Monday morning rolls around, and duty calls. Any sense of feeling sorry for herself is left at the threshold as she leaves the house. She makes a beeline for the car. She arrives to work exactly on time. She quickly maneuvers through the bull pen. Someone calls out, "Attention on deck." She mutters, "At ease," in response as she maintains her path. She enters her office, and closes the door behind her. She sinks into a large leather chair, behind her massive wooden desk. Her yeoman is on the intercom within seconds.
"General MacKenzie, your real estate agent is on the phone."
"Tell her that I'll call her back later," she responds.
"Also, ma'am your husband called."
"Tell him that I'm not in."
"I did. He's already called three times this morning."
"I just got in the building three minutes ago."
"He has called three times in five minutes."
"I don't want to talk to him," she explains.
"What do you want me to tell him?"
"Just hang up on him."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Anything else, Harrison?"
"I would like to remind you that you have a meeting with SecNav at oh nine hundred, ma'am."
"I am aware."
"That is all."
"Thank you," she gladly ends the conversation.
In his hotel room, halfway across the room Harm throws his phone at the wall. The sound of it crashing to the floor nearly obscures the sound of someone knocking on his door. He moves away from the window, and moves towards the door. He looks at his watch, and grips his weapon as he looks through the peephole. He finds Clayton Webb standing on the other side. He unlatches the door, and opens it. A young man, in a charcoal suit stands next to Clayton. Harm furrows his brow.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for moral support," Clayton explains.
"Moral support?" He questions.
The gentleman standing next to Clayton steps forward. He hands Harmon an envelope. He makes eye contact, "You've been served," he informs, and then steps back. Harm watches in confusion as the man heads down the hallway.
"Is this…"
Clayton cuts him off, "Not in the hallway."
Harmon nods, and retreats to his hotel room. Clayton closes the door on his way into the room.
"You should have a seat," Clayton advises.
Harm glances at the envelope, "You know what this is about?"
Clayton grins momentarily, "I know everything."
"What are you doing here?"
"I told you, I'm here for moral support."
"You don't think that I can handle this mission on my own?"
"Sit," he demands.
Harmon pulls a chair out from underneath the table in the room. He takes a seat. Clayton folds his arms across his chest.
"Webb?"
"Rabb, why do you do this?"
"Work?"
He shakes his head, "Refuse to admit when you're wrong."
"How am I wrong? I am here on the mission that you asked me to do."
"You're making a mistake."
"What mistake?"
"You have a million opportunities. You had other job offers."
"What is your point?"
"Ones that are closer to home."
"Why are you bringing this up?"
"Do you know what's in that envelope?"
Harm shakes his head, "No, but I have a feeling that you do."
"Mac called me last night."
"She doesn't answer my phone calls," he responds in a bitter tone.
"She asked me for a favor."
"To make sure that I got this envelope?"
"Harm, she filed for separation."
"I don't understand."
Clayton shakes his head, "You don't understand? All she wants is you. She just wants you with her. Why is that so damn hard for you to understand?"
"She pushes me away every damn chance that she gets."
"Didn't she ask you to stay?"
"Why do you care?" He raises his voice.
"Because you made a mistake. She is your wife. How many times have you walked away from her, when she needed you? Did you really think that she would stick around when you can't seem to stay home?"
"She knew what she was getting herself into when she married me."
"A year ago you were supposed to become parents…"
Harmon cuts him off, "I don't want to talk about this."
"You never talk about it. You never even acknowledge it. The two of you were finally going to get the family that you wanted. Then the adoption fell through."
"Why does everyone keep bringing this up?"
"The next day you were on a plane halfway across the world. You asked for a six month mission in Africa."
"That was my way of dealing with things."
"What about Sarah?"
"She didn't want me around."
"You know that isn't true."
"Did you ever consider the fact that maybe I couldn't face her?"
"Did you ever consider her feelings?"
"It was my fault. We didn't get that baby, because of me."
Clayton furrows his brow, "What do you mean?"
"I stopped by the hospital. The birth mother told me that she decided to go with another couple at the last minute, because she was afraid that I wouldn't be around enough, because I travelled too much."
"When are you ever going to get over yourself? The whole damn world isn't about you."
"Excuse me? Where do you get off lecturing me?"
"You weren't there."
"She hated me," he insists, "She was angry with me."
"She only ever blamed herself."
"What?!"
"She blamed herself for the two of you not being able to conceive, and she blamed herself for the adoption falling through."
"I didn't know that."
"How could you? You're never around when she needs you."
"I love her."
"You should have realized that ten missions ago. It's too late now."
"She is my wife."
"You haven't been a good husband."
"I…"
Clayton cuts him off, "It doesn't matter what excuse you have. She doesn't want excuses. She just wants to be done."
