Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Set three years after Hail and Farewell I+II (middle of 2004); ignores any current spoilers, rumors or whatever about the future course of the show and the pairing is NOT HarmMac. If you are all right with nothing but friendship between these two you're welcome, if not you'll probably consider this a waste of time.

August 2007, Thursday

JAG headquarters, in the afternoon

"... so check out the names on Vukovic's list, any witness we can come up with is an advantage in this case."

Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior, walked with long strides through the hot bullpen of JAG headquarters while his assistant tried to keep up with him. The read-headed lieutenant junior grade sounded slightly breathless.

"Yes, sir, understood, sir. And sir, a Miss or Mrs. Logan has called back to give you this phone number. She said you'd asked for it."

Harm paused and took the sheet of paper from the young man. The next fan nearly blew it out of his hand but he was glad for the draft of air. Some said it was the hottest summer people remembered but that could be an exaggeration. Nevertheless, in this weather any uniform instantly clung to the body, short sleeved or not, and for the first time the Australian Navy's dress orders had something appealing to Harm. Even General Cresswell, the strict JAG, had actually surrendered that much to the heat that he had allowed a flood of electric fans everywhere in the office as an addition to the - still - old air conditioning. Now any piece of paper had to be secured with files, pens, scissors or staplers but that was better than sweating to a puddle.

"Thank you, Mister Ellis."

"Uhm, sir, she asked me to tell you too ... uhm ... that next time you should look into the telephone book."

"Really?" Harm's eyebrows lifted as he stared down at the piece of paper. It had been in the telephone book? He would have never thought...

Ellis stepped from one foot to the other. "Excuse me, sir ... has this something to do with the Colonel?"

Harm nodded slowly. For a moment he pressed his lips together. "Yes."

"And - and you think this man can help us?"

"If he can't nobody does." Harm sighed and headed for the door of his office.

"Uhm - sir? Sir! You remember the general wants to see you in his office in ten minutes sharp, sir?"

"I do remember, Lieutenant, I actually do."

Harm shut the door behind him and closed the blinds some more before he allowed himself another small sigh. By God, even after three years it still seemed so odd to hear "the general" instead of "the admiral". Seemed so odd that it was Cresswell instead of AJ Chegwidden.

Oh, he and the former SEAL had had their various problems - especially over the last year before Chegwidden's retirement. Sometimes he had been so angry with the other man, hadn't understood his decisions, hadn't understood why he had treated him so unfair after Paraguay, had wanted to yell at him... It had felt good to see him squirm when he had asked him to come back at last. Childish maybe but ... good. He would have never expected to miss him that much, to miss his gruff voice echoing through the bullpen, even to miss his stern glare because of something he had done in the courtroom or outside. To miss his experienced judgment. Not that Cresswell was a bad CO. Not at all. But he was ... different. And he had served under Chegwidden for almost nine years. It had been a long time.

Bracing himself against the door frame for a second Harm watched Ellis walk away very reluctantly. Involuntarily he sighed again. The boy was eager to please but still more than green and ... well, simply no Bud Roberts. And so darn young. They all seemed to be so darn young lately. Or maybe it was he feeling older.

On the other hand ... without the boy and his friendship to Ensign Arden he would have never known ... and he had done his best to help find information. But his best hadn't been enough and despite the urgency Harm couldn't bring himself to call Bud during his hard-earned holiday trip with Harriet and the children. They really needed time together considering how busy the younger man had been lately. Unfortunately that left little other possibilities.

Sitting down behind his desk Harm put his hand on the receiver of his phone but didn't lift it. He glanced down at the piece of paper with the phone number. If he was honest - he didn't want to make this call. Heck, for the past three years he had done his best to avoid even thinking of the man let alone mentioning his name aloud. Too many things were between them. Including Mac.

'For Mac. This is for Mac.'

At this thought Harm jerked the receiver up and dialed quickly. He would not allow his resolve to start wavering. This wasn't about him and his pride - more about Mac and HER pride. Her stupid pride that kept her from seeing the danger. So if HE was the only possibility for-

"Webb residence."

Harm drew in a deep breath. Of course it wasn't Webb himself. People like Clayton Webb had staff to answer their phones even at home.

"Ah - this is Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior. I need to speak to Mister Webb."

"Commander Rabb," the voice repeated after an almost imperceptible pause. Harm wasn't sure if this was the same man he had seen years ago. When he had still called Webb ... almost a friend.

"Yes. Is Mister Webb available?"

The silence was just a tiny bit too long to go unnoticed. But the man's voice was perfectly calm and polite.

"Please hold the line, sir."

Realizing that he was nearly crashing the receiver in a dead grip Harm tried to relax his fingers. It wasn't easy. The need to hang up was overwhelming. But he had come that far, now he wouldn't back down. It had been hard enough to get this number - although it wouldn't have been if he had looked into a directory from the start as Loretta suggested. It would have saved him some frustrating conversations with Langley. From there he had got officially nothing more than the usual statement of neither confirming nor denying, Kershaw had refused to talk to him flat out and he hadn't been able to get past Catherine Gale's firewall - her secretary. But he simply hadn't thought that Clayton Webb's number could be found in a telephone book.

Silently Harm wondered if Webb would talk to him or not. If the man who had answered the phone was any indication ... a NOT seemed to be quite possible.

Well, there was no doubt the end had been dirty. He had heard Mac yell out her frustration back in the kitchen where he had sat with Webb's mother. The woman had said nothing and so had he ... what had there been to say. Webb had hurt the woman he had declared to be in love with in the most cruel and ruthless way by faking his death. He had played with her trust, her emotions, even her life. The wound had gone deep.

Harm still remembered how dark her eyes had been when he had joint her on the beach. Dark, groundless pools in a white face like made of stone. No despair as there had been after Brumby had canceled their wedding and went back to Australia. No tears ... not any more. Just those big, dark, disillusioned eyes... Eyes of a woman who had already seen too much, borne too much, done too much in her life. Old eyes that had almost frightened him in their dark intensity.

But still...

He had never asked Mac if she ever understood the subtle warning in Webb's presents. Mac - who was so good at word games and crossword puzzles. Not that he himself had understood for a long time until it suddenly hit him one night. A merry-go-round as a symbol that history was about to repeat itself - Webb had been reported dead before. The Merry Widow Waltz - a further warning, almost voicing the cruel game aloud but also promising hope for a happy ending. The figurine of two people in love.

He had never told her that if he hadn't punched Webb in the stomach as hard as he could before the other man had been able to finish his first sentence maybe things would have turned out different. That if Tanveer hadn't managed to hit the very same spot maybe Webb would not have gone down like he did.

He had never told her how he had felt when Webb had interrupted his rather pompous speech about how he could have done that to her and that he didn't deserve her and that she and the man from MI6 were searching the house at the moment by hissing through clenched teeth: 'You are an idiot, Harm. Tanveer is the Hawk and the only thing that kept Sarah safe was NOT KNOWING ABOUT ME!'

How it had stung when the spy had added acidly - already heading for the house - 'Thank you SO much for helping my killer!'

It clicked in the line.

"Webb."

Harm remained silent for a moment, somehow caught off guard by the sheer familiarity of the voice. And with surprise he noticed that all his well-prepared words had suddenly disappeared.

"Uhm ... hello," he said finally. "It's ... me. Harmon Rabb."

"Yes, I've been told so. What do you want?"

"Why do you think I want something?" Stalling for time, yes, that was a good tactic. At least until he had found his inner balance again.

A moment of silence.

"You really want me to believe this is a social call, Rabb?" Webb's voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

All right, maybe his tactic wasn't that good. Harm fought with all his might against the well-known surge of irrational anger at Webb's short manner.

'Mac,' he reminded himself again, 'this is for Mac.' He took another deep breath.

"No, you're right, it isn't," he acknowledged fairly calm. "I ... need a favor."

"No."

"Webb..."

"Go to hell."

"Someone is threatening Mac's life."

Silence. But the line was still open.

Harm didn't dare breathing. He had put everything on the line - and now he would see if it was enough to keep Webb from hanging up on him. If there was still something left of what he had wanted to deny so firmly in the past, of what he hadn't wanted to acknowledge when he had looked into Mac's eyes before the spy had hurt her so deeply ... on what he was counting now. If the figurine of two people in love had meant something. Had Webb really been in love with her despite his actions? He could almost see the spy, pondering the same question, considering his options...

"Talk. I'll listen."

The air left Harm's lungs in a silent sigh of relief. The first step was taken. Time for the second. Through a gap in the blinds he saw Ellis walking towards his office, glancing at his watch with a worried face.

"Not now, I've got a briefing with General Cresswell in a minute. I'll be at the Memorial in three hours. You know where."

"Wait! Rabb! I've got no intention of -"

Harm hung up quickly. There. That didn't go all that bad, now did it?

Webb residence, Virginia, the same time

"- meeting you in person!" Webb finished his sentence to a dead line.

Exhaling he pulled the receiver off his ear and stared at it. His expression was unreadable. Just once something that could be a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Just once the beginning of a disbelieving shake of his head died away. His eyes were distant as he finally lowered the phone into his lap.

"Harrison?"

"Sir?"

"I need the car ... let's say in two hours. I've got to go to Washington."

There was an audible pause. Then: "Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."

Webb continued staring at the phone and again the shadow of an emotion flickered briefly over his face. It could be anger. It could be anything. Then suddenly his head snapped around as he sensed Harrison still standing there.

"What!"

"Nothing." Harrison closed the door quietly.

Webb grimaced and rubbed a hand across his mouth. Then his face stilled again as if it had become tired of any expression over the years.

Whatever had been. However he felt about it. He could not ignore the dark seriousness in Rabb's voice ... or the urgency in the simple fact that the other man had called at all after all these years. He couldn't.