you," Palmer drawled and pulled him down onto the double bed.

He'd been moved into a bigger room after Palmer had sucked him off that first time and the doctor had come and gone. Palmer had smiled and told him that was what he got for being so good, and Webb had nodded. Didn't thank him. He wasn't in the mood to thank the man who had him captive for giving him something he probably had already planned to give. That had made Palmer's eyes brighten, and Webb had figured out something important. Palmer knew him. Palmer wanted him to fight sometimes. All right. He could do that.

"And you do it so well," he drawled back. Palmer just laughed.

"Watch it, Clay, you're sounding like me. Can't have that, can we?"

Did Palmer really mean that? There were times when he thought that about himself, and the thought wasn't as frightening as it once would have been. He was living with a DSD agent; he had to think like one. It was inevitable.

"You don't like it?" He smiled at Palmer. Anything could be a weapon, could be a way to find out more about him. He needed to learn Clark Palmer better than the man knew himself, and then he could find the way to get out of here.

Palmer laughed again. "I like everything you do, Clay." He pulled Webb against him. "Want to fuck you," he murmured. "Want to hear you moan when I've got my cock in you. But not until you're ready, and I'll know when." Palmer's hand slid down to his crotch. "Think about Rabb this time. Here." His voice changed, and damn him, he was doing Rabb again. "Clay, come on. I need this. I want you."

Webb held still, not letting himself respond. He knew that telling Palmer to stop would be a victory for him, that even his stillness was a victory, but going along with that was unacceptable. Rabb did not want him, and he did not want Rabb.

"You don't want to play," Palmer said, and this time it was his own voice. "All right, Clay, but you should say so." The glee was there, the glee that always meant Palmer had gotten what he wanted. Just what did he want? He'd find out sometime. "You can tell me whatever you want. I'll listen." Palmer was kissing his neck between the words, which was something that worked, and Webb felt his cock start to harden. All right. He'd done this before; he'd do it again. Palmer wasn't the worst lover in the world; in fact, he was pretty damned good. Palmer's hands ran over his body, teasing him, before one went back to massage his crotch. "Just tell me, Clay," he breathed.

No, he wasn't going to tell him anything but what Palmer wanted to hear, when he was sure he could say it right. "Nothing," he breathed back. That was the truth right now; he wanted nothing. He didn't even really want to do this.

Palmer's teeth nipped at his shoulder. "Liar," Palmer said pleasantly, with that edge in his voice that meant danger. "You want Rabb again. I should make you do something you don't want for that."

No, he didn't want Rabb. He wanted to be free. But that wasn't something he was going to talk about to Palmer. "Then I won't want it, and," Webb hissed as Palmer's fingers squeezed his balls through his pants, "you won't get what you want. You want me to want you."

Not 'it' this time. The wording had to be right. But it was damned hard sometimes to remember that. But he couldn't lose control of himself. Even when he cried out and came from Palmer's mouth or cock, he still had control. Maybe that was the point, to get him to lose that control. He'd have to be even more careful, play it even better.

"You do want me," Palmer breathed, licking the skin he'd bitten. "But you're so fucking stubborn. That's all right. I like stubborn. I like you, and you're mine."

His. No, he'd never be that. But if Palmer thought that, fine. "Yours." He made sure just to say the word, nothing more. Palmer picked up on lies.

"So you're finally willing to admit it. Or maybe you're trying to lie, but that's fine. I don't mind convincing you at all." Palmer laughed and moved down to his near nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking. Webb groaned from that after a long moment, and Palmer released it and laughed again. "Yeah, all mine. And what's mine I keep, Clay. Take that, Rabb," and the words were almost too low for Webb to hear, but he did.

Why was he thinking of Rabb? Only reason would be that Rabb was still out there. Yes. //Fuck you, Palmer. You're not as good as you think you are.//

He let himself relax. Time to give Palmer what he wanted. Better to make the decision to enjoy the sex than to have it taken away from him. "Damn you, Clark," he said in a voice he made sure was choked. "Please."

"Still fighting yourself, aren't you, Clay?" Palmer sucked in his other nipple, and Webb moaned again. Christ, he was good. Too good. "You won't be fighting anything soon." He went back to the first nipple and bit gently down on it, and Webb cried out. So damned good. "Your body knows it belongs to me. Now I just have to convince that brain of yours, and I'll do that. You know I will." The last was breathed into Webb's ear, then Palmer had him flat on the bed and was straddling him. Palmer's hard cock brushed Webb's leg. "You're mine, Clay. You'll see how good it can be. You'll stop fighting me. You'll be what I want you to be."

Webb felt Palmer's fingers stroking his thighs and knew he couldn't stop him. Didn't even want to. He spread his legs. He liked sex, and there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with liking it with Palmer, just as long as he didn't let it screw with his mind. He'd give in now, while it was still his choice.

"You want it that much now, Clay?"

"Yeah, I want it." Palmer's fingers were wrapped around his cock while the other hand caressed his crack, and he did want it. A lot. And Palmer would give it to him. All he had to do was ask, and he could do that. "Fuck me, Clark."

"Just let me get you ready, Clay. God, I like having you here."

Palmer was putting lubricant on him, warming it first, and Webb reminded himself that it was all part of Palmer's technique. It wasn't *for* him, couldn't make a difference. It was hard to be this hot and still remember things like that, but that was why it was so important to remember them. So damned important. If he weakened too much, he might get lost, might never find his way back to sanity. He had to stay sane, had to stay strong.

Palmer was sucking on his nipples again while he worked in a finger, and that felt so damned good. "Please," he moaned without meaning to. //No. Don't relax that much. Never that much.//

He felt Palmer's laugh against his skin, but he didn't stop, just worked another finger in and fucked him with them as he kept sucking and licking at his nipples. Webb closed his eyes, grabbing at images to help him stay enough in control. His mother's eyes when she knew something was wrong, her quiet controlled anger. Her belief that he was still alive. She'd know. His mother was one of the smartest people he knew. She probably already knew which ones of her staff were DSD, and was getting information out of them without them knowing it. He hoped she'd know to let Rabb know. Rabb with that determined look on his face. Rabb's voice when he wanted to get him to a hospital. Rabb telling him to give Palmer the superconductor. Giving a damn about that Jordan of his, not about anything else. Damn him for that. //No. Don't think that.// He moaned as Palmer took out his fingers.

"Want it, Clay?" Palmer's hands were on his hips, urging him to turn over. "I'll give it to you. Give you everything you want."

"Yes, I want it." His voice was hoarse. Damn. No, it was all right to want this. It didn't change anything. It was just sex, and he was still Clayton Webb. He was on his hands and knees now, and that was good, because then he didn't have to worry about how he looked, could let himself relax, and that would help him keep control over other things, like his thoughts. There was only so much he could control at one time.

"You want *me*," Palmer whispered into his ear right before he bit the earlobe. It was just the right amount of pressure, as always, and then Palmer's cock was sliding into him, and Palmer's fingers were tight and knowing on his cock, his lips on his neck for a moment before he started fucking him. Palmer fucked him like he knew every spot that made it good, slow at the right times, slamming and hard at the right ones, too.

Webb groaned. Why the hell did Palmer have to be so damned good? It made it easier, but it made it harder, too.

"You want me," Palmer said again, and there was that glee in his voice, but he couldn't care about that, not now, with Palmer hitting his prostate every time and his fingers working him so well. "Say it, Clay. I want to hear your voice now. If you don't, I'll stop."

No, he couldn't stop. "I want you." God, his voice, so desperate, so rough and needy.

"Yeah, that's right."

And in reward, Webb was sure, Palmer fucked him better and harder without asking anything more, and he was so close, so close; he needed this so much, needed Palmer...no, not Palmer, just the sex; anyone could do this; it didn't matter; Clayton Webb, he was Clayton Webb. Then he was coming, and it was all right; it was better than that; he had gotten through another time, and he was safe for now.

He sighed as Palmer pulled out, then wrapped his arms around him and pulled them both down on the bed. Over. He was still Clayton Webb, and it was over.

"Go to sleep, Clay." Palmer's whisper was happy. "Sleep and know you're mine."

There was a soft kiss pressed to his neck, making him shudder, and a soft laugh that followed. But none of that mattered. He closed his eyes. Yes, he'd sleep, but he hoped he wouldn't dream of anything at all. Dreams hurt too much when he woke to find he was still Palmer's captive.

*****

"Mrs. Webb." Rabb stood as soon as he saw her in his doorway. She was all in black, even her small hat, and he wished he could tell her that the mourning was unnecessary, that her son was alive. But all he had was faith and a missing body and the knowledge that Clark Palmer played games any chance he could get.

"Commander Rabb." She was so pale, he thought helplessly, so much paler than she had been when he'd gone to see her the first time, not that many days ago. How long had it been? He didn't know any more. "I'm sorry to trouble you."

"You're no trouble at all, ma'am." He held out the chair in front of his desk. "If you'd care to sit."

"Thank you, Commander." She sat gracefully, and he hovered. He couldn't help it. It was too much like when he'd taken care of his mother, after they'd found out his dad had gone down. He never wanted to go through that again, and now he was. "Please sit, Commander." Her eyes were kind when he met them, and he let himself smile for a moment. No need to upset her.

He went over to his desk and sat down. "What can I do for you?" That sounded so stupid. He knew what he could do for her: tell her he was going to find her son.

"This is more about what I can for you, Commander." She put her purse on her lap and fixed her eyes on his face. "Clayton is alive. I'm sure of it, and not because I'm his mother, Commander. This morning I was able to listen in on a phone call made by someone in my house. The bit I heard was a man who said, 'Good. You need to make sure she's safe. Webb hangs on to that, and I promised him.'" //Yes. Oh, yes. Webb is alive.// Mrs. Webb was smiling at him, and he knew his face was showing his joy. "I knew you would be glad to hear that."

"Are you all right? You're so pale." He had to know. Webb would want him to take care of his mother, and he would. He had to do that.

"Makeup," she said simply. "I have two people posing as employees in order to spy on me. They think they're fooling me, but they're not. I have to be sure I look the properly grieving mother. I know they're reporting to whomever has Clayton."

"I know who has him, but not where to look." He hesitated. How could he talk to her about this? He'd tell Webb in a shot; well, after some convincing, but this was his mother. He should be protecting her, not burdening her. "Mrs. Webb, I'll handle this. You should be taking care of yourself. Please."

"Commander, my husband trusted me to help him as much as he could and be true to the trust placed in him. My son trusts me less, but it's because he's trying to protect me. Please don't protect me. I can't help you or my son if you withhold information. I've lived in Washington a long time, and I have connections. But I need information. Who has my son?"

Rabb took a deep breath. "I believe that it's Clark Palmer."

"And he is affiliated with whom?"

"The Defense Security Division."

She was silent a long moment, and Rabb wished he could read her eyes. But he couldn't, any more than he could read Webb's. "Neville always thought the formation of that division would come back to haunt the CIA, but I never knew they were after Clayton." She raised her head. "Do you know why this Clark Palmer would take my son?"

He shouldn't be surprised that she knew about the DSD, but he was. He made himself speak. "I don't know why Palmer would take him captive, unless it was," he hesitated, "to play a mind game with me. Or someone else," he added quickly.

"So he'd take Clayton to hurt you?"

Rabb heard her say that with some disbelief. She was so calm about it. "I'm sure there's more to it than that, ma'am."

"Please, Commander, my name is Porter." She was smiling again, and he liked her smile. Clayton had her smile, he thought suddenly, not that he used it that often.

"And I'm Harm."

"Thank you, Harm." Her smile faded. "I think it's likely that this is a move in the war between the CIA and the DSD, but if you and this Mr. Palmer have a history of animosity," he nodded when she glanced at him with the question in her eyes, "then we cannot rule out the possibility that you are right, and this is aimed also at you." She stood, and Rabb stood as well. "May I use your phone? The one at home is," a faint smile, "unsafe."

"Here's my cell." She was living with someone, maybe more, in her own home, spying on her, and she was hiding it all from them. He was learning more about the Webbs all the time, and liking what he learned.

She took it from him. "Thank you." She turned it on and punched in a number. "Robert McCall, please. Porter Webb for him." There was a brief pause. "Robert. I need information on a Mr. Clark Palmer of the DSD. Yes, I know they're disbanded, Robert, but anything you can get me would be very useful. He may be the one who has Clayton." There was a long silence. "Robert, do you remember Markov? He's vanished. Yes, vanished. Then that very day a gentleman showed up claiming to be from the agency, saying that Markov had resigned, but when I checked with someone I trust, I found that the letter was an obvious forgery, Robert! God knows what happened to him." Her voice lowered as she got angrier, Rabb noticed. "So this person is a plant, and I know that there is at least one other. I will tolerate it, for Clayton's sake, but the only reason anyone would bother to plant spies in my house would be because of Clayton, unless you're going to tell me that I joined the CIA without noticing it?"

Rabb felt sorry for the man on the other end of the phone. He cleared his throat without meaning to, and Porter turned and put her hand on his arm. Just for a brief moment, but it made him feel better. She was a mother, he thought. Mothers knew just what to do. Always. At least the good ones, and she was a good one.

"Very good, Robert. Send the information to Commander Harmon Rabb, JAG Corps. He'll see that I get it." Her bright eyes found his, and he nodded. Of course. Whatever she wanted. "And Robert, make sure to call the house tonight. I'm going to need to have a crying fit for those," her voice hardened, "spies. No, you may not come over. I know you would be fine, but who knows what they might decide to do to you? I will not endanger you or my son." Her voice gentled. "I know, Robert, I know. You love Clay, too. You always have. We'll get him back, if you'll help us."

Us. She was including him. Rabb closed his eyes for a moment. He had help, and damned good help. Clay's mother was something else.

There was a touch on his arm. "Harm?" He opened his eyes to see her holding out the phone to him. He took it. "Thank you. You'll be getting a file from Mr. McCall. Please tell no one about this."

"How will I contact you?"

She smiled. "I'll contact you. The file is for your use, really. But if you get a call from Robert McCall, do as he says. That may be the way I need to use."

"Whatever you wish, Porter," he said respectfully, and she smiled again.

"We will get him back, Harm. I know we will." She picked up her purse from the chair where she'd put it. "We'll talk again soon. And thank you for everything you've done for Clayton and for trusting me." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "My son has a very good friend in you," she whispered, and he could smell her perfume, faint and as elegant as she was. "I'm grateful for that."

Then she straightened and walked out the door as Harm let himself sag against the desk. He wasn't alone any longer looking for Webb. He had Porter Webb, and Porter had this Robert McCall, so there were three of them. There was hope, and now he had to make sure he kept that from everyone. Porter hadn't told him that, but he knew.

Mac knocked and came in when he said to. "Was that Webb's mother?" Rabb nodded. "What did she want?"

"She wanted to thank me for trying to save Clay on the ship," he said huskily, and it wasn't a lie. "She's a great lady, Mac."

Mac's eyes shadowed. "I'm sure. It can't be easy for her." She paused. "Harm, you're still looking for him?"

"I have to find the body. For her, if nothing else, Mac. She deserves that." Yes, that was perfect, he knew as he saw the expression in Mac's eyes soften. No one would argue with that, especially not Mac. She knew what he'd gone through with his father's body never being found, still not found, just the word of an old woman all the proof he had.

"You're right. Good luck, Harm." She smiled at him, then left.

Rabb made himself breathe. The door was open, and he had to appear normal. He wasn't going to be the one who let Palmer know that they were on to him.

He sat down at his desk and started reading over the file that was on top of the pile, keeping his mind calm and focused on the words and nothing else. There would be time for other thoughts later.

*****

"Wake up, Clay." That damned voice again, and yes, the dream was real; he was in bed with Clark Palmer, and he had to be careful. "Got a report on your mom, and she's looking bad. I told them to make sure she got more vitamins, and they're going to make some of her favorite meals, but that's not going to be enough. Who's there who can take her out, make her feel better?"

Webb stared at Palmer, whose face actually showed something that looked like concern. What the hell was this about?

"My mother has quite a few friends."

"I'm not talking the kind you talk to about raising money for fucking causes, Clay; I'm talking friends. The kind you go to when your world's falling apart. Who would your mother go to? I need a name here."

Impatient, and was it really about his mother? He thought not. This was an attempt to find out something more. But he had to tell the truth, because if he didn't, he knew who'd suffer, and it wouldn't be him. Palmer would make sure of that, and he'd have to hear every detail. He knew that much about him.

"Her closest friend would be Robert McCall." Uncle Robert. His father's friend, who'd left the Company and actually gotten away from Langley, as so many never managed.

"A guy? Don't tell me she's fucking around on your dad's memory." Amused, but he'd known Palmer would say that the moment he found out it was a man, so Webb already had his anger under control.

"I wouldn't know. Possibly." Maybe she and Uncle Robert were. It didn't matter. It did, but it shouldn't, and he didn't need this now. He wouldn't allow it. It took a moment, but he got the thoughts to stop.

"That's very mature of you, Clay. I should've known you'd be that smart. Of course you want her to be happy, and hell, your dad died years ago. She's moved on."

Moved on. As though somehow you could get in a car and drive away from a death of someone you loved like you drove away from the grave that held their body. It always went with you, but clearly Palmer didn't know that, and he wasn't going to tell him.

He stayed on his back, Palmer next to him, up on his elbows, bright eyes on him, too near, and of course, the covers pulled down. Palmer never let him keep the covers over himself, kept the heat cranked whenever he was awake so that he wouldn't be cold. It didn't matter. His body wasn't what he needed to hide.

"So McCall would be someone she'd go to?"

"Probably."

Palmer nodded and grinned. "Have to find a way to get him over to comfort her. But maybe he's already planning on going over. Or she's planning on calling him. She's smart, just like you."

His mother would go to her board meetings, go riding, see her friends, keep her life going the way it should be. That's what she'd done when his father died; there was no reason to believe his mother would do any differently for him. He wanted her to keep going. If she and Uncle Robert were lovers, she might go to him as part of her life, but then that wasn't the end of the world.

"I think they are lovers," he said casually and reached out to stroke Palmer's chest. Distract him, give him something else to think about, and distract himself from what he was saying as well. "I know he's spent the night, and why wouldn't they sleep together?" He made himself laugh. "It's harder than I thought to think of her in bed with anyone."

Too much truth there, and he hoped he hadn't made a mistake, because Palmer's eyes were suddenly so intent on him, burning in like lasers. "So she might go to McCall for comfort with her beloved son dead. Might need him to hold her," and Palmer had moved and had his arms around Webb, and ah, there was the trap; this wasn't about his mother; this was another game, a way to break him open, and he wasn't going to break, not for Clark Palmer, even if his fingers were in his heart, trying to rip it open; he couldn't let him do it, "kiss her," and as Palmer said that, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to Webb's skin, then lifted it, "over and over again, Clay?" And then he kissed him again, and then again, covering Webb's chest with kisses.

A game. It was one of his fucking games. A way to weaken him. But it wouldn't work. And there was a way to take this one back. "She might. She might be in his bed now, crying out as he fucks her." Don't think of it; picture someone else, someone he worked with or saw around; yes, that was better, that pretty brunette at the gourmet store who always smiled at any guy who came along and looked at her for more than a moment. That was fine. She could fuck any guy she liked, and it wouldn't bother him.

"No, Clay," Palmer breathed as his hand moved down to take Webb's cock in his long fingers, "I think your mother's on her knees sucking your Uncle Robert's cock. Just like she used to do for your daddy. Don't you think they used to do that, and she'd want that again? Hey, at least McCall's CIA, or he was. It's nothing really to worry about. Keeps it in the family, so to speak."

Shit. That he could see, and he didn't want to. Good thing he'd told the truth, because Palmer knew more than he should. But he kept breathing, didn't make a sign of what that did to him. Two of the people he trusted so much together, taking comfort in each other, not needing him. But that was just Palmer talking; it meant nothing. That helped him even more.

Palmer was working his cock as he whispered his words into Webb's ear. "Your mom's forgetting about you right now, up in the bedroom she and your daddy shared, on her knees for another man, and then he'll be fucking her," a squeeze to go with that comment that got him to groan, "and she won't care that her baby boy's dead and rotting, won't care at all when she's coming. I'm sure he'll make sure she comes, seems nice enough for a fucking ex-CIA guy."

God, Palmer was cruel. But he could take this. He focused on an image of his mother smiling at him from her horse, the sun glinting off her hair. She wasn't going to forget about him. Never. Even if somehow what Palmer said was true, it didn't matter, because she wouldn't forget about him.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Bring it back to this room, contain it, control it.

"You don't want it yet." Palmer tugged Webb on his side to face him, and Webb saw that smile that always meant there was more. "You have to want it."

"So give up. I don't want it. I don't give a fuck about you. Not at all." What was he saying, and why was he saying it? He was so close to blowing, and he never did that. Never lost control.

Palmer would do what it took to get him to lose control. Not necessarily sexually, any way. God, why had it taken him so long to get that? But he had known that, just forgotten. He couldn't afford to forget. He had to get himself back under control.

"I'm not giving up, Clay." The voice was a purr now, and Webb could see the glee in his eyes. "I never give up; you need to understand that, and I know you do, know you're getting this for real now, aren't you? Oh, Clay, you'll see how good it can be once you stop this idea you can fight me." Palmer's fingers snaked down to stroke his balls. "I don't want to break you to make you mine all the way," he whispered, and god, Webb could almost believe him. "Stop fighting me so hard; I don't want to do this to you. Don't fight me, Clay. Don't fight your life."

Palmer's mouth was on his neck again, and it made Webb shudder. Palmer was so damned good, and it would be so easy to agree, to let himself go along for real. But he wouldn't. He'd remember his mother, remember Rabb's stubbornness, remember his life. He'd get his life back. This was not his life. He had to believe that. He would believe that, because it was the truth.

*****

Harm kept going through the file that had been delivered to him a few hours after Porter Webb had left. He hadn't opened it at work, just put it in a drawer, then brought it home, but as soon as he'd gotten home and changed he'd opened it. It was full of information. This McCall was very good. He must have connections as good as Webb, not that that surprised him. If Porter Webb trusted him, he had to be that good.

He stopped at one page. "List of property owned by DSD agents or affiliates," he muttered. That could be something to look into. Palmer had to go to ground somewhere, and what better than a place he'd be sure nobody would know to look for him? He scanned the page. There were quite a few places right here in the D.C. area, and from what he knew of Clark Palmer, he would enjoy having Webb right under everybody's noses. He had to have been the one who was calling to check on Porter. That fit Palmer's style. He had to be in on everything.

He got up and grabbed a map of the District, then reached for a pad and started writing down addresses, checking the map so that he got them in some kind of reasonable order. He'd start tomorrow. It was too late now, and he needed time to find out more, if possible, and prepare. He wasn't going to charge in this time. He couldn't afford to screw this up. Porter believed in him, and Clay needed him. And he needed Clay back.

He frowned for a moment, twirling the pen around his fingers. Why the hell was he going to all this trouble? Because Clayton Webb had been someone he hadn't really realized he needed until he was gone? That was part of it, a big part of it, but there was more. Even more than Porter having come to him and trusting him. He knew that, but he didn't know what that more was.

He stopped the twirling. He'd get Clay back, and then he'd figure out the rest. One thing at a time.

*****

"You hungry?" Palmer was smiling, but Webb kept his face calm and expressionless as he sat up. Palmer hadn't let him sleep very much, and he knew that that was part of the whole plan. Disrupt his sleep patterns, get his mind working less efficiently, break him. Palmer wanted to break him. He needed to get away from Palmer for a while, needed some time to himself, but that wasn't easy to do. Palmer either had him working or was with him.

"Not really. I'm going to take a shower." That would give him a little time, and it would have to be enough.

"Fine. I'll see that you get something." Palmer grinned. "You need to keep your strength up. Ready to let me go and bring you back a decent cook?"

"I'm a decent cook. You should let me into the kitchen." Webb kept his tone light, even though the thought of getting to a place that wasn't here, that had knives and possibly even a way out made his heart pound. Control, he reminded himself.

Palmer shook his head. "You're too valuable to cook. Come on, Clay, let me go get someone."

Let him. Was Palmer actually thinking he needed permission, or even that they had a relationship? Fine. He'd play along with that. He smiled. "I'd rather you didn't."

"You're no fun," Palmer muttered. "But all right. Don't want to upset you." He gave Webb one of his mocking smiles, and Webb knew what was coming before Palmer spoke. "I thought you'd fall for that, and you did. I do what I want when I want it, Clay. You might want to remember that. Oh, and that you're mine. All mine." His voice dropped in that seductive one that was so damned hard to fight. "And you know that."

"Not yours." He should just shut the fuck up, but he couldn't.

"Mine," Palmer repeated and laughed. "Even if you don't know it yet. Soon, Clay. Soon nothing but what I want will matter to you. I can see it even if you can't. Go take your shower."

Webb didn't let himself say anything more. He turned and went into the bathroom. Damn. He had to remember this was Clark Palmer, and even if he was insane, he was still fucking brilliant. Too fucking brilliant.

He started the water running and got into the shower stall. At some level he was getting to Palmer, he told himself. He had to be. He was doing this right, so even if it seemed that Palmer was holding out, he wasn't.

Of course, Palmer was seeing the situation the same way, and who was to say which of them was right? He sighed and picked up the soap, which was from the same maker as he had at home, but a different fragrance. Another of Palmer's games. He'd keep holding out, keep himself safe, and hope that he'd find a way out.

As he soaped himself, he thought of Rabb. Was he still looking? And his mother, was she all right? There were moments when he was tempted to just ask Palmer to tell him the truth, but that would be breaking in a way that Palmer would know just how to use, he was sure. And he wouldn't get the truth, no matter what. Rabb was looking. His mother knew he was alive. He would find a way out.

He put the soap back on the ledge and started rinsing off, clearing his mind. Here. He was here. He would deal with it. He would get out. He would survive.

But god, he wished it would be soon. He was so tired of this, and he knew that he was closer than he liked to breaking. Palmer was too good, and he was only one man. Maybe he should give up. Maybe he would give up whether he chose to or not. It was beginning to seem as though that was what was going to happen. He might be Clark Palmer's for real. The thought wasn't as frightening as it had been. Clark would take care of him, made the sex great, and what the hell was there in the real world for him anyway? Might as well.

He set his lips and pinched his thigh sharply. No. He was never going to give in. Never.

*****

Rabb parked the car and ran through his mental checklist one more time. Yes, he had everything. Every damned place he'd checked from the list had been empty. This was the last one he'd be able to do today, and he hoped this one would have Webb. He got out, locked up, walked quietly to the run-down building. The lock on the door was brand-new, and he drew his gun. This might be it.

*****

"I want you." Webb heard Palmer's order and reached for the mouse to shut down the program. This was his life now; this was how it would be. He had to survive.

"How?"

Palmer's eyes gleamed, and Webb knew it was because of how he was behaving. He'd never been this submissive before. He didn't even know if he cared that he was.

"On your knees, Clay." Palmer sat down on the bed. "Show me how good that mouth of yours is. I like your mouth."

Fine. He could do this. Webb walked over to Palmer, who reached up and pulled his head down to his, kissing him with a fierce passion that made Webb moan. It felt so good. He was already getting hard, just from the kissing, dammit. If he wasn't careful, he was going to be all Palmer's.

Palmer let him go, and Webb sank to the floor. Just get him off, he told himself. Then find a way to go on. He could do this.

He opened his mouth and leaned forward to lick the head of Palmer's cock. Clark liked that.

"Very good, Clay," the low voice murmured, making him shudder. It felt good to get the praise, too good. But he was Clayton Webb, and it didn't even matter if he liked this, because he was more than this.

He took in the head and some of the shaft and started sucking. Palmer's hands came down to rest on his hair, and Webb felt a warmth at that, too. Clark cared about him. Clark would take care of him. He'd be all right. No. He had to fight.

"You're mine, Clay." One hand slipped down to stroke his face. "It's all right now. I want you."

Too damned good to hear all those words, and Webb tried to shut them out of his head. There was a noise in the hall, but he knew better than to let himself believe that it was anything more than one of the guards. He concentrated on sucking harder to get it over with. To get something for himself. Dammit.

*****

Rabb advanced carefully down the hall, his gun out. This had to be the place. He'd already killed one man and maybe another, men who'd had guns and were clearly on guard, but he still hadn't found Webb. He needed to find Webb. He got to a door and listened. There was sound coming from this room, so he turned the knob and went in. He couldn't believe what he saw. There was Clark Palmer, and he was running his hands over Clayton Webb's head as, god, Webb was going down on him. Why the hell was Webb doing that? What had Palmer done to him?

"Freeze! You're under arrest!" He knew that there wasn't much chance of Palmer listening to him, but he couldn't shoot now. He might hit Webb.

Palmer looked at him, then down at Webb, who had pulled back, but not enough. "Fucking Rabb. I should have killed him. I will kill him this time." He went to stand, but Webb's hand came up to touch Palmer's side, and that stopped him. "What?"

"Don't, Clark." Webb's voice was low. "It's all right. I'm yours. You know that."

What the fuck was Webb doing? But Harm kept quiet. Maybe if he'd let Webb handle things at the Kamiko Maru, they wouldn't be here now.

Palmer smiled. "Yes, you're mine. You know that now?"

"I know that."

"He's not taking you away from me." There was a wild gleam in Palmer's eyes that made Rabb freeze. What if Palmer hurt Webb?

"No one's taking me anywhere, Clark. Why would I leave you?"

"You can't leave me. You need me."

"I'm not leaving you." Webb's calm eyes met Rabb's. "Put down the gun, Rabb. You're outnumbered, and you're making this worse for yourself."

He had to trust Webb. He hadn't trusted him before, and Webb had been taken. He lowered the gun.

Palmer was looking again at Webb. "You'll stay?"

"Yes." Webb couldn't mean that, but he sounded so sure, even happy.

"Good." He smiled and stroked Webb's hair. "I need you. You know that, Clay."

"I know that, Clark. It's all right."

Rabb couldn't take hearing Webb say that, couldn't take seeing the two of them talk and act as though they were lovers. But he had to. He gritted his teeth and waited.

"Tell him to leave." Palmer's voice was a whisper. "Or I'll kill him. You got that?"

"Of course." Webb turned to look at him. "You heard him. Leave. I don't need you." But there was another message in his eyes. *Do it. Now.* All right. He would. Webb had moved just enough so that he could get a clear shot.

He raised his gun and shot Palmer, who groaned and fell back on the bed.

Webb stood and looked at him. "Good shot. He should be dead soon."

"Clay..." Palmer's voice died away. "You lied," he coughed, "to me."

"Yes," Webb's low reply came. "You shouldn't have trusted me."

"Wanted you so much. Thought you would..." Palmer groaned again, then was silent.

Rabb was glad of that. There was something about that exchange that felt wrong. He shouldn't have heard it, he couldn't help thinking, but it was too late for that.

He blinked and looked back at Clayton Webb. He couldn't figure this out. Webb was naked, marked all over with small bruises that Harm could swear were made by a mouth, and, his eyes dropped, partly hard. "What the hell did he do to you?"

A smile twisted Webb's mouth. "Whatever he wanted. I don't want to hear any shit from you about how I should have fought him, either. I stayed alive. I was looking for a way out. I stayed alive," he repeated, and the angry light in his eyes faded. "Mother. Do you know if she's all right?"

"She's fine, Clay. I talked to her just the other day. If you can find some clothes, I'll take you to her."

"There are DSD agents in her house."

"She knows."

Webb nodded. "Of course she knows." There was a faint smile on his face. "I knew she'd figure that out. Fucking DSD, no subtlety at all," he muttered and turned away to rummage in a drawer.

Rabb saw him pull out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and felt a smile pulling at his face. Webb in clothes like that? Funny, but they were both ignoring the body on the bed, the man who was dead or dying. Maybe they needed to. "Jeans, Webb? Can't picture you in those."

"That's what he gave me." Webb's voice was hard again. "He liked me in them. He wanted me to be his. I was. What would you have done, told him to kill you?"

"No, Clay. I just..." Harm's voice stopped. He didn't know what to say, and it felt like whatever he said would be the wrong thing. "Did he have sex with you? Rape you?" That had to be the wrong thing. What was with him?

"Two different questions. Yes, he had sex with me. No, he did not rape me. I'm not an idiot, Harm, and neither was he. He knew what he was doing, and so did I. We made a deal. We traded favors. I was lucky I had something he wanted." He pulled on the jeans and t-shirt, then did up the jeans. "I want to see my mother." Only then did he look at the body on the bed for a moment, then he looked away. "Now."

Harm couldn't say anything to that that made any sense to him, so he nodded and headed out, making sure his gun was ready.

"Is there a weapon I can have?" Clay's face was pale and grim. "I'm not going to let them take me again without a fight."

Harm blinked, then nodded. "Here." He pulled the other gun he'd brought and handed it to Webb. "You know how to use it?" He hadn't in Colombia, Harm remembered, but he'd done all right on the Kamiko Maru.

Webb gave him a look that Harm knew very well. Annoyance and exasperation. At least some things didn't change. "Of course." He checked the weapon, then thumbed off the safety. "Let's go."

So either Webb had learned since Colombia, or he'd always known. At this point, Harm would bet on the latter. He nodded again and started out. He'd found Webb. Everything would be all right now.

*****

"Nice of you to have me over," Harm got out as Clayton Webb looked at him across the table where they'd had dinner. It had been vegetarian, of course, and he was sure that Webb had cooked it himself. He didn't know what to say now. They'd talked about JAG and Rabb's current cases, music, current movies, the weather, and now they were just sipping coffee and staring at each other, or in Webb's case, the wall.

He hadn't seen Webb in two weeks, not since he'd found Webb and brought him back to his mother's house, where he and Webb had captured the two DSD agents without any trouble, and the words Webb had said to him had been often in his mind. Trading favors with Palmer. Having sex with Palmer. Surviving. Not rape. It had been a surprise when Webb called that morning asking him for dinner, but a good one. Now he wasn't so sure.

Webb looked in his direction, but Harm was sure it wasn't at him. "I wanted to thank you for all you did. Mother told me how helpful you were. She suggested a dinner with her and Mr. McCall, but I vetoed that." Something passed over Webb's face and was gone. "I'm sure she'll be in touch with you soon to ask you over."

"Oh." Stupid. He sounded so stupid. He wasn't going to tell Webb that he'd already had that dinner with his mother and Robert McCall. If he didn't know, then Porter didn't want him to, and that was between them. It had been a very good dinner, and he'd found out one thing, that Porter Webb and Robert McCall were more than just friends. He'd come back after going to the bathroom to find them very close, McCall's hand on Porter's cheek, and Porter leaning into that touch with a smile that made Harm's heart ache for a happiness he'd never found. He'd stepped back out and made sure to come back in more noisily.

"If this isn't comfortable for you, you can go. Maybe a restaurant would have been better." Webb stood. "Excuse me," he muttered and left the room.

Harm put down his cup and got up to follow him. Webb didn't look too comfortable himself. Maybe he should go, but he wasn't going to. He was going to get some answers. He needed them.

He found Webb in the living room, staring at his piano. Harm got between him and the piano, and Webb actually looked at him. That was progress.

"I don't understand any of this. Why Palmer took you, why you had sex with him, why you're furious at me. Why, Clay? I'm glad you're alive. I looked for you."

"Mother told me about that. I knew you'd look." He took a deep breath and moved around Harm to sit on the couch. After a moment, Harm sat down near him. "I don't know why I'm furious either, Harm, except that it was so damned hard there." He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Palmer was good. Very good. Almost good enough to break me. If I hadn't been clinging to the thought that you and mother wouldn't give up, I would have given in."

"And now you're mad because I found you?"

"Because it matters so fucking much that you did! Because even my mother tells me how wonderful you are. I don't like knowing how important that was to me, and quite frankly, Harm, I'd be happier if I didn't have to see or think about you again. I'm probably leaving D.C. That should make you happy."

"What did Palmer do to you?" It had to be Palmer. Clayton Webb wasn't a coward, wasn't a quitter. "And it wouldn't make me happy to have you go. Not at all. Clay, I fucked up. I should have been more careful. Then we would have caught Palmer on the ship. Or maybe I shouldn't have come at all. Then you would have caught him."

Webb was silent long enough for Rabb to wish he hadn't said anything. "Then no one would have known to look for me." The words came out choked. "Damn you, Rabb, I didn't want this. Why the hell couldn't you just come over and have dinner? But no, you always manage to find a way to get to me. Damn you." He turned away, and Harm took a quick step.

"I didn't mean to upset you." He heard a short laugh, but nothing more. He put his hand on Webb's shoulder, but Webb jerked away. "Clay, please. I don't know what to do. I never wanted you to go through that. Palmer hurt you. I'm glad he's dead, but at the same time I want to kill him again." There was only silence from Webb, but at least he wasn't leaving. "Will you tell me about what happened? So I can know? You're mad because I didn't get caught, or maybe it's because I don't understand. I don't, but I'll bet you can get me to."

"The only way I can make you understand what happened to me is to do it to you, and you wouldn't want me to."

Rabb was silent now. How could he convince Webb to do that? He really did want to know, but he wasn't sure why he did. "You could show me some of what he did," he said carefully. "Show me how it was in bed with Palmer. You said he was almost good enough to break you." Clay had twisted around and was staring at him. "Maybe that would help me understand. Help you stop being so mad at me." He didn't like having Webb mad at him.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm saying that I want to help. That I want you to feel better. That I want to know." Harm wet his lips. "Show me what Palmer did with you. Show me how hard it was for you to fight. I want to understand. I want to know." It was more than that, he realized. He wanted Clayton Webb, and Palmer was the one who'd had him. That was why he'd been so upset, why he couldn't stop thinking about it. It all made sense to him now. "Will you show me?"

"I must be having a dream," Webb muttered.

Harm leaned over. "Then dream this," he whispered and kissed him full on the mouth. Webb's lips parted, and soon he'd taken over the kiss.

When Webb pulled his mouth away from Harm's, his eyes were glittering. "You want to know what it was like in bed with Palmer?" he whispered. "All right, Harm. I'll show you." His fingers were all over Rabb's back, so hot through the thin shirt he had on, making him shake. "I'll make you beg for me, Harm. I'll show you so much of yourself that you won't ever be able to forget it, and then I'll change you so that you'll only know what I want you to."

Harm tried to keep thinking. So that had to be what Clay was most afraid of, that he'd been so changed by Palmer that he'd never be himself again. All right. Maybe this would get him to see that he could never stop being Clayton Webb, any more than he could stop being Harmon Rabb. It just couldn't be. There were some constants in the universe, and Clayton Webb was one for him.

There was a low laugh as the fingers moved lower, stroking his ass. "Scared yet?"

"I couldn't be scared of you, Clay." It was the truth.

"Good." There was a purr to Clay's voice. "I don't want you scared. I want you mine."

That did scare Rabb for a moment, then he realized Clay was deliberately being like Palmer. He made himself breathe. "You're not Clark Palmer. Stop trying to be him."

"You don't know who the hell I am."

"Show me. Show me who Clayton Webb is. I want to know." I want you, he said silently. He couldn't say it, but maybe he didn't need to.

Webb pulled Harm even closer, then brought his head down and took his mouth with a thoroughness that left him gasping. "This is who I am, Harm. And I'm going to have you, and you're going to beg."

"Yes," Rabb whispered. He'd beg for more of this, beg if that's what it took to make Webb feel better, and maybe even just beg because it got Clayton Webb looking at him with that dark passion in his eyes.

"You like begging, Harm? Should I have been doing this all those times when you gave me shit?" Webb's voice was harsh, and Rabb didn't know what to say. He swallowed and just looked at Webb, and Webb laughed. "Speechless for a change. Nice."

"Please stop talking." He wasn't sure he knew this Clayton Webb, but then that was the point, right? To see what Palmer had done to Clay, to find out how it felt. To know what it had been like for him in some small way. "Please, Clay."

Webb laughed again. "You're not half as good as I was at fighting."

"No. Please, Clay." He wanted more kissing, more touching, more of whatever came next. He tugged at Webb's arm. "Please."

"Show me you want it." Webb's hand was moving down toward his crotch, and he wanted it to be there so much. But then it stopped and rested at his hip. "Get on your knees and show me."

Get on his knees? Palmer had made Clay do that. Had made Clayton Webb beg, take his cock in his mouth. Had made Clay feel like he had to do that to survive. Rabb swallowed. All right, he could do this.

"Oh, that's right, you're Harmon Rabb, you don't do that, do you?" There was an anger in Webb's voice that worried Rabb. "You're so much better than any of us, so much smarter."

"No, I'm not." He wasn't going to let Clay down. He'd asked for this. He sank down to his knees and wet his lips. "I'm just a guy." He was, and Clay knew that better than anybody. Knew him probably better than anybody, too, and after tonight he'd know him in ways no one ever had, but that was all right, because this was Clay, and he could be trusted.

"That's right." Clay's voice wasn't angry any more, and Harm was glad of that, but wished that there was a way for him to get rid of that Palmer-likeness that was there, too. But he'd deal with it. "So show me. I know you want to."

That tone made Harm shiver; it was so seductive. Clay had gotten that every day, he suddenly realized, all the time, and had to fight it, and had to look like he was giving in, with only the hope that he, Rabb, was looking for him. God, Clay was strong.

He undid the zipper and eased Clay's cock out. He'd never touched a man's cock other than his own before, but already he was wondering how it would taste. Only one way to find out. He opened his mouth and took it in, felt Clay's hands tangle in his hair, hard and certain. Too much, it was too much; he had to stop, but he couldn't. He swallowed and tried to relax his mouth and throat, and then it was easier.

When Clay's hands pulled him off, it was hard to stop. He swallowed a moan. Clay was running this, he told himself. It was all right that he was. It was Clay; he trusted him.

"Liked that, didn't you?" There was that taunting note again. "Harmon Rabb, sucking cock. I could find a lot of people who'd get in line for that. I'm going to enjoy thinking about this next time I come to JAG. If you ask me nicely enough, I'll let you do it again."

Damn him. Harm swallowed an angry retort this time. Clay would have had to do the same with Palmer, he reminded himself. Clay was showing him what it had been like with Palmer. But it was getting harder to remember that. He was hard, and he wanted more, and instead he was on his knees in front of a Clayton Webb who only wanted to humiliate him. This wasn't Clayton Webb.

"Clay, please." He'd liked hearing the begging before, and it was easy to say.

"Please, what, Harm? Say it. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything." //Touch me. Kiss me. Let me up off my knees. Treat me like a person...but Palmer hadn't treated him like a person. Couldn't have. Damn him.// "Clay, you're not Palmer. You could never be Palmer. Show me Clayton Webb. I want him." He'd said it, and Clay was staring at him. Then he laughed.

"You're better than I thought. Get up."

Harm rocked back on his heels, then stood. Clay's hands were pulling him against his body almost before he was on his feet, and they felt so hot and right. Clay knew what he was doing, and how had he held out against Palmer if Palmer was even half as good?

"I'm stronger than you," Clay's whisper came, and Harm knew he'd spoken at least some of his thoughts. "I've always been stronger than you. You know that, Harm. That's why tonight you're mine."

His. Harm swallowed, then told his mind to shut up. He was going to do this, and he was going to do this right. He was going to stop fighting. "I'm yours."

"So you're not going to fight me?" In between his words, Clay's lips and tongue were on his neck, kissing and licking and making him moan. "You're going to give in?"

"Yes." He had to give in. He had to let Clay win. It was what Clay needed. He knew that now even more than before.

"Mine," he heard Clay say one more time, and the triumph in his voice made Harm shut his eyes. He'd been right. Clay did need this. "Good." His lips lingered on Harm's neck, and it took Harm a minute to realize that Clay's mouth was sucking on his skin. It would leave a mark, and the thought that Clay was marking him as his made him harder.

Clay pulled back. "Come with me."

Rabb knew he was panting, knew he was hard, knew he wanted this desperately. "Yes."

Clay's smile grew. "That's right, Harm." He turned and headed out of the room, and Rabb followed. His cock was throbbing, and he kept tasting Clay every time he swallowed.

Clay led him into a bedroom. Clay's bedroom. He was in Clay's bedroom, and he and Clay were going to have sex. He'd never thought he'd want this, but he did.

He reached for his shirt and started unbuttoning it. Clay watched him for a moment, then turned away and got out of his clothes. When Harm looked at him again, he was on the bed, lying on his side, watching. Webb's look of confidence and cool interest made Harm fumble with his pants, but he finally got them off.

"Come over here." Clay's voice was as cool as his face.

Harm walked over, eyes on the other man, shifting between his face and his cock. Clay was going to make him beg, he remembered, make him beg to be fucked. He wasn't scared now. This was still Clayton Webb, and he was still Harmon Rabb, and somehow it would end up being all right. He didn't know how, but it had to.

"Beg, Harm." He blinked. Just like that? "You said you were mine. You said you wanted this." Clay licked his lips. "Beg. If you beg well enough, I'll give you...something."

Palmer had made Clay beg, and Clay needed to hear him beg. All right. He could do this. He swallowed again. "Please, Clay."

"Please what?"

"Tell me what you want to hear."

That made Clay pause, but then he smiled again. "I want you to beg me to fuck you. You can do that, can't you?"

He could do that. "Please fuck me, Clay. I want you to fuck me." He stopped. What more was there to say? He didn't know.

"Not much begging, but I think you meant it." Clay reached out and grabbed his cock, making Harm moan. "Come here, and I'll give you what you begged for. Begged for, Harm." There was a gleam in Clay's eyes that worried him, but then Clay's fingers pumped his cock, and he couldn't think of anything but coming.

"Please, Clay," he gasped and felt Clay let go of his cock, then grab his arm, and he was falling on the bed. He wanted to be there.

"You definitely meant that one. Don't worry, Harm. I know what you want." He arched as Clay's fingers found his nipples, rubbing them. He let out a gasp as the grip tightened into pinches. "You like that, too," Clay whispered. "God, you're a slut, Harm. I should have done this years ago."

Harm moaned again. He wasn't going to argue with Clay. Had Palmer called him that? Probably. "Bastard."

"Don't call me names, Harm, or you won't get anything." Webb had stopped and was staring at him, his face up against Harm's.

"Not you. Palmer. Bastard. Hurt you." It was hard now to talk. He arched up. "More, Clay. Please, more."

Clay's fingers went back to stroking his nipples. "He's dead." His voice was harder than Harm had ever heard it. "It doesn't matter now."

It did matter, but Harm wasn't sure he cared as much as he should. He needed more, needed to come. Did he need to beg again? He'd beg for more of this. "Please, Clay."

Clay's hands slipped down his chest, and Harm groaned. "You want this so much."

"Want you." It was important Clay know that. He groaned again and thrust up into the air, then Clay's hand closed around his cock again.

"You're breaking, Harm," Webb breathed. "You'll never find your way back if you're not careful."

Clayton Webb would not let him get lost. He knew that, but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. He was getting so close to coming, and he wanted to so much, but then Clay stopped.

"You wanted me to fuck you, didn't you, Harm?"

Harm groaned. Yes, anything, if it got him to come. He got his eyes focused on Clay and saw that the other man was sitting up now, spreading something on his cock with one hand from the tube that he was holding in the other. Clay was going to fuck him. He'd never wanted that before, but this was Clay, and it would be all right, maybe even better than that.

Webb held out the tube to him, and Harm stared at it. "Put some on, Harm, so that I can fuck you like you begged me to."

Harm blinked. Put some on? Where? Oh, right, his ass. He made himself get up on his knees and squeezed some of the gel on his fingers. Webb watched with bright eyes.

"That's right, Harm, get yourself ready for me." He laughed as Harm groaned. It hurt getting his fingers, even as slippery as they were, into him. How much was it going to hurt when Clay fucked him? Clay wouldn't hurt him on purpose. He had to believe that. "It's not much fun doing it to yourself, is it?"

"No." He'd never done this before. Never even thought about it. But he was doing it now, and that was what mattered. He pulled out his fingers and wiped them on his leg. "How do you want me?" The pain had taken away some of the desire, but when Clay's hand fastened back on his cock, the desire came back.

Clay pumped him for a few minutes without answering, and Harm stayed where he was, shaking, his eyes shut tight. He was fully hard again, and he was willing to believe that this was going to be all right.

Finally Clay spoke. "Here." Harm got his eyes open and saw that Clay was pointing to his lap. "Straddle me."

Harm moved, putting one leg on either side of Clay's body. Clay's cock was up against his stomach, and Harm stared at it. That was going to be inside him? Yes. He was going to do this. Clay needed it. He wanted it. Wanted Clay. But he wished he'd get started.

"Good." Clay's voice was so dark and low. "Now raise up." Harm did as Clay's hands moved him. "Down. You're going to fuck yourself, Harm. I like that idea a lot better."

He could feel the head of Clay's cock against his hole. He couldn't do this.

"You begged for this, Harm."

So much command in his voice, and so much anger and even pain. He would do this, but he needed help, and he knew that Clay wouldn't give it to him unless he asked. Well, he could ask. "Touch me, please." He reached for Clay's hands and put them on his chest. "Yes," he sighed as fingers stroked his nipples, then made himself push down. He was stretched more than he thought he could take, but he kept going, his eyes fixed on Clay's face. It was taut and strained, and Harm knew that Clay was keeping himself still, keeping himself from thrusting up, from grabbing Harm and shoving him down on his cock. Yes, he was still Clayton Webb.

When a flash of pleasure went through him, he moaned.

"Yes," Clay whispered. "You know now." His eyes were dark. "That's what it was like."

"I don't know yet." This was only part of it, he was sure of that. "Please fuck me, Clay. Show me more."

Clay stared at him. "You want more?"

"Fuck me." He pulled himself up, then drove his body down, and Clay moaned. "Fuck me, Clay."

Then he was being moved on his back as Clay changed position, and Clay was over him. "I'll fuck you, Harm."

And he did, cock driving in and out, hard and certain and right in a way Harm hadn't imagined it could be. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn't. It was too much. Every stroke brought that flash again, and it brought him closer and closer to coming again. Then Clay's face tightened, and he drove in even harder, reaching for Harm's cock at the same time. Harm gasped and shuddered and came, then Clay let out a moan, and Harm knew he was coming, too.

Clay stared at him, then got out of bed. "Clean up."

He tossed Harm a box of tissues before he left the room, and Harm took some and wiped himself off. He was a mess. He stared down at himself wearily. He should get up and go to the bathroom after Clay was through with it, but he was so damned tired suddenly. He gave up, tossing the bunch of tissues into the wastebasket. He'd clean up and go home later. He couldn't now. Clay was going to have to let him stay. Maybe everything would be clearer in the morning. Now all he knew was that he'd gotten what he wanted, and he still wanted more, as long as it was with Clayton Webb.

He was asleep before Webb came back.

*****

Webb woke up the next morning and turned on his side, then stared at the sleeping body in his bed. Harmon Rabb. He'd made love to Harmon Rabb, made him beg, made him scream, had that mouth on his cock, had his cock inside Rabb. God. He must have gone temporarily insane. He did not want Harmon Rabb. He didn't.

He sighed. He did, and he had for a while, but he'd kept it as far away from his conscious mind as he could. Harmon Rabb was not a good bet for a relationship, was not a good bet for a friend, for god's sake. And now he was going to have to figure out how to clean up this mess. Was there a way? Maybe not. Maybe it was better this way. Rabb would wake up, hate him, if for no other reason than he'd seen him so open and vulnerable, and he'd leave. He, Clayton Webb, would find another post, either in the Company or out of it. Robert McCall had told him he was welcome in his business. Maybe that would be good to do. He smiled grimly to himself. Why not? It wasn't like the Company had done anything for him. Rabb had come after him, and only he and his mother had believed he was alive. No one else.

"Clay," he heard Rabb say, and turned. "Morning." And then Rabb's arms came up to pull him down against his warm body, and Rabb's lips were on his. Rabb broke the kiss and was smiling at him. "Want me to make some breakfast?"

Webb blinked at him. He wasn't mad? He didn't want to leave? What the hell was wrong with the universe?

"Come on, Clay." Rabb was still smiling. "Some breakfast, and then I'll take you flying. You'll like that."

Webb opened his mouth to say something about flying only when necessary, but he couldn't. This might be happiness, he remembered, which was what he'd wanted when Palmer had him captive. "All right," he said after a moment. "But just a short flight."

"But I've got somewhere I want to take you for lunch," Rabb protested and leaned over to kiss him again. "We have to fly there. Great cherry pie and vanilla ice cream."

Webb had to smile at that. He sounded like a little boy eager for a treat, but he was right there in Webb's bed, the touch of his lips still warm on Webb's mouth. "You really want this?"

"Yeah. I really want it. I want you, Clay. I know that now. Wish I'd known it before Palmer took you away from me, but I guess that's what it took to get me to see what the hell was going on in my own head."

Harmon Rabb wanted him. He thought briefly that maybe he'd never woken up from that blow on the head that Palmer had given him, but the thought passed. This was real; this was his life.

"What about last night?" Rabb had to be angry about that. He knew Harmon Rabb, goddammit.

"You needed it. You going to do that every time?"

He didn't know Rabb for shit, not this Rabb. "No, of course not." He'd never do that again. He could hardly believe he'd done it at all, but he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. He had done it, and he could live with that.

"Good." Rabb grinned. Harm. Looked like he'd better start calling him by his first name.

"We should go see my mother." Where the hell had that come from? Too late to take it back, and he meant it, anyway.

"Your mother's great, Clay." Rabb's face was suddenly serious. "I couldn't have done this without her."

"She's wonderful," Webb said softly.

"How about we take her to dinner tonight, after we get back from flying? You pick the place."

It took Webb a minute to take that in, but then he smiled. "I think she'd like that." It didn't matter then that he suspected there would be times when he'd have serious problems with the legacy of Clark Palmer's treatment and mind games, that he didn't know if he was going to stay with the Company or not, that he thought his mother was sleeping with his Uncle Robert and that he was having problems with that concept. Nothing mattered except this, and he knew enough to let himself enjoy it.

Rabb grinned and drew him in for another kiss, and Webb let him. Yes, it looked like this was going to be his life, and it looked to be a good one.

The End