Stay

by Frannie Grace

Clayton is injured, and Kansas helps him deal with it. (Follows "Just An Assignment")

Disclaimer: None of the JAG people are mine. No references to said characters are mine. Good enough? The Great Gazoo belongs to Hannah Barbara and the creators of the Flintstones. Don't ask, it's explained in the story.

Author's Notes: Kansas McWilliams is mine. She's the only one, and she can be used if there is a brave (and somewhat) insane soul out there. Otherwise, she's my creation. This one is set a couple of months after Just an Assignment, and is very angst-ridden. Don't ask where it came from, I'm in a very happy mood. There are mentions to rape and murder, not to mention some brief, but somewhat queasy explanations of wounds. You've been warned.

Stay

By Gayle Cox-Moffet

Clayton sat at his piano and plunked out simple songs absentmindedly as he stared across the room. His posture was stiff, and there were tired lines around his eyes.

A key scraped against the lock, and he stiffened even more. The door slid open soundlessly, and Kansas stepped in. At the first sight of her, Clayton relaxed and stood soundlessly.

Kansas closed the door and turned. She nearly hit the ceiling at the sight of Clayton in front of her. "Good, God, Clayton; make a noise! When did you get in? You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow!" She took a deep breath to calm herself down. "You really shouldn't scare a Marine. I'd hate to have to kill you with my bare hands."

Clayton just watched her, saying nothing. He leaned against the piano and pushed his right sleeve up, revealing a large bandage.

Kansas' bottle-green eyes grew wide at the sight of the wrapping. "Clayton, what happened?" When she got no response, she stepped to him and started unwrapping the gauze. The white material fell away, and in a moment, Kansas was staring at a row of staples going from the start of Clayton's wrist to the middle of his forearm.

"Oh, good, lord." She looked into Clayton's eyes and felt her insides twist into a slinky. "Clayton?"

He just pulled her to his chest and buried his face in the dark, brick red hair. "It wasn't me." A slow tear fell into Kansas' hair. "I didn't do it, Kansas. I didn't try to kill myself."

She held onto him by wrapping he arms around his waist. The shirt was uneven as it lay across his back. Stepping back slightly, she pushed the shirt up. A large patch of gauze covered his lower back. There was a circle of blood darkening the edges.

"Clayton, where are the clean bandages?"

He gestured to a large black bag that was in the chair closest to the door. Kansas opened it and pulled out gauze, bandage, first aid tape, and disinfectant. She reached for Clayton's hand and led him into the bathroom.

Once there she lifted his arms up and pulled the light sweater over his head, mindful of the wounds on both arms. He turned around soundlessly once he was shirtless and only twisted slightly in response to the tape and bandage being pulled off his back wound.

Kansas swore under her breath at the perfect circle of burned and bleeding flesh that had been hidden. //God, that had to hurt like a bitch.// She touched the edges lightly and reached for the disinfectant. "Grab something and grit your teeth. This is going to sting."

Clayton grasped the edge of the sink and his knuckles went white as Kansas dabbed the wound. "Ahh!"

She stopped in mid-motion and realized that the area she was cleaning seemed to be the most badly burnt. "Where'd you get this from, Clayton?"

"The last-(gasp)" Clayton hissed out his breath as she resumed her work. "The last day I was in the field-(gasp)-I saw three men trying to pull a-(hiss)-girl into an apartment building. When I yelled at them to stop one of the guys ran towards me. I man-(gasp)-managed to get out of his way, but the other two grabbed me and-(hiss)-(gasp)-*shit*!"

Kansas grimaced as the curse interrupted the story. Clayton had an extensive vocabulary, and the swear words were the most interesting. Using something as simple as what he did meant he was in severe pain. She tried to recapture his attention. "What'd they do to you?"

"The other two grabbed me and pulled me into the building along with the girl. They shoved me in a chair and told me if I tried to stop them they'd kill me.-(hiss)-I sat there and waited, and then they tried to rape the girl." Clayton stopped and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Kansas finished cleaning and quickly bandaged his back. "You tried to stop them and they did this to you."

He nodded once and released his grip on the sink as the pain in his wrists penetrated his brain. "They branded me with a ring of metal from somewhere." At the slight pressure on his left shoulder he turned around and held out his wrists.

She unwrapped the left wrist and found it in the same state as the right one. Once again, she reached for the disinfectant and cloth and looked up into his eyes. "How did this happen?"

"I passed out from the pain on my back and when I came back to reality I had to watch them kill the girl." He watched Kansas clean his wrists. "They decided to kill me but knew a double-murder would get them caught. After some discussion they made the decision that they could make it a murder-suicide by slitting my wrists for me. An agent I was working with found me before I bled out. The girl was already dead." Clayton closed his eyes again.

//So this is what it takes to make Clayton cry. God, how hideous.// Kansas tucked the final bandage in place and held Clayton to her in a gentle hug. She felt him shudder and held on as a tear hit her shoulder.

*

Jerry Patten was not an attractive man. His face showed no wrinkles, give the laugh lines around his eyes, but the whole face was so emotionless and hardened he looked more like a statue than an actual person.

He sat in a large living room, on an expensive couch with his wife of twelve years on the opposite end reading and allowed his mind to wander.

The whole thing could have gone off perfectly except for the man in that three-piece-suit who didn't seem to know what wasn't his business. Jerry had tried to attack him first, only to almost end up face first on the pavement, but the two men he had hired for the express reason of keeping him safe did their job beautifully by grabbing the man and pulling him into the apartment.

A sneer formed on Jerry's lips as he remembered the guy's face as the hot metal band of an old tricycle tire skeleton burned into his back. It had been even more satisfying to watch the man pass out. He'd searched the pockets personally and found ID, but he couldn't remember the name. It started with a W.; Webster, Wills, something like that. The first name he hadn't even bothered checking. He had other things to think about; like the pretty sixteen-year-old girl he had fun with as soon as the Webster/Wills guy had blacked out.

The sneer turned into a full-blown, ear-to-ear smile as Patten remembered the satisfied sound of his pocketknife cutting the guy's wrists open. Making it look like a murder-suicide had been genius. His smile got wider. It made him even more unattractive than if he were stone faced.

A smile where the eyes remained cold and dead was worse than a glare from Satan.

*

Clayton shuddered against Kansas and felt more tears on his face. How long had he been crying? Usually, he would check his watch, but since he had staples in his wrists wearing a watch was painful.

Kansas was still holding onto him, her arms around his waist were tight, but they relaxed around the bandage on his back. She said nothing while he cried; she was just a way to keep him grounded in reality. Being devoid from touching someone alive and breathing when he needed it so badly could cause a breakdown larger than the Washington Monument.

He breathed in, taking the scent of her shampoo and soap with it, and found that the combination calmed him slightly. He breathed in again. After another moment, Clayton pulled away slightly. "I'm okay." He unlaced his arms from around Kansas' waist "I'm fine."

"Clayton, the only people here are you and I, and unless the Great Gazoo is hanging over my shoulder, there's no one to lie to. You look like hell, and you've got to be feeling worse." Kansas placed her hands on either side of his face. "You need to sleep." She moved her left hand to grab his right arm and led him to his bedroom.

The covers came down, and Clayton allowed himself to be sat on the bed. "I can get myself to bed."

Kansas ignored the indignant tone in his voice. "Lay down and get comfortable; you're exhausted."

For a moment Clayton thought of arguing, but he felt the weariness tugging him down. "Are you leaving?"

"Do you want me to?"

//No, never. I need you here.// "It's up to you."

"Clayton, drop the secret agent man BS, and just say it straight." Her voice held no anger, just a note of worry at the walls he was trying to reconstruct.

"I want you to stay."

"Then I'll stay."

Clayton turned on his side and reached for her hand. "Talk to me."

Kansas sat on the bed Indian-Style and nodded. "What about?"

"What was it like for you growing up?"

"It was just a normal family situation. I grew up with my parents, my older bothers, and an older sister. It was your quintessential nuclear family."

"My family guarded nuclear secrets; I never had normal." Clayton quipped.

Kansas felt relief run through her. //Never thought I'd be relieved to have Clayton make a smart remark.// "I grew up in a farmhouse in Southwestern Kansas where a stiff breeze in DC was considered a wafting of air to us." She smiled. "You people are such wimps when it comes to wind. If you could see past the dust in the window it wasn't windy. It was the perfect place to fly a kite. No trees, all wind, and everything was so flat. We lived seven miles out of town, and I could see the water tower from the backyard."

Clayton smiled at he mental pictures he was getting and shifted slightly. "You were named after your state?"

"My parents thought it would make me remember my roots. To bad they weren't into the 'remember the roots' mood with my sister or brothers, I could have had a regular name."

"It wouldn't have suited you. You're not normal or regular."

"Normalcy is highly overrated, but I'll take that as a compliment." Kansas stroked his hair.

"Tell me something else." Clayton looked up at her. He didn't get this angle much. Being almost a foot taller than her had him looking down most of the time. Not that he was complaining, just as long as he could look at her.

"What do you want to know?"

"What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?" His voice had lost any note of humor.

Kansas felt the slinky inside her tighten. "What you did wasn't stupid, not entirely. I would have waited, but this is you." She smiled at him. "There are times I wonder if there's not a cape and a big 'S' hidden under your suits. You did what you thought was right."

"But she's dead."

"How many people have you saved in your career, Clayton?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Have you saved one?"

Clayton felt the confusion showing on his face. "Yes."

"Have you saved two people?"

"Yes."

Kansas looked down at him seriously. "Then you saved twice as many people as died in that building."

"That's not the point."

"Clayton, that's exactly the point. You can't think about the people who didn't make it; just like I can't think about the guilty people I've successfully set free. Focusing on the bad is just going to make you die young from stress."

He sighed; she made a good point. "I get it. I get it." It was time to steer the conversation elsewhere. Clayton was not fond of talks that focused on him for any length of time. "You still haven't told me the stupidest thing you've ever done."

Kansas favored him with a half-smile. "It's a tie between my first driving experience, and the first night of my third year of camp." She saw Clayton yawn. "But I'll tell you about it later. Get some sleep."

"You're staying, right?" He was nodding off quickly.

"I'm staying."

*

"Hey, Kansas, do you have Lieutenant Silvers' file?" Harm stepped into her office and stopped at the sight that greeted him. "You alive, Major?"

Kansas gave him something between a glare and a tired look. "Alive, but tired. Silvers' file is in the top drawer of the cabinet."

Harm went to the cabinet and watched her work. //She's practically dead where she sits.// "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Harm." Kansas pinched the bridge of her nose. "I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"To many files to read?" Harm waved the folder in his hand. "Found it." He turned to her fully. "You sure you're okay?"

Kansas nodded, turning her attention back to her deskwork. "I'm just tired. Give me another cup of coffee, and I'll be my usual perky self."

"If you say so." He didn't believe her but pressing for information from someone who dated Webb needed a different touch. Harm exited the office and went straight to Mac's.

Mac looked up at the knock on her door and saw the glint in Harm's eye. "Who am I harassing?"

He gave her his best fly-boy grin. "I just need a favor, a small favor."

She raised her eyebrows. "Who am I harassing?"

"I need you to talk to Kansas."

"Why?"

"Because she looks like death warmed over." Harm tried the smile again. "Please?"

//God, he looks pathetic. Cute, but pathetic.// "I'll see if she'll tell me anything."

"Mac, you're a lifesaver."

She moved past him to go to Kansas' office. "You'll owe me big for this."

Harm waved her off. "I'll buy you Beltway Burgers for the rest of the week."

"Order me one for lunch." Mac called over her shoulder. She weaved through the bullpen and knocked on the Major's doorjamb.

"Kansas?"

"Harm send you in?"

Mac smiled and slid into a seat. "Yes; he wanted me to talk to you."

"How bad do I look?" Kansas hadn't bothered to take inventory in the mirror that morning; she knew she looked like hell.

"You look like you had nightmares last night."

"Not me."

"Who?"

"Clayton; he was home last night when I got there to feed the fish."

"Did something go wrong on the assignment?"

Kansas nodded. "Something like that. He had a pretty bad time last night."

"What caused it?" Mac saw a look cross over Kansas' face. "I swear this is between you, me, and the wall."

"And Harm?"

"I'll come up with something."

Another moment, then Kansas jumped in. She had to tell someone. Very quickly, but sparing no details, she gave Mac a full account of what she knew; including Clayton reassuring her he hadn't tried to kill himself.

Kansas finished and Mac said nothing as she absorbed the information. After a few moments of silence, she finally spoke. "How does he do it?"

"You mean his job?"

Mac shook her head. "No. How does he throw himself into a situation like that and-" She searched for the right words.

"Damn be the consequences?"

Both women started at the voice in the doorway. Clayton stood leaning against the jamb and shrugged. "Good question, Colonel." His eyes raked the room, coming to settle on the mauve couch against one wall. "I'll be surprised if I ever figure it out."

Standing, Kansas moved around her desk and slipped a hand into the crook of Clayton's elbow. She led him to the couch. "Sit down." He sat. "Do you want to talk?" He gave a slow nod.

Mac stood. "I'll leave. I'll see you later, Kansas."

The other woman barely acknowledged the exit as she concentrated on the man in front of her. "Talk to me, Clayton."

"I had to go see a psychiatrist today. My bosses find it imperative that I get over this 'indiscretion' as quickly as possible."

//This is more than an indiscretion!// Kansas held her tongue and put her concentration on Clayton.

"They want me back in the field this week."

"What?! That's insane!"

"It's there belief that it will keep me from having a PTS attack."

Bottle-green eyes flashed in anger. "Clayton, going out into the field again so quickly can cause post-traumatic stress, too. You're not a robot; you're human! Emotions can't be turned off." She held up a hand as he stood to protest. "I don't care if they *have* trained you to go with it. You've been through an ordeal that almost had you killed."

Clayton stepped up to her. "I've been through a lot of ordeals where I've almost been killed."

Kansas paused in her rant. "This is different." She reached for the sleeve of his sweater and pushed up." The bandages were pristine against his skin. "This didn't happen in the line of duty. This happened because your own instincts as a civilian kicked in."

He pulled away and straightened his sweater. "It doesn't matter why I did it. The fact is I need to get back out there as soon as possible. If only to keep my head on straight."

"You can't even sit down without grimacing, Clayton, or did you forget about the burn on your back?"

Pushing past Kansas, Clayton exited the office, and it took all his self-restraint to keep from slamming the door. He didn't know where he was going; he just had to get out.

Kansas let a string of curses loose under her breath and paced the perimeter of the room once before gripping her desk chair and sending it slamming as hard as possible into the wall. //This is completely screwed up.//

*

Clayton got into his car, and after flashing the proper ID to the guard at the gate, he set off. //Where am I going? I don't want to go home. Going back in to see her when I'm still mad is only going to make the situation worse.//

He turned off at the Alexandria exit and drove on autopilot towards his mother's home. If he couldn't go to his apartment, he could at least let his mother help him work through some of the confusion in his head.

Letting himself in, he walked to the back study. "Hello, Mother."

Porter Webb looked up from where she had been writing and stood at the sight of her son. "Clayton, you're home from assignment early." She hugged him and felt him tense. "Did you get injured?"

"Yes. I'm fine, Mother."

She gave her son the once-over. "You look awful. Where were you inured?"

"My back and wrists, but I'm fine." Clayton tried to back away, but his mother grasped his forearm. He yelped involuntarily at the pain.

Porter released his arm immediately. "Let me see."

//God, do I have to show everyone?// He pushed up his sleeve and unwrapped the bandage enough for his mother to see the staples. "I was attacked, and yes it hurts, but I'm fine."

"That wasn't done by the people you were after; they would have killed you with a bullet to your head." She spoke in the voice of a person who had faced that detail of life firsthand. "What happened?"

Clayton took a deep breath. "I saw three men trying to pull a teenage girl into a building to rape her, and I went to stop them. They burned me and slit my wrists, hoping to make it look like I abused and murdered her and then committed suicide."

"They're apparently not very bright if they didn't see the holes in that story." Porter pulled down the sleeve of her son's sweater; she did not want to see proof of Clayton's pain. "Have you seen Kansas?"

"Yes."

Her eyebrows rose. Clayton usually had some sort of story for his mother involving his girlfriend. Porter Webb had met the woman on a few occasions and had liked the way she stood up to Clayton, but kept herself in check when necessary-if you didn't count their first meeting and that black eye. "She wasn't pleased?"

"Not exactly. She was at ease changing my bandages and making sure I talked through my nightmares, but when I told her I was going back into the field so soon she went into a tirade."

"With good reason." Porter led her son into the living room and sat him down. "She doesn't know what our job entails, Clayton. Kansas only understands to the point that an outsider can. Your being pushed back into action so quickly seems unhealthy to her because the metal blocks we put up to protect ourselves are non-existent to her."

"You want to bet? She's got a few blocks of her own, and I'm surprised she didn't throw them at me." Clayton dropped his head in thought. "I have to make it see her from my viewpoint."

"Find something in her life that allows the point to come across."

//What's the stupidest thing you've ever done?// The question from the night before came into his head, and Kansas' response immediately followed. //My first driving experience.//

Standing, he accepted a small hug from his mother. "I have to go, but thank you, Mother."

She smiled. "You're welcome." He headed towards the door, and Porter called out to him. "Clayton, if you and Kansas are up to it, I'm having a small dinner tomorrow night with some associates. I'd like you to come."

"We'll see, Mother. It all depends on how this turns out. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Dear." Porter Webb went back to her study.

*

Jerry Patten ran his fingers over the thick, light-blue envelope and reached for a letter opener. It ripped through the paper easily, and he reached two fingers into pull out an invitation. It was printed up on darker blue stationary with silver lettering:

You are cordially invited to dinner at the residence of

Mrs. Porter Webb

6:00 pm, April 7

Please RSVP immediately

He smiled at the letters and reached for the phone. Porter Webb was a woman with money and means, and an invitation from her meant status. If Patten enjoyed anything more than pain, it was his social status. He dialed the phone.

*

Harm maneuvered through the bullpen and hit the button for the elevator. He was running late for a meeting in the brig, and the elevator seemed to be taking its time. When the doors finally opened, Clayton Webb looked up at him with a groan.

"Hello, Rabb."

"Where's your suit, Clay? I almost didn't recognize you."

"Next time I'll disguise myself better." Clayton tried to move past him, but Harm stepped in his path.

"Where are you going?"

Webb sighed. Who did he tick off so badly that Harmon Rabb played the big brother to his girlfriend? "I'm going to shellac the back storeroom. Where do you *think* I'm going?"

The taller man moved to step into the elevator. "If I hear about anymore yelling matches I'll kick your six back to Langley, Webb."

"Promises, promises." Clayton walked across the bullpen as the elevator doors shut on Harm glowering at his back.

Kansas stood in her doorway, discussing plea bargaining techniques with Bud Roberts, and she stiffened her posture when she saw Clayton. "Do you mind continuing later, Bud?"

The Lieutenant's eyes went from Kansas to Clayton, then back to his superior officer. "Find me when you have the time, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Bud." Kansas watched him make a hasty exit, then turned to Clayton, her face a mask. "Can I help you, Webb?"

His eyebrows shot up at the tone of her voice. //I'm in deep. Very, very, deep.// "Could we speak in your office?"

She nodded and allowed him to precede her, closing the door firmly before moving to close the slated blinds. "What do you want?"

"Tell me about your first driving experience."

"Excuse me?"

He leaned on the edge of her desk. "Tell me about your first driving experience."

Kansas crossed her arms and lifted her chin in challenge. "Why?"

"Just humor me." Clayton's expression went from passive to confused as Kansas giggled. "What's so funny?"

"The story. Sit down." She gestured to the couch. He sat, giving silent thanks that holding a grudge was not her strong suit, and Kansas took the opposite end. "Before I start this, you have to promise to keep it quiet. It's stupid enough without the embellishment it will get around here."

"CIA word of honor."

"That's an oxymoron." She cleared her throat, not giving him a chance to retort, and her eyes looked ceiling-ward as she collected her thoughts. "The summer I was fourteen, I went to visit my grandmother who lived a few hours away from us in the very southwestern corner of Kansas. The state of Kansas allows a person to get their driver's permit at the age of fifteen, and my birthday was coming up in October, so my father decided to let me drive.

My grandmother lived in this tiny town of about two hundred people. It goes straight from the highway to dirt road, and when my father hit the dirt road, he pulled over and asked if I wanted to drive. Of course, my first thought was DUH!" Kansas paused and chuckled.

"So, there I am, in this mohemith of a car in the flattest land *anywhere*, and I had to turn. The turn into my grandmother's drive is V-shaped, and if you're a first-time driver, don't turn into it."

"Did you go off into a ditch?" Clayton felt a smile start across his face.

"No, not a ditch. I didn't even run off the road. I just hit the gas when I was supposed to hit the brake, and then I hit a dumpster. Don't give me that look, Clayton, it was a big dumpster."

"Define big."

"Six feet tall, eight feet in diameter, and a two-foot tall metal ring wrapped around the bottom." Kansas moved her arms around to illustrate her point. "My grandmother's brand new front fender made contact with the metal ring, which subsequently went rolling down the road while the dumpster itself turned in the air and fell back onto the ground."

"How did you manage to do that?"

"Dad was yelling at me to hit the brake, and I just slammed down on the accelerator." She smiled at him. "Stupidest thing I ever did."

Clayton chuckled. "That's it?"

"What do you mean, that's it? I was terrified."

"You hit a dumpster. I thought you would have run over a cat or something."

"No, coyotes eat cats in Kansas. Give me a break, Clayton. It was my first time driving, and it was scary as hell. It's the stupidest thing I ever did because I wasn't prepared for it, and I didn't get my license until I was seventeen."

"It scared you that bad?"

"Just like being attacked sacred you?" Kansas brought up her eyes to meet his.

Clayton stared at her a minute. "I don't get scared."

"The Great Gazoo isn't hanging over my shoulder."

"I *don't* get *scared*."

"Clayton, pull your head from your ass and just admit that getting your wrists slashed and getting a hole burned into your back scared you." Kansas glared at him.

He sighed and stared over her shoulder, feeling tears sting his eyes. //I am not crying.// Clayton blinked and hissed in a breath. Suddenly, he felt himself in a hug. "There was a point to this."

//Why can't he just let this out?// Kansas held him a little closer. "Trying to show me that going back out so quickly would help you get over it faster?" She felt him nod against her shoulder. "Before you do anything you need to work all this out."

"Thank you, Dear Abby." Clayton pulled away and scrubbed at his eyes. It gave the impression of a tired five-year-old.

"Dear Abby doesn't know you like I do, Clayton. You need to do some screaming in a soundproof room, among other things."

"What other things?"

Kansas glanced at the clock; 1:30. "How about a late lunch?"

He nodded and got up. "I haven't eaten all day."

"I figured as much. Come on; I'm buying." She reached for his hand and led the way out the door. "Tiner, please let the Admiral know I'm gong to lunch."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She hit the elevator button and squeezed Clayton's hand. "I want to apologize for earlier."

Clayton looked over at her. "You're apologizing?"

"Don't look so shocked, Clayton." Her tone was teasing.

"You're the first woman I've dated who's ever cut me down like that."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. "Then why keep me around?"

He pulled her to him and kissed her temple. "Because I never back away from a challenge."

*

They settled on an outdoor café' on a semi-quiet street and after ordering something to drink Clayton remembered the earlier conversation with his mother.

"I was with my mother earlier, and she invited us to a dinner she was having."

"Is she the reason you came back to my office?"

"Part of it. I also didn't want to lose a valuable contact." He smiled across the table, and easily ducked the piece of ice thrown at his head.

Kansas threw another piece that hit him in the shoulder. "Good to know I mean so much to you." She smiled back and yelped in surprise when a bit of ice landed in her shirt.

Clayton handed her a napkin. "You're more than a contact, and I want you to go to dinner with me because I can't give all the people there a frightening look at reality like you do."

"You mean you want me to be completely undiplomatic?"

"Just be yourself."

"Clayton, that is myself."

The food arrived before he could retort, and he suddenly realized how hungry he was. In just a few minutes, his plate was empty, and Kansas was giving him a bemused look.

"Are you sure you don't want to lick the plate? You'll get *all* the food off it then."

"No need to do that when I can order seconds." Clayton signaled to a waiter and placed another order of linguini in garlic sauce.

Kansas reached across the table and grabbed his arm. She moved the sleeve up just enough to peek at the bandage underneath. "We need to change your bandages again. How's your back?"

In truth, it was starting to throb, but Clayton wasn't going to admit it. "It's fine. No problems."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He reached for her hand, rubbing the fingertips gently. "I'm fine, my arms are fine, and my back is fine. I'd just like to spend the next hour having a conversation that doesn't revolve around my emotional state or whether or not my bandages need cleaning."

Kansas quirked an eyebrow but remained silent. //And they say I have repression problems.// She saw the semi-lost look in his eyes. //Of course, he still hasn't figured this out in his own mind; I shouldn't throw mine in to confuse him.// "Fine, we won't talk about it."

"Thank you." He glanced up as his food was set in front of him. "I didn't realize I was so hungry."

"I hope you realize I'm not kissing you until you pop a breath mint." Kansas said.

Clayton ignored her as his attention was once again put to his plate.

*

Kansas walked into the bullpen after saying goodbye to Clayton at the door and felt decidedly lighter. They'd talked through lunch over the usual business, work, weekend plans, and when to get to his mother's the next night.

An Ensign ran up to her and held out a yellow post-it note. "Excuse me, Ma'am; I have a message for you from a Mrs. Porter Webb, and I was instructed to give it to you personally."

"Porter Webb, Ensign?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

The Major took the note and looked it over. "Thank you, Ensign." She walked to her office, deposited her briefcase on the couch and reached for the phone. As she settled into her desk chair she wondered why Clayton's mother was calling her.

"Webb residence." The voice was curt and polite.

Kansas recognized it as the butler. "This is Major Kansas McWilliams, I have a message here from Porter."

"One moment, please." The sound of a phone being placed on a table came over the line.

In a few seconds, Porter Webb's cultured voice came through. "Porter Webb."

"Hello, Porter; it's Kansas."

The polite tone dropped to a genuinely glad one. "Hello, Kansas. I'm guessing you and Clayton have talked through your problem."

"Yes, we have. Is that why you called?"

"Partly, but I also wanted to talk to you about my son's condition."

"Have you seen the marks?"

"I've only seen them in bandages, and I haven't seen the one on his back. I'd like to know how they look and how he is doing emotionally." Porter's voice wavered slightly.

Kansas smiled at the phone. Never let it be said that Porter's maternal instincts were dulled during her years as an NSA agent. "He has gashes from the start of his wrists to the middle of his forearms, and his back has a circular burn. Physically, he's healing okay. I changed the bandages this morning, and I saw less blood than the night before."

"You stayed the night?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

There was a pause. "Thank you for staying. He needs the support."

"I know." Kansas' voice softened at the note of gratitude in Porter's voice.

"Emotionally, he's fighting fear, and when it takes him down, he's going to have a hell of a reaction."

"You'll be there to help them, right?" Porter heard the slight pleading in her own voice.

"Yes, Ma'am. I'll stay as long as he needs me."

"I appreciate it very much, Kansas. Are you coming to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Of course. You know I wouldn't miss a chance to match wits with some of the people highest in society."

Porter laughed softly on the other end of the line. "I'm sure you wouldn't. Good day, Dear."

"Bye, Porter."

Hanging up, Kansas turned her attention back to the paperwork on her desk. //Yeah, like I'm going to get anything done with what's going through my head.// Resigning herself to the knowledge of non-concentration, Kansas busied herself filling out the most routine of the work. //If I can't concentrate, at least I can keep my hands busy.//

*

Clayton eased into the bath, hissing as water came in contact with the burn on his back. He tried to find a comfortable position, but his back combined with the plastic he had to wrap his wrists in made him settle for just mildly painful.

He tipped his head back, soaked his hair and let the excess water drip down his shoulders. The events of the last couple of days played in his head. It surprised him a little that his blow-up at Kansas that morning caused him more worry than how the supervisory review board was going to rate his behavior in the field.

//Screw them. I'm one of the best. It's going to take more than one indiscretion to get me fired.//

//It was more than just an indiscretion!// Kansas' voice popped into Clayton's head.

//God, I date the woman four months, and her voice is already in my head! I'm going insane.//

Sighing, Clayton leaned his head against the back of the tub. //Hell, maybe I already am insane. Look at what I do for a living.// A flash of the girl he couldn't save came in front of his eyes. It was followed immediately by the face of his attacker.

He'd only seen him for a moment, but the face, and the coldness in the man's eyes was stuck in his memory. Despite the warm water, Clayton shuddered. //And Mac and Harm call *me* the Tin Man. They should meet this guy. On second thought, maybe not, if they deal with him. I'll probably have to, and I don't want to.//

After another few minutes of just sitting and thinking, Clayton stepped from the tub, drained the water, and wrapped a dark blue towel around his waist. He tossed the plastic from his wrists into the wastebasket and went into the living room to get the sweater he'd thrown on the couch.

He noticed his answering machine light blinking and pressed the 'Play' button.

"Webb, this is Sonkel, I have a new job for you. Call me as soon as you get this." The recording beeped, signaling the message over.

Clayton just stared at he machine a minute before picking it up and throwing it across the room. It smashed, and tiny pieces of plastic and wire scattered on the floor.

//Maybe I do have some anger to work out.// He surveyed the destruction impassively before turning and walking to the bedroom.

*

Kansas attempted work for another two hours before claiming it hopeless and leaving the JAG offices for the day. She threw her briefcase and cover into the passenger's side and started her baby blue, classic Cadillac. As she pulled into traffic, Kansas debated whether or not to stop by Clayton's before going home. She turned towards his place, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that said she was crowding him.

//He's been seriously injured, he needs someone nearby.//

The apartment building came into view, and Kansas pulled in next to Clayton's bright red convertible.

"Hey, Alan, are you going to frisk me?" Kansas greeted the doorman.

Alan, a kid of about twenty-three, just grinned and reached for the door. "No, Ma'am. Marines aren't huge fans of that."

"Good answer. Has Clayton been here long?"

"Around three hours; it was weird, Ma'am, he just brushed past me. Usually he asks how it's going."

"He's got a lot on his mind. I'll see you later, Alan."

"Bye."

Kansas rode up in the elevator, slightly nervous that Clayton hadn't talked to Alan. There wasn't a time she could remember that Alan and Clayton hadn't taken the time to joke with each other. She hurried from the elevator and went for her keys as she put a hand on the knob. Good, it was locked. Clayton was still aware enough to latch his door, and Kansas ignored the thought that said it could be an automatic reaction.

Stepping into the living room, something crunched underfoot. Lifting her heel, Kansas saw a piece of black plastic. She looked around the room and took in what she guessed to be the last remains of Clayton's answering machine.

//Clayton throwing things? This is bad.// "Clayton?" Kansas moved through the disaster carefully and called out again. "Clayton?!"

Marine training allowed for Kansas to keep her cool mentally, but her stomach was churning as she moved methodically from room to room. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were empty, which left the library and master bedroom.

Kansas found Clayton dressed in an ARMY T-shirt and gray sweatpants, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. She sighed in relief on the inside. "I didn't know you owned sweatpants."

His eyes didn't leave the ceiling. "It's not all suits and sweaters."

"Yeah, there are a few pairs of khakis in there, too."

Clayton didn't smile. "Yeah, there are."

//Quit dancing around this, Kansas; the tango isn't your strong point.// Kansas moved and sat on the bed, resting her hand on Clayton's knee. "Why is the answering machine in pieces?"

"Sonkel called." He finally moved his head to look at her. "He's my mission planner."

"He wanted you to go somewhere?"

"Some assignment, but he didn't specify."

"So you used the machine as a shot put?" Kansas asked while rubbing his leg.

"Yes, although I could have gotten better distance if the door had been open." Clayton reached for her hand and gave it a small pull.

She leaned against him and laced their fingers together. "Talk to me, Clayton."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you react like you did? Why did all your compassion make you go after that girl and try to save her?"

"Haven't you ever heard of easy questions?"

Kansas wrapped an arm around his torso. "Lawyers don't' ask easy questions."

He laughed a little. "I guess-I guess I went after her because she looked like you."

"Excuse me?"

"She looked like you. Red hair, short, and I heard her yell that one of the men sucked. I think some part of my mind heard you, and it caused my reaction."

"Why?"

"Why the reaction?" Kansas nodded and Clayton stared at her a minute. //Just say it, Webb. You've wanted to for three months.//

"I love you."

Her eyes widened and the green seemed to darken in surprise. //He said it. Might as well go for it.// "I love you, too."

Now Clayton's eyes had their turn at wide, and the blue irises looked like they were glowing. "Will you stay tonight? I need you to stay."

Kansas smiled at him. "I'll stay." She stood up, "But I get the first shower."

"You use all the hot water. Hey! Get back here!" Clayton jumped up and went after her.

*

Jerry Patten straightened his shirt collar and then turned to his wife. "Is it straight?"

She glanced over from applying mascara and nodded. "It looks perfect, Dear. Do you need help with your tie?"

He nodded and waited while she re-capped her eye makeup and then reached for the length of silk. "What did Porter have to say when you called to RSVP?"

"She said she was glad we could make it and mentioned her son would be there."

"I've never met her son."

"Neither have I." Patten ignored the warning in the back of his mind that told him to think harder on the name. "I think she said he worked for the State Department, an undersecretary of some sort."

His wife patted the knot on his tie and looked up at him. "A family with all that money, and he holds a government position?" She wrinkled her nose.

"At least it's a high-ranking government position. He could do much worse."

"Yes, he could be in the military."

*

"Clayton hold still." Kansas put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Quit treating me like a five-year-old. I can tie my own tie." Clayton reached for the patterned material.

"Snap to, Solider!"

The bark had its desired effect as Clayton's hands fell stiffly to his sides. "Clayton, I love you, and I'm doing this so we can get to your mother's *on time*. The doctor told you to take it easy for a couple of days while the area from the staples healed up more." Kansas finished knotting the tie and nodded. "Good to go."

Clayton stared straight ahead.

"You can move now. I'm done."

He stared straight ahead.

"As you were, Solider." Kansas held back a laugh as he finally relaxed. "Smart-ass."

Reaching forward, Clayton grabbed her waist and pulled Kansas to him. He locked her in a knee-weakening kiss complete with Jell-O-like insides before giving her a hug. "Thank you for sticking this out with me. I know last night wasn't much fun."

She nodded against his shoulder in silent agreement. After the spoken 'I love yous', the night had crept into a dawn of discussions, arguments, apologies, and nightmares. Full Technicolor nightmares complete with shadow monsters and skeleton hands grabbing at clothing. Neither Clayton or Kansas was near well rested, but canceling on Porter Webb at the last minute was not a good idea.

"We handled it and got through it. I'm hoping this is the worst battle we have. You're a hard-nosed SOB, Clayton."

"And you're a Marine with an attitude, but I love you for it."

"For it? Not in spite of it?"

Clayton raised his eyebrows. Was Kansas showing apprehension? His Kansas?

//My Kansas? I like the sound of that.// "For it. I love you for it because it keeps me grounded when I need it."

She kissed his cheek. "Thank you for being so hard-nosed. Most people are intimidated."

"Look who you're talking to."

"Good point." Kansas pulled away and tugged his hand. "C'mon, we're going to be late."

"James Bond is never late. C'mon, double-o-five."

Clayton allowed himself to be led from the room. "Double-o-five? How do I rank below a fictional secret agent by two points?"

"You don't speak with a British accent."

"Weak argument, Councilor."

*

"Hello, Mother."

"Hello, Porter."

"Hello, Clay, Dear. Hello, Kansas. You two look exhausted."

They shared a knowing look. "It was a long night, Mother. We had a lot to discuss."

Kansas nodded. "But we're set to go for a few hours."

Porter ushered them further into the house. "If you need to leave, just let me know, and I'll make something up."

"Now, Porter, you *know* lying is wrong." Kansas smiled at her.

"I know it, but I don't have to do it. It's the power of being a mother." She smiled back.

Someone yelled across the room, and the trio turned to see a woman running towards them.

"Porter, there you are!" She hugged Porter and turned to Clayton and Kansas. "Hello, I'm Amelia Patten."

"I'm Clayton Webb, this is my girlfriend, Kansas McWilliams."

Amelia shook their hands. "It's nice to meet you. You're Porter's son, aren't you?"

Clayton nodded. "Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you, too."

"Porter told me you worked for the State department. What do you do, Kansas?"

"I'm a lawyer at the JAG offices in Falls Church."

"Really? My husband's a lawyer; you two should meet him." Amelia grabbed them each by an elbow and started to lead them away. "I'll have them back in one piece, Porter; I promise." She moved them forward, focusing her attention back to Kansas.

"My husband, Jerry, works mostly in corporate litigation, but he's had a few criminal cases. He travels a lot to different branches of companies; he just came back from Chicago a couple of days ago."

Amelia paused to glance around the room. "I see him. Jerry! Jerry, I found Mrs. Webb's son. You should meet him."

The man worked through the crowd and stood in front of Clayton. He looked him over and held out his hand hesitantly. "Have we met before?"

Clayton accepted the hand and clapped the other man's shoulder. His voice was amiable. "Yes, we have." He pulled the man forward by their clasped hands and kneed him in the groin. "In Chicago, remember?" Clayton took his hand off of Patten's shoulder, made a fist, and broke his nose.

Patten fell to the floor, bleeding and groaning. "Who the hell are you?"

Everyone watched in shock as Clayton pulled his sleeve up. "My name is Clayton Webb. After you burned me, you raped and murdered a teenage girl then slit my wrists." He displayed his gauze-wrapped arm. "This is your work, *Jerry*, and I will personally bet he one that gives the testimony that gets you thrown in prison for the rest of your life."

Finished with his impromptu speech, Clayton turned and watched from the room, only the tense set of his jaw let it be known how troubled he was.

Patten tried to stand up and found himself staring at the flat end of a two-inch heel hovering above his crotch. Kansas stared down at him, her green eyes flaring with anger. "Unless you want to see what a Marine does when she's severely pissed and knows a good hiding place for the body, you'll stay down."

He looked at Kansas, took a glance around the room, noted the anger on his wife's face and lay back down as Kansas dialed her cell phone.

"I need a police cruiser and paramedic ASAP." She rattled off the address and cut the connection. Turning to Porter, she raised her eyebrows in silent question.

Porter pointed to the front door. It didn't take a genius to figure out he'd taken off.

Kansas motioned to two men and stepped away from Patten. "Don't let him move. When the police arrive give them my card and tell them to drop by my office. I'll talk to them when they show up." They nodded, and Kansas headed for the door.

She wasn't surprised that his car wasn't there, and she squealed her tires as her car left the driveway. In the back of her head Kansas knew Clayton wouldn't' be at his place or her's. He wanted to get away. //Where is he?//

*

Einstein's head loomed above him as Clayton toed off his loafers and peeled off his socks. He ignored the pain going through is body as he settled on one huge shoulder. //Now *this* is a shoulder to lean on.//

Clayton glanced down at his left hand and bent his fingers experimentally. "Damn, that hurts." He flexed his hand again. The tips of his middle knuckles were split open.

"Stop doing that; you're making it worse."

"It didn't take you long to find me."

Kansas climbed up and sat next to Clayton. She reached for his hand and took the Neosporin and bandages from between her teeth. "Hold your hand out. You really didn't have a lot of places to go, Clayton. It was easy to rule out my place and yours and especially your mother's, and I knew you wouldn't get near Langley." Kansas dabbed on the antiseptic. "The rest was just reasonable guessing."

Clayton smiled slightly. "Pretty good guess."

"Pretty good punch."

"I broke his nose."

"How'd it feel?" She taped on a bandage.

"Bad."

Kansas glanced up at him as she taped the other bandage. "Bad?"

"Yes, bad. Sickening, actually. God, I spent the last few days picturing what I would do to that bastard and when I got the chance, it makes me sick. I mean that literally. Right after I got out to the driveway, I vomited."

"You're human, Clayton. When hurting another person-no matter how ape-like they are-"

"Apes don't hunch as much as Patten." Clayton flexed his hand.

"Stop doing that. You got sick because you knew it was wrong to respond to his presence like he did yours. No matter how many violent fantasies you had; you knew it wouldn't accomplish anything but falling to his level. You don't want to be him."

"Do you have a degree in psychology I don't know about?"

Kansas smiled. "No, but I do have an addiction to self-help books."

"You? Self-help books to you are like tact to Chegwidden; it doesn't fit." Clayton smiled as Kansas laughed.

She reached for his hand and gestured to the ground. "How about getting down and going home? I'm exhausted, you're exhausted, and the cops are going to be all over our offices tomorrow. We need rest."

He nodded compliance, and they climbed down. Kansas stopped him after Clayton put on his shoes. "Will you stay at my place tonight?"

"You won't be getting much sleep with the nightmares I'll be having."

"I know, but I need you to stay near me so I can watch you."

"Watch me? I'm not a variety show."

"And I'm not a delicate flower, but you still get overprotective. I should get the same right."

Clayton saw her point. "I'll stay."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, and when was I overprotective?"

Kansas led him to her car. "Remember dinner at the *Oka* when you told the waiter if he didn't stop staring at my legs you'd break his fu-"

"Okay, I was overprotective, but it's because I love you."

"I love you, too."

Clayton watched her get in the car before climbing in the passenger's side. //I'm up to my neck in her.// He smiled as he buckled his seat belt. //I'm going to stay there awhile.//