The End Is Where We Start From

by Gail

(gem225@hotmail.com)

JAG

Harmon Rabb/Clayton Webb

Rating: NC-17

Clayton Webb and Harmon Rabb talk for the first time since they had sex.

Part 2 of the Solstice series

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. I know that. I'm coping.

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: Webb of Lies, Wilderness of Mirrors, Soul Searching, Contemptuous Words. Maybe also Impact and Imposter, since they're Palmer episodes, too.

Notes: This is Mareen's birthday present. Wish I'd gotten it out closer to the actual day, but that's life.

I had such wonderful help and support from some of the greatest betas in the universe: Mareen, Katja, Jennifer, and Amanda, all of whom read drafts and made suggestions that helped me get closer to what I was trying to do. All remaining mistakes are mine.


The End Is Where We Start From
by Gail

What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
~T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

I can tell that he's mad by the way he slams the door closed once I'm inside, if I needed any more clues. And he hasn't changed out of his uniform, which is as crisp as when he put it on this morning, I'm sure. He's trying to intimidate me. And it might work, if he weren't so damned gorgeous in it. Or he's figured that out, and is trying to get to me that way. Rabb's gotten a lot smarter about manipulating people. I wonder if I should take credit for that, or let it go to time and life. Probably life.

"What is it, Webb?"

His voice is bored, but he's only faking that. He's definitely furious. And it has to be at me. I'm the one who called and set up this meeting and wouldn't say anything more than 'I have to talk to you. In private. At your place.' I thought he was going to hang up the phone.

"Some kind of spy game?" He's got a cold smile, colder than I've ever seen him have before. Well, I knew that this wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "I'm not interested."

No, I can see that. And for a moment I wish that I hadn't gone ahead and called him. I know now that I can't come in here and save him from whatever fate he's got coming. That's how dreamers and romantics think, and I've never been accused of being either of those. But I can tell him about Palmer, and try to see that the two of them don't end up in some kind of face-off. Somehow. There has to be a way. He might even be over his obsession. Anything's possible.

But first I have to talk, and he has to hear me. I don't know if either of those are possible. And the way he's glaring at me is bringing back all the thoughts from last night, the ones that Palmer was pushing. Why shouldn't I make him pay? I'd make sure he enjoyed it. It wouldn't be rape. Just coercion, and just at first, since I know he wants it. Why not? I'll bet Harm's pushed a few women into his bed, and they probably never cried 'rape.'

God, I'm just as bad as guys who put drugs in their dates' beer and tell themselves it's all right because 'they have to want it.' I'm not that kind of person. I won't be.

I get hold of myself and answer him. "No, not a spy game." This is harder than I thought.

"Then what is it? I don't have all night."

Is that so? I don't think Harm goes on dates in his uniform. Maybe out to bars in it, but not on dates. There's nothing he's got to do for JAG, since I already checked that. And if there was a woman coming over, I'm pretty sure that he'd want to look all casual and sexy for her. And I'm sure he'd tell me that. He'd jump at the chance to show me he was still into women. No, Harm does have all night. And he'd better start being a little less of an asshole, or I'm going to make this *take* all night. One way or another.

"Webb?" His voice is getting even angrier. "Stop staring at me like an idiot and talk. Or get the hell out of *my* house."

I could leave *his* house right now and not tell him a damned thing, let him have his little victory, then call him tomorrow and tell him that it's about Palmer and see how fast he jumps to demanding I tell him everything. And then see how long it take him to beg when I won't say a word. Oh, to get Harm begging me. I close my eyes and make myself breathe. No. I'm not going to be that way. No.

I open them just as he steps forward. "Damn you, Webb. What the hell are you trying to pull?"

I change the angle of my head to keep looking up at him. I'm always looking up at him. And that makes me remember pulling his head down and kissing him, and the way he devoured me. It's all I can do not to do that now. But the way he's acting, he'd probably kill me. And Palmer would have a field day with that one. Rabb in jail for killing me because I gave him a kiss. He'd get us both. Two for the price of one. Hell, for all I know, this isn't about Harm at all. This is Palmer's way of getting back at me. Damn. I should have thought of that last night. Or at least today.

"I'm not pulling anything, Rabb." I'm surprised at how scathing my tone is. But then I've always been good at putting out the right voice. "I told you, I have some news you need to hear."

"I don't know why you insisted on coming here."

I'd better do this now, before answering that, especially since I'm still not sure why myself, except that it gives Palmer that illusion I'm playing his game. It would have been safer to meet at some overpriced coffee place. Or maybe Mother would have allowed me to use her living room. That would have been very safe. I'd never be able to relax enough to come on to a man there, not even Harm. Not with my father's picture staring at me. And she did like Rabb when he came over to offer condolences and pump her for anything that would help him find my killer. When I found that out, I almost thought he cared. But then he and I had our showdown, and he won. It had to be his victory. I never had that sweet taste in my mouth. Just the taste of his kisses, and his come.

I push those thoughts away and reach inside my wet overcoat. Of course it's raining again. What other weather would be appropriate?

Rabb stares at the box that I pull out. It's about the size of a pager, but from the puzzlement in his eyes he can tell that it's not one.

"What's that?"

I switch it on before answering. "It's a scrambler. It sends out waves that block electronic surveillance activity."

And I hope it will. We really don't know what kind of devices Palmer has here, and that makes it difficult to know what will counter them. But there's a good chance it'll work, or so I'm told. I'm not sure. These are the same people who told me that they couldn't find any more bugs in Harm's apartment when I sent them over to check it today while he was at work. But even if it just makes the transmissions blurry and intermittent, that's something. And I'll make sure to keep out of Rabb's bedroom, since I know for certain there's a camera there.

I shouldn't have thought of his bed. Between the thought of what I could do with him there and the musky scent of him filling my nostrils, I'm ready to...anything. As long as I can get my hands on Harmon Rabb.

I make myself remember that I decided not to be like Clark Palmer. I made that decision even before I met him. And it's not revocable.

He's staring at the device as though it's a bomb or something, and at me as though I'm the one who's going to set it off. I put it down on the floor and hope that it's working. I really don't like the idea of Palmer listening to our conversation, or watching us together, even though nothing's going to happen.

"You're under surveillance," I say carefully. "Illegally, of course." I don't want to say Palmer's name yet. I'm not ready to deal with Rabb in that mood.

"Who?"

So much for that idea. "Is it that important?" I parry. I really should have had this meeting somewhere else. But that would have made Palmer much too suspicious. What I'm doing now is within the realm of acceptable behavior in our world. No one trusts anyone too much. He probably expected this.

Which means he probably found some way to counter it. Damn. I hope I'm wrong about that.

"What do you think?" He's pacing now, his legs with their long strides carrying him across the floor and back again in no time.

"I'd think you'd be more concerned that it was happening than who was doing it."

He snorts and keeps pacing. I watch until he stops.

"Is this what you came here to tell me? Is it?"

"It's part of it, Harm." Bad idea. He's glaring at me now.

"So you think you can demand to come over to my house to talk to me, why I don't know, and then call me by my first name." He's getting loud now, and he can get very loud indeed. I remember that very well. "Oh, that's rich."

I'm hoping that device is working right now. Or Palmer's going to end up finding out a lot more than I want him to. That might just be enough to make him think he's really got his revenge. Or change his plans.

"You really like to play with my head, don't you? You remind me of Palmer sometimes, Webb. Maybe the world would be a lot better place if they put you in a cell with him."

I make myself keep breathing. He's not thinking now. He does not really think I'm like Clark Palmer. Because if I start to believe he does, I won't have a single damned reason not to play his mind like I know I can. Change the subject, Webb. Now.

"I hear you call Leavenworth every few weeks," I say conversationally. He shuts up at that. "Why don't you just transfer there? I'm sure you'd feel a lot better keeping an eye on him all the time."

He recovers quickly. "Shut up. Who is keeping an eye on me?" His voice was flat, and I can tell he's trying to keep himself under control. "Name him."

Fine. "Clark Palmer." Now it's done.

"Palmer's in Leavenworth."

"Not any more."

I wait for that to sink in, and brace myself for the questions that I know are on the way. Sure enough, Rabb doesn't disappoint me.

"What the hell is going on? How did he get out? Are you looking for him? Why didn't you just tell me this when you walked in the door?"

Rabb is so impulsive some times. He's over at his counter shoving a clip into his gun.

"Rabb, put the gun away."

A weapon isn't going to help. But it's how he always tries to handle Palmer. You have to use your mind with the man, but that's the first thing to go for Rabb, it seems.

"Palmer's out. I'm definitely going to need this."

He's so stubborn, too. If Palmer's seeing this, he's laughing. But I'm not. And I'm going home. Let him run around like an idiot. There's clearly nothing I can do. He won't listen to me.

I turn around and walk toward the door. Goodbye, Harm. Nice knowing you. I'm sure that Clark Palmer will be waiting for him, and if Harm's lucky, Palmer will shoot him right away. Because the kind of mind games I'm sure Palmer would want to play with him would destroy him now. Harm's not as strong as he thinks. He's never even been able to talk to me about what we did.

Of course, now that I think about it, I didn't exactly bring up that subject. I told myself that it was up to him, since he was the one who just took off after the last time, that he owed me an explanation, not the other way around. Was he trying to reach me with that look I couldn't read, didn't trust? Was I that fucked up that I missed the signal, that self-righteous and hurt and angry? Of course I was. I missed everything. Oh, god. And I'm wondering about *his* reactions. I should be remembering all of mine.

"Where are you going?" He's suddenly up in front of me, blocking my way. "You haven't told me anything yet."

"What more do you need to know? He's out, you're sure he's after you, you're ready to go hunt him down. Case closed."

I'm angry again. I didn't sleep very well last night, or very much, and it was all because of him. I'm ready to stick a needle or two into his thin skin. I give him a cool smile. I know that I'm not going to go overboard with this, but hell, I'm going to have a little fun now. Harm is just going to have to deal with me.

Harm is looking at me as though I've just sprouted green parrot wings. "I need to know everything you can tell me, Webb. This is serious."

And I can see that it hasn't even occurred to him to think that I just might not want to tell him anything. He's focused on Clark Palmer, and the job of the rest of the world is to cooperate and bring them together for that *big* showdown. Nothing else matters. Well, he's wrong about that.

"Fine. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

He leans forward, ready to listen. Palmer was right. If I played this right, I could get anything I wanted. And I'm pretty sure I could play it right.

"How much are you willing to pay for it?" He opens his mouth to say something, but I keep going. "Or what?"

I don't let myself do what I really want, which is to study his body up and down. Not because it would upset him, but because it would push my control over my mind. And my body. But my voice says more than the words.

He pulls back, his eyes wide and shocked. Oh, Harm knows just what I'm talking about. Good to know for myself that he hasn't forgotten my mouth on him, my cock in his tight ass, the way he screamed when I made him come.

His eyes narrow when I let myself smile.

"You bastard. You have some nerve..."

He wants to say a lot more, but I've clamped my hand over his mouth. How could I forget that this room isn't secure? I'm not going to give Palmer anything he doesn't already have, and I'm furious at myself for giving into the urge to torture Harm. All that I've done is to upset him and give myself a moment's pleasure. This isn't about my pleasure. This is about trying to keep Harm and Palmer away from each other's throats, and that's not an easy job.

"Shut up and listen to me," I hiss, and he stops fighting. I'm amazed, but still trying to figure out how to handle this. "Throw me out of here. It isn't safe here, don't you understand that yet?"

Now where are we going to talk? And how to let him know? I can't just *tell* him.

Palmer is right. Harm needs his friends to take care of him. He can't do it himself, at least not where Palmer is concerned. I see him give me a very slight inclination of his head and take my hand off his mouth.

"Now stop being an asshole and start telling me what you're willing to do to get this information."

I know that I'm taking a big chance, that Palmer's probably getting some of this. Palmer might not like the kind of game I'm playing with Harm. And Clark Palmer is always dangerous when he doesn't like the game. He tends to change it. I'll have to find a way to stop that from happening.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Webb," his voice is angry, but his face doesn't quite match, "but I can tell you're not interested in helping me. Fine. Get the fuck out then. I'll take care of Palmer on my own." He actually laughs. "It's not like you've ever managed to get the better of him."

I really hope he's smart enough to tell me later that he didn't mean that. That was uncalled for. I see a take-out menu on the refrigerator and know what to do. I head for it, leaving Harm standing in front of the door. His eyes track my every move, and I start to feel a flush of desire from that attention. This could be so much easier if I could just talk to him. If I had just talked to him after, we wouldn't be going through this now.

I grab the flyer and a pen that's on the counter and start writing. "Here's my number, just in case you've managed to lose it."

I walk back over to Harm and the door and hand both the flyer and the pen to him. He just stares at me.

"Can you read it, Rabb? Or do I need to write the numbers bigger for you?"

I'm using my condescending voice, and that finally reaches him. He glares at me, still confusion in those big eyes, and drops his gaze to the paper. Finally.

"I can make it out, Webb. I do have a brain, you know." His voice is angry, but his eyes show agreement.

Good. I feel some of the tension drain out of me. He'll be at the meeting place. I just hope Palmer isn't seeing that too.

"All right, then. When you come to your senses, you give me a call. But the price just went up. And the longer you wait, the more it's going to climb."

I push past him, trying not to react to that incredible scent he's putting out, and reach for the knob. And hope that I can pull this off.

*****

It's just too much to hope for that I make it out of there without incident. I'm a couple of blocks away from Harm's apartment, waiting for the light to change, when in the mirror I see someone rise out of the back seat, and, of course, it's Clark Palmer. At least he doesn't have a gun pointed at me. That's something.

"That gadget of yours is useless, Clay. Don't pay the guys who made it, that's my advice."

Well, that solves that problem of its effectiveness.

"I'll let them know." And they won't enjoy the conversation.

The light changes, and I release the brake and keep driving. The one thing that I don't want to do is show fear to Palmer. And since I'm not afraid, that won't be a problem.

"You just can't make up your mind. I know you want him. Why not take him?"

I can tell that Clark never did get the idea that other people had the right to make their own choices. A good way to deal with him could be to play along with that idea.

"Who says I'm not?"

"You think that you can fool me? I know you said something to him when you had his mouth covered. It would have been a lot more interesting if you'd used your mouth instead of your hand, Clay." Palmer's developed an interesting voyeuristic streak. Or maybe it was there all along. "I was right there. I wouldn't have let him hurt you."

Not just watching, then. "You were in the apartment." I really hope I'm wrong about that. The thought of Harm finding him there gives me heartburn.

"No. I wouldn't try to get in on your play. But I was close enough to help."

He's got his eager voice again, ready to show me that he's a good guy now. I know he's not the evil genius Harm thinks he is, but I'm having a hard time accepting this new Clark. I'm fairly certain he's somewhere in the middle, but still closer to the old Palmer than he'd like me to believe.

"I handled it."

Clark's smiling, and I don't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign. "Not the way I wanted you to handle it."

"You're not the senior agent on this case either, Clark."

I'll use our past if I have to. It's one of the few weapons I have. Although I'm not sure if it's one I can use on him, or one he can use on me. Both, probably. And it's still not something I like remembering.

"I'll never be a senior agent to you." Either he changed a lot in prison, or he's putting on a great act. "All right, Clay, what was on the paper?"

Too much to hope that he forgot about that. "Need-to-know basis, Clark. And you don't."

"Clayton, don't make me go to Rabb's place to find that paper. I might just run into Harm, and he didn't look like he was happy I was out." Clark looks happy to say that, though.

"I thought we agreed that you'd stay away from him."

Harm would lose it if he saw Palmer now. I'm sure of that. And Clark knows that perfectly well.

"No, we agreed that you'd get my revenge for me. Or no, wait, *we* didn't. I did. You waffled." His face is hard now, and I'm sure he's back to his old self. "And you're still waffling, Clay. What are you waiting for, Harm to get down on his knees and beg? If you want that, you're going to have to work a little harder."

Somehow the thought of Harm begging has Clark cheered up and smiling. I'm not that surprised.

"Clark, I'm handling this my way. He has to trust me, right? And he's not going to trust me if he thinks that I'm working with you."

It's a risk to say that, because that might give him blackmail ideas for later, but I'm sure he's already thought about that option. I've been thinking about ways to convince Harm that I'm just doing this to neutralize Palmer, to contain him. To protect Harm from Palmer and from himself. It's really the truth. Mostly.

I see Clark shrug. "I wouldn't tell Harm that you're on my side, Clay. I know how he gets."

And he rolls his eyes and grins. There are times when Clark Palmer is just like everybody else, easy to talk to, fun to know. It's just not smart to assume he'll be like that all the time.

"So stop worrying so much. O.K., I don't need to know where you're meeting him, but it has to be tonight. You're too wired to wait to see him."

Damn Clark. He's reading me too well. I put a time on the message along with the place, and it's a half-hour from now. I'm going to be late if Clark doesn't stop bothering me. I'm probably going to be late anyway.

"Thought so," he half-sings. "Clayton loves Harmon, Clayton loves Harmon..." He stops when I throw him a glare. "Sorry, Clay. Got carried away."

Now I have a eight-year-old in the car. Great. I sigh. I should have listen to Mother and found something else to do with my life. But it's a little late to switch careers now.

"You're right." Another good strategy with Clark Palmer is to tell him that. "I am meeting him tonight, in fact, I need to get going."

I've been driving the whole time, but in circles. I'm not going to give Clark any clues. I wouldn't put it past him to decide to come, no matter what he's said.

"You'll fill me in later?"

He's looking at me with bright eyes and for a moment I do see that same agent who went with me to England. The one I thought was so promising. The one I failed. That thought hits me out of nowhere. I should have broken that story, even if it did mean my career. But I just went back to the safety of the Company and let the DSD keep twisting Clark until they had him just the way they wanted him. I let them have him, without putting up any kind of a fight, and I should have. I had a responsibility to him. I let him down. Just like I let David Stoner down.

But maybe he would have ended up the same way. It's possible. I didn't take the time to get to know him then. And I can't take the time to deal with this now.

I make myself focus on the present. Clark's looking at me with eyes that have that same concern I remember from the mission. I don't want him to know what I was thinking. Even now, I really don't want to hurt him.

I have a lot of strange feelings about Clark Palmer. He and Harmon Rabb share the prize for that.

I swallow and speak. "Yes. I'll tell you later. How do I reach you?"

"That's right. You don't have my number." And to my amazement he pulls out a card and passes it over the seat. I take it in my hand and put in my jacket pocket, then turn my attention back to the road. "Like my card, Clay?"

"I really didn't have a chance to look at it, Clark," I say carefully. "I'm sure it's fine."

He snorts. The eight-year-old is definitely gone. "I wanted you to see where I'm working, but I'll just tell you."

I have a bad feeling about this. I didn't even think last night that much about why he'd gotten a pardon, or what someone wanted him to do.

"I'm working for State. Just like you."

I have to pull over the car at that. When I shut off the engine and twist around to meet his eyes, he's smiling.

"We might even end up working together, Clay. I told them I'd like that. We'd make a great team."

I do not have time for this now. I breathe out consciously, then in, repeating this until I can think again. Then I reach for the key and start the car again.

"It'll all work out, Clay. You'll see."

The happy note is still in his voice. I'm beginning to wonder if Leavenworth has some kind of secret psych program. This really isn't the Clark Palmer I've heard about, read about, faced down and almost gotten killed by. This man is different in many ways. I need to take some time and get to know this man.

But right now I've got a date with Harmon Rabb. Who's probably got his gun and is ready to shoot Clark Palmer on sight, and is thinking that anyone could be Clark Palmer.

I've got to get to him before he kills somebody.

I see that we're near a mall and pull into the parking lot. He shouldn't have any trouble getting back from here. And I didn't invite him on this ride. I wait, but he doesn't move. "I need to get going, Clark," I say finally.

He starts. "Right. Sorry, Clay. Got lost in my thoughts." He opened the door and slid out. "You have a good time with Harm. And I'll expect to hear from you," he breaks into a grin, "but not until the morning. Make sure the guy eats something, will you? He's looking kind of thin."

And before I can tell him that I'm not planning to go to bed with Harmon Rabb, he's headed off toward the mall. Maybe he wants to buy some more clothes.

I take a minute to rest my head in my hands, but what I really want is a drink. And I can get one where I'm meeting Harmon Rabb. I push down on the accelerator and get going. I'm really going to be late now.

*****

Harm looks ready to explode when I finally sit down across from him at the table.

"Damn you, Webb," he hisses. "I've been sitting here for half an hour. Where the hell have you been?"

He's playing with his water glass, pushing it back and forth, and his napkin is crumpled. He's nervous. But at least he's not wearing that uniform. Although Harm in jeans and a shirt is sexy, too. I make myself stop thinking about the last time I saw him in an old shirt and jeans. Remembering that is not going to help me now.

Just like it's not going to help if I tell him the real reason I was late.

"I'm sorry, Rabb." I'm not going to use his first name until he uses mine. He made that clear earlier. "It wasn't intentional."

The last thing I want is for him to start thinking *I'm* playing mind games with him.

He gives me another angry look and doesn't answer, getting the waitress' attention instead. She comes right over for his smile.

"Hi there. What do you have on tap?"

She goes through a whole list, and he chats her up, wanting more information on them, while I wait for my turn to order. He's doing this on purpose, I know. He has to show me that he's one for the ladies, that what we did meant nothing to him.

I know a little better than that. At least I think I do. And for the first time, I doubt the video. You can do almost anything with computers today. It could be a fake.

He finally decides on a beer, and I ask for scotch on the rocks and coffee. When she's gone, making sure Harm gets another beam, he gives me a curious look.

"Scotch and coffee? Do you mix them together?"

I smile. That sounded like a joke. And he doesn't sound angry any more.

"No. But I don't want to get drunk. This helps me keep to one."

I got drunk last night, and look what happened. Caught in the middle of Clark and Harm's war.

I sigh and get myself back to business. He's looking at me like he's waiting for me to start this, so I do.

"Clark Palmer didn't escape. He got a pardon." That should take care of the worst of it.

He's staring at me like I just said something in Russian. Then he frowns. "What? You said what?"

I close my eyes for a brief moment and wish that I'd had something to eat before starting this. The waitress sets down his beer and my scotch and mug of coffee, and I manage to get her attention.

"I'd like to look at a menu, please."

I hope that Harm's smart enough to keep quiet for a while, and it looks like he's thinking pretty hard about what I just said. His eyes are blank, turned inward.

"Oh." She looks at Harm and giggles. "You're staying for dinner. That's nice."

She rushes off to get two and hands the first to me, a major victory. I'm sure she'd much rather be focusing exclusively on Harm. But then I'm the one who looks like he's going to be paying the bill, and all wait people know about working the one who's got the money. Not that I blame her. It's a shitty kind of job to have. I doubt she ever wanted to end up this way.

I count on her waiting a moment to give Harm another going-over and scan the menu. I've never eaten here before, and I can see why. It was just a place that I could think of, where I'd had drinks once in a while that seemed safe. But I need to have something. And Harm's snapped out of his trance and is looking at his. Maybe he'll eat something. Clark's right; he is thinner. Still looks good, though. Didn't they feed him enough on that carrier? Or did he get out the habit of cooking there? But eating take-out should put some pounds on. It always does for me.

"A hamburger, rare, and an order of mashed potatoes. And no bun. What is the vegetable tonight?"

She giggles again. "Honey, burgers don't come with a vegetable, unless you count french fries. We've got salad. Want one of those?"

I'd hate to find out what this place calls a salad. But I feel like having something green. I'm about to order one when Harm leans forward.

"Webb, they've got veggie burgers. You ever try one of those?" He doesn't wait for my answer. "Why not give it a chance?"

I remember, much too late, that Harm's a rabid vegetarian. And I'm about to tell him that I'm not interested when he speaks again.

"It's much better for you." And for a moment it almost sounds like he gives a damn. "I'd bet you eat too much red meat. Come on, if you don't like it, you can still order that burger."

I glance at his earnest face. I never do have much luck saying no to Harmon Rabb.

"A veggie burger, then." It's a small thing to make him happy. And having Harm happy, and with me, would be something to remember.

"Oh, good for you." She's clearly more happy that I listened to Harm than that I'm eating right, but she is trying. "And listen, I'll sneak on some vegetables. Nobody's going to mind if they get a few less."

She winks at me, and I smile to thank her. I'd be looking at Harm over me, too. I'm going to give her a good tip. I can afford it, and this might even qualify as a dinner to bill the Company for. We are discussing Company business.

She gives me a beam this time and hustles off to another table. Harm's smiling. At me. I haven't seen that for a long time, and it makes something in me feel good again. If he'll keep smiling at me like that when this veggie burger gets here, I'll probably eat it and think it's delicious. He has that kind of effect on me.

"Good for you." Then his smile faded. "He got a pardon? How did that happen?"

At least he's not blaming me yet for not telling him in advance.

"I've been trying all day to find that out, Harm."

Shit. He's going to blow up at me now. But all he does is nod.

I keep going. "Someone at State's got some kind of game going on, that much is clear."

Of course, I only figured that out when I saw Palmer's card. I checked it over once I got the car parked. It's a standard one, and usually those take a while to go through the system. So somebody's been planning this. And I'm going to find out who that is.

"Once I find out who he reports to, we'll be able to put together a better picture."

I hear myself say 'we' and wince. I'm not so sure that he's going to want my help on this.

He nods and takes a long drink of his beer. The condensation from the outside of the glass gets on his palms, and he grimaces and picks up the balled napkin, clenching it in his fist. When he puts it down, it's smaller still.

That's one way to get rid of some tension. I push mine over. He looks at it blankly.

"Go ahead and destroy that, too." My voice is wry. "I'm sure the waitress will bring some more."

He smiles as he gets it. "No, I wasn't thinking about Palmer."

I'm amazed, but I try to keep it off my face.

"It's this case I'm working on. It's driving me crazy. I know my client is holding something back. I just don't know how important it is." He shakes it off. "Sorry."

I always wanted to hear him talk about his work. But this meeting's about Palmer, not what I want. It's important that he get enough information on Palmer.

"He's been out for a few days." I do know that much, but it wasn't easy to get.

"And he must be here. Right?" His voice is controlled even after I nod. "He put bugs in my place already?" He frowns and moves on before I can try and answer that one, thank god. "If you knew about that, why did you want to meet there?"

Of course, this time he gives me a look that shows he expects an answer. That's a good question, Harm. Let's see if I can keep from lying too obviously when I answer you. I'm glad that you haven't considered the possibility that they've been there for a while. It's not something you'd be too comfortable with. Or the fact that I have a tape of you coming and calling my name.

I push that away and answer him.

"I didn't really want to take the chance of you exploding somewhere public."

Not to mention the fact that I wanted to be sure that Clark Palmer thought I was playing his game for him.

That makes him give me a startled look, then he turns his attention back to his beer. Well, at least he's not yelling at me yet.

"Good point," he mutters, and I know he's thinking about going right over and loading his gun while firing questions at me. "All right. But the bugs, Webb. What about them?"

"I was assured that the device would neutralize them. The risk seemed acceptable."

Oh, yes, the kind of thing that agents say all the time on TV shows. But I am telling the truth.

"But you didn't want to talk there. Why not? And why didn't you just take them out?"

"The device was also experimental, Rabb." Now I'm playing it both ways. With a man who argues for a living. I hope he won't catch this. "I wasn't sure of the duration of its effectiveness. And there wasn't a team available."

Not that there is a team that could find the ones Palmer has in, but lying about that doesn't bother me. I lie all the time as part of my job. I'm fairly used to it by now.

He gives me a sharp look, but I don't let myself show any reaction, and finally he looks away. "All right."

We're both silent, and it's uncomfortable. I have a sip of scotch. I want to break this tension, and I remember something then. I'd tried to call him in a moment of weakness and tell him over the phone, but no matter what number I tried, he wasn't reachable. That's how we ended up here, drinking beer and coffee. Strange. This isn't what I thought was going to happen.

"Were you in court this afternoon?" It should be all right to ask that.

He accepts the new subject with what looks like relief and shakes his head. "I took the afternoon off."

That's not like him. Unless he was with a woman. Can't ask him that.

"I needed some time to think."

No woman, then. Well, my most recent report had him looking around again. He never does manage to stay with any of them.

"And I turned all the junk off." He's looking a little sheepish. "I didn't want anyone to be able to get me."

"I've wanted to do that myself some times."

I realize that I'm relaxing, and I've only had a couple of sips of the scotch. I've never just sat and talked with Harmon Rabb. It's nice.

"Listen, I just need some time. I'll find out what's going on with this pardon."

I'm back in the same old role. Clayton Webb, Harmon Rabb's personal idiot. I should really put that in my job description. Maybe talk to A. J. about getting on the payroll. I pick up the scotch and drain it, then let it thump down on the table.

He's staring at me like I'm some kind of ghost. Guess what, Harm, I am. Maybe I died the night you left. That would explain a lot. I always thought hell would be a lot like D.C. And you and Clark are my own personal tormentors. I must have really done a lot of things wrong when I was alive.

"You O.K.?" His voice is awkward, and I nod, focusing on the rolled-up napkin instead of the expression on his face. I don't have to look at him to know what he's thinking of me now. That I'm pathetic, a damned pathetic idiot.

Thank god the waitress is back with my food. Her eyes dart between us, and Harm pushes back the chair in a hurry.

"Back in a minute," he mutters and is gone.

The restroom, I see as I track him. At least he's not taking off altogether. Although I'm not sure why he doesn't. I don't have any more information to give him, so what good am I to him? This is Harmon Rabb. No matter what Clark Palmer says, he's not going to want sex with me. He'll get over whatever thoughts he's had. Hell, he probably already has. And Clark knows this. He's set me to get hurt. No, I've set me up. Damn this. I should leave. But I can't even get myself to stand up. And it would look idiotic. I really am tired of that.

"Are you all right?" The waitress puts the plate down and bends over to look at me. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." I must look like hell. "It isn't working out with him?"

Damn. Now I'm getting sympathy from a waitress in a bar, and worse yet, I'm grateful. I nod. No need to try and tell her it's not what she thinks. And nobody's going to talk to her and find out anything they could use. It's all deniable.

"You just hang in there, honey," she whispers and pats my hand. "I'm going to get you another drink, O.K.?" She picks up my empty glass and Harm's in one motion. "And I bet he'll want a beer, so I'll bring that too. Now try and eat something. Maybe it's not as bad as you think. From what I'm seeing, he likes you. You just remember that when you're worrying. Maybe you're making too much of this."

And she smiles at me with a tenderness that makes me feel as though she's really got something, then takes off. The smell of the food reminds me that I'm hungry. And I pick up my fork.

When Harm comes back, I've gotten down a third of the veggie burger, most of the mashed potatoes, and all the squash. I make sure to give the waitress a smile for the vegetables when she brings the drinks. She managed to get me a good-sized portion, and they were worth eating. She beams at me again. It's nice to have someone give a damn.

He glances at my plate. "You like it?" His voice is hopeful.

"Not really." I push the plate away. "You eat it. I think it tastes like sawdust."

He doesn't argue with my donation. "It's just that you're too used to processed foods and all the salt they put in." I hear a diatribe coming on. "And then all that fat, to overwhelm any kind of natural flavor that might have survived all the processing." He lifts up a forkful and puts it in his mouth. "It's not bad," he tells me after he's finished chewing. But his face says a lot more than that, and I laugh. The food has helped.

"You're just saying that to get me to try one again," I tease, and he grimaces. Got him.

The waitress flashes over with the coffee and practically beams me into blindness. She's sure we're fine now, and she doesn't even give Harm a glance. He doesn't seem to notice.

"All right, this is not representative." He pushes the plate away, too. "I've got a great recipe. Maybe you'd like to try making it. I remember how good that Chinese stuff smelled..." His voice dies away and he looks down into his beer.

It's an opening. I clear my throat. "Yes, but I did burn it."

He looks up, then back down. "You got distracted."

"You could say that." I keep my voice calm.

Very distracted. If that's what you call kissing him, and sucking him off in my living room, after he jerked me off. Some people might think that qualifies. I'd more call it deranged.

"I would."

I decide to keep this going. "You still going out for long walks in the rain?"

We still aren't *talking* about it, but it's better than saying nothing.

"Not for a long time." He's silent while he drinks his beer. "I gave that up. Didn't get me what I wanted."

Oh. I'm not sure what that means, and this isn't the kind of conversation that I can ask him to explain.

"It's not really something I see you doing on a regular basis," I say carefully.

"I really wouldn't know what you see me doing." His voice is angry. I don't know why.

His eyes are on mine, challenging me, so much like the way I remember from that second time. And I have to remember that we're in a bar, not alone, not in my living room, and that I'm playing a game I don't dare to win. The only way I can win is a way I can't live with. Harm bound to me by his obsessions, Harm dependent, needy, angry, helpless...no. Never that. Not Harmon Rabb.

But that's how Clark wants him. Or it is? Something flits across my mind, but I can't get it to make sense and it's gone. But it's important. Something Clark said. But all I can remember is his happy chanting of "Clayton loves Harmon" and I know that can't be what I'm searching for.

I swallow and finally manage to answer.

"I see you having a good life. Not needing to go out in the rain to find someone. Anyone." And wasn't that what I was that night, anyone? But I'm not going to ask him that. Ever. I know the answer.

"You have to take chances to get what you want, Clay." He's still angry. "If you have to go out and get wet, you do that. But that's something you don't understand, do you?"

Maybe he's right. But this is Harmon Rabb we're discussing here, not Clayton Webb. And I tell him that.

"I thought we were talking about burning Chinese food and walking in the rain, Clayton. Don't change the subject."

He really does want to talk about this. And he hasn't hit me yet. I always thought that a discussion on this topic would involve one of us bleeding, probably me. He's got more training in that area than I do, even though I manage when I have to.

But I'm not getting what he's trying to tell me.

He's looking right at me, expecting an answer, so I nod. I really don't know what to say.

He laughs and picks up his glass. "Well, back to silence. I knew it was just a matter of time."

"You wanted to talk before." I keep my voice calm, even though it feels like I'm taking a huge chance here. "After we..." And I honestly don't know how to refer to our having sex.

"Yes." His eyes are steady on my face. "You didn't."

"There really isn't anything to talk about."

This is Harmon Rabb, I think again. He was just curious, and maybe he's curious again. If I have to choose between the chance of more evenings like this one and hearing him scream, I'll choose the evenings. But if he wants to scream, I'll do that, too. I just wish I knew what this was all about. What he wants from me.

He just stares at me. And I can't read his expression at all. Then he's smiling. I don't know why. It feels to me like we've reached some kind of impasse.

"Maybe you're right, Clay." He leans forward in his chair. "Do I get the silent treatment after tonight? Because if that's it, I'll just leave now. I don't need the hassle. I've got cases to try, and then god knows when Palmer's going to decide to start playing games with me."

He's made a jump, and I'm not following him. "Palmer's just out of prison. He's not going to be bothering you."

No, just me. And I still don't understand what he said before.

"Do you need to get home so that you can get enough sleep for a trial?" I try.

It's the best I can do. I am tired. That second drink might not have been the best idea in the world. I reach for my coffee and finish that.

He makes an impatient sound and beckons to the waitress. "My place is out, and I'm not ready to deal with your place, either," he says quietly as she comes right over. "So it'll have to be somewhere else." He looks up at her with another one of his special smiles. "We need a room. Is there somewhere close you recommend?"

He did not just say that. It's impossible. But the waitress' face lights up. I'm amazed at how *my* good fortune is making her happy, then she smooths her face.

"There are some real nice places downtown. Not too far."

"Thank you. Is there a phone book I could use?"

He's not looking at me, and I can't believe what's happening. He *can't* mean what I heard. He's playing with me.

"You will be here when I get back." His words are flat, but there's a question in his eyes when he finally looks at me.

"Yes," I manage after a moment, and he smiles.

Whatever you want, Harm. I just hope I survive whatever you're planning. Because it can't be what I'm hoping for. You probably just want to talk somewhere more private. Although I don't know what there is to talk about.

"Good. I don't like the idea of you driving."

And he touches my hand as he gets up. But I'm sure that was an accident.

"He needs some more coffee," he adds to the waitress as he brushes by her.

"Right away. And you'll find the phone book up at the bar. You just tell Rick that Lynn said it's O.K. to let you use the phone."

He gives her another, tolerant smile. "I have a phone, Lynn. But that's really nice of you. I just need the phone book."

She turns back to me as soon as he starts taking those long strides toward the bar. "Now you just rest, honey. I think everything's going to be all right. And I'll be right back with that coffee."

I nod and close my eyes. I really should warn Harm about saying things like that in front of witnesses. He's really so damned impetuous.

I open my eyes and she's back, pouring me another mug of coffee. "Now you drink this. And I brought you some water. That'll help, too. You want some aspirin? I brought you some, just in case."

"Yes, thank you." My head's pounding. Too much alcohol, not enough sleep, and I think some kind of new demon's taken over Harmon Rabb. He doesn't even seem to care that Palmer's out. And he does seem to care about me.

Harm is back in a few minutes. He stays standing as he watches me finish the coffee.

"Come on, Clay," he says brusquely and pulls me up to my feet before I can say or do anything. "Time to go. Lynn," he calls as she passes, and she come over. "Is this enough?"

She takes the money he hands her and nods. "Thank you." She turns her smile from him to me. "Have a nice night."

"That's up to him," Harm says and pulls me toward the door before I can do anything more than open my mouth to thank her. But Lynn is looking happy and proud, beaming again as though she'd just saved a marriage. A romantic. But at least somebody's happy.

I'm really not getting what Harm's up to. Up to me? And this about needing to go somewhere else? Maybe he just wants to get fucked again. And it doesn't matter whether it's me or some guy in a bar. I glance at his face. He looks fine, calm, in control. So I keep close and hope that this isn't going to turn into a disaster that will make me wish I'd never woken up this morning. I have a feeling it's going to.

*****

As soon as we're in the parking lot, he heads for that monster he drives. When I try to go toward mine, he's right there in the way.

"Leave it. It'll be fine overnight."

"Cars get stolen, Rabb." This is important. And he knows about the auto theft rate in D.C. It happened to him, for god's sake.

He looks like he's about to say something to that, then he smiles again and then his lips are on mine. Oh, god. I'm back in that ocean, drowning, and only his hands on my body are keeping me up.

When he lifts his head I don't care about the car any more.

"All right. But don't get any ideas about going anywhere but where I'm taking you, do you understand?"

What? He's making no sense whatsoever. "And when did this turn into your show, Rabb?"

"You were calling me Harm before," he says very softly. "It sounded really good. You can't handle that now? Clay?"

God, the sound of my nickname in that voice is enough to make me want to do whatever he's asking, but dammit, this is insane. The coffee's got my brain working again and I know that. It's time to end this for tonight. I need to get home, get safe again. He's turned into something I just don't understand. Maybe this is how he is with women. Now I feel really sorry for them. How can they go back to living without this?

"You need some sleep. I do, too. We can talk tomorrow." Somewhere public. Somewhere safe.

He's still smiling. "I've got your wallet," he murmurs and steps back. I can't grab him, and I know that if I try, he'll just move back more. And he can be fast. I've seen him. "You can have your license, but only if you're nice to me."

Damn him. That was probably the only reason he kissed me. To keep me distracted while he got into my pocket. I know he had his hands all over me, but I missed him getting it out. I can't believe this. I'm a professional. And he's an amateur.

"And I'm sure I could find out some very interesting things in there. Like phone numbers. Probably ones that if I called, would get you into big trouble. Could I find things like that, Clay?"

His voice is teasing, and for a moment I forget where we are and what we're talking about and smile. Then it comes back to me, and I frown. "No."

"I don't believe that. But hey, go on home if you like then." I turn around and head for the car. His voice floats after me. "But don't blame me if you get taken in for driving without a license. I will bail you out, though. Just call me. You have my cell phone number?"

I stop. Shit, that's right. I can't drive without a license. I know I could get out of it, but without any kind of identification I'd have a hard time. And he knows this.

He's standing there when I turn around, waiting, absolutely relaxed, as though there's nowhere else he wants to be.

"You can take your chances that the police won't pull you over, or you can see if you can get the license back." That's a purr in his voice. I can't believe this. He's playing a game with me. "Don't you want your license back, Clay? Or we can just leave your car here." He's walking toward me, and I'm glad that no one's come out. I can't believe the luck of it, though. "Because there's no way in hell that I'm leaving here without you. Have I made you understand that yet?"

I stare at him. And why in hell it's important to Harm to have me come to some room with him and fuck I don't know. Or maybe this isn't Harm. Maybe it's really Palmer. God, it must be.

I lunge at him, take his cheeks between my fingers and pull, but nothing comes off. It's skin, real skin. I let him go.

"Yeah, I thought about that after you showed up in my apartment. That Palmer was playing a new game, being you. But no one can blush like Clayton Webb. And no one kisses like him, either."

I swallow and step back. There are people around now, although they're more interested in getting in their cars and leaving. He doesn't seem to notice, or care.

"I'd really feel better if I drove us, Clay. But if it really matters, if you're that worried about your car, all you have to do is come over here and kiss me, and you can have it back. But I'm keeping the wallet. I'm not interested in wasting any more time."

He wants me. That's all I have left to cling to. I don't know if it's for anything more than sex, but he does want me and it isn't because I have information on Clark Palmer. He knows that I gave him all the information I have. So this is something else.

All right. I take one step, then another. And try to ignore everything but his mouth, which is parting. For me.

I take that last step and find his lips at just the right height. And I kiss him.

It's even deeper water this time. And I'm willing to drown.

I don't break the kiss, he does. "You really should think about putting that skill on your resume, Clay," he murmurs and hands me my license. I'm still so dazed that he has to press it into my hand, then curl my fingers around it.

"Are you going to be all right to drive?"

The concern in his voice is what reaches me. And when I manage to check his face, his eyes have that same concern.

"I'll be fine."

I've seen this Harmon Rabb before. On the Kamiko Maru, when he wanted me to go to the hospital for my leg. Quite a few other times, but those were for other people. This is for me.

"We don't have to go too far." He tells me the name of the hotel, and it's one of the chains. "Would you feel better if I checked in, then called your cell phone to tell you the room number? Then no one has to see you with me."

He is thinking. "All right. You know the number?"

He smiles. "Have it memorized. All those times I've called you?" he prompts when I look blank.

Right. I nod and tell myself to turn away.

"Drive carefully."

He's not moving either. This is ridiculous. I don't want to drive. I shove my license in my pocket and walk toward him. "It's just a car," I say quietly and see the smile in his eyes before it reaches his mouth.


The End