Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.
- Washington D.C., North of Union Station, Harm's apartment. Long past midnight.
Commander Harmon Rabb, Junior, decorated officer and fearless pilot of the United States Navy, groaned and buried his face in his pillow. The knock at his apartment door was repeated. Sighing deeply he felt for the light switch and squinted at the alarm clock. At the sight of the 2 on the display he groaned a second time.
"What blasted idiot..."
Cursing under his breath Harm struggled out of bed and stumbled drowsily to the steps that led from the sleeping part of his apartment to the main area and then on towards the entrance. Whoever it was in front of his door - he was ready to give him or her a dressing-down that would be remembered for life. A glance through the peephole showed only a shadowy human silhouette in the nearly dark hall, nevertheless there was something vaguely familiar about it. Very familiar in fact.
"Oh, no, I don't believe it!" Harm unlocked the door and jerked it open then practically barked into his late visitor's face: "Webb! Damn it, do you know what time it is?"
Then he gasped and froze. Webb slowly lifted his head to look at him.
He wore one of his usual dark three-piece suits, all right. But THIS suit was rather unusually wet or better absolutely soaked through ... a small puddle had already formed on the ground under the expensive leather shoes. The agent had wrapped his arms tightly around his upper body as if to suppress the continuous tremor that shook him. His skin was as white as chalk, even more so in comparison with the black wetness of his suit, dark rings were visible around his slightly glassy eyes.
"Jesus, Clayton," Harm whispered hoarsely, "What did happen? Come in, come on, come in."
He pushed the door wide open and reached for Webb's arm but the other man sidestepped his hand and entered the apartment by himself although slowly and moving very, very carefully. Harm's worry grew as he saw the definite sway in his steps. Whatever had happened, it had affected the CIA agent greatly.
Closing the door he tried to concentrate on what to do next. Something to warm him up, dry clothes, maybe a doctor. Most certainly a doctor. He determinedly turned the key.
"Come on, Clay. Up here."
This time the agent did not fight against the steadying hand that directed him upstairs and into the bathroom. Harm started the shower, peeled the icy jacket off Webb's shoulders, relieved him of his shoes, vest and weapon and then shoved the other man with gentle force under the steaming spray.
Webb gasped and shuddered but otherwise stood completely still as the heat rained down on him. Water was running freely over his rigid face and he coughed and choked a bit as he breathed the wrong way. Finally, after several long heartbeats he lifted an unsteady hand and brushed newly soaked hair off his forehead.
Harm watched it all with concern, ignoring the water dripping from his own arms. Minutes ticked by. Webb slowly closed his eyes and lowered his head even further, still rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. Then he turned slightly to look at him. Their eyes met. Harm gave the cold shoulder a soft squeeze.
"Warm up. I'll get you a towel."
He waited until the other man nodded weakly and started taking off his tie before turning away. After placing a large towel within easy reach he quickly pulled off his generously splashed shirt and went to look for something dry to wear for his guest and himself.
- Washington D.C., North of Union Station, Harm's apartment. Later.
Twenty minutes later Webb was sitting on the couch, not only wrapped in a too big bathrobe but additionally into a thick blanket, and sipped the hot tea Harm had prepared. He hadn't said much more than three words since his unexpected arrival. What was - considering he sometimes tended to like the sound of his own voice a bit too much - kind of a record.
Although this time Harm would have been willing to make concessions. Watching the other man closely the commander folded his hands around his own cup and waited for Webb to gather his thoughts. His patience was put to a severe test. Long minutes passed until Webb finally sighed softly, touched his fingertips to the large bruise at his left temple and in the end glanced at his host.
"Thank you."
"Not at all."
Pause.
"You should see a doctor, Clay."
Webb shook his head slightly. "I'm all right."
The movement seemed to cause him pain because he grimaced and closed his eyes for a second.
"Webb, you've got at least a concussion. Only God knows what else."
"I said I'm all right. Just a bit groggy. I need some sleep."
The words sounded like the old Webb ... the voice did it definitely not. Harm frown at the fine but quite audible tremor in it. He even opened his mouth but his protest remained unspoken as he noticed the almost desperately pleading look in Webb's eyes. Sighing inwardly he lowered his gaze and stared into his cup. He couldn't simply drag the other man to the next hospital, now could he? And right now he could not think of any doctor he knew well enough to throw out of bed at this late hour.
"What did happen?" he finally changed the subject.
Webb did not answer only rubbed his face tiredly. His skin had regained some color and looked less waxen but he still seemed awfully exhausted.
"Shall I call somebody? Pass someone a message?" Harm asked softly.
He had never seen the other man that vulnerable. Again he got only a weak shake of the head as answer. Feeling a strange mixture of frustration and concern he put down his cup and stood.
"You really need some sleep. Come on. You can have my bed."
Webb started protesting half-heartedly that he could well sleep on the couch but didn't resist as Harm took his cup away and pulled him to his feet. They somehow made it up the stairs one more time and over to the bed where the agent seemed to be asleep as soon as he touched the covers.
Looking down at the motionless body Harm simply stood there for a long moment and shook his head. If anybody had told him even yesterday that Clayton Webb would end up sleeping in his bed one day he would have called him crazy or worse. And now... Harm rolled his eyes upwards, shook his head a second time and turned away.
As he sat down on the couch he glanced at the clock and sighed. Tomorrow would be another long, hard day at the office and he would really like some sleep but ... somehow it seemed doubtful he would get that much tonight.
- The next morning, Harm's apartment.
Harm felt his eyelids drop dangerously as he mechanically stirred the scrambled eggs he was preparing for breakfast. Making a small face he took another sip of the hot, extra strong coffee that was supposed to wake him up.
Of course he had barely slept after taking Webb to bed. On the one hand he hadn't been able to stop wondering what had happened to his unexpected guest. On the other he had got up almost every twenty minutes to check if Webb was still all right. Reluctant as he was to admit it but the thought he could find the other man dead in his bed the next morning had had something quite unsettling.
And it was only little comfort that Webb obviously hadn't spent a very restful night too. More than once Harm had quietly straightened the tangled sheets. Whatever nightmares had haunted the other man's sleep they must have been unpleasant. Although neither his dreams nor Harm's frequent visits had managed to wake him up. Truth to be told neither had Harm's activities in the bathroom or later his rummaging in the kitchen.
Looking up at a small sound Harm corrected his last assumption. Webb stood at the bottom of the stairs and was watching him silently.
The agent wore again the too big bathrobe and seemed to feel all but comfortable in it. But at least he did no longer look like a sleepwalker or as if he would drop unconscious any other second. His appearance still was worlds apart from his normal perfectly groomed self - the messy hair and especially the shadow of a beard on his chin were a nearly traumatic sight for Harm - but color had now returned fully into his face and the dark circles around his eyes had faded considerably compared to last night.
"Morning," Webb offered finally with some hesitation.
Harm suddenly realized he had been staring motionless for several minutes, reached for a plate and nodded in the direction of a stool at the kitchen counter.
"Sit down. Hungry?"
Webb slowly padded closer and finally climbed on the offered seat. He sniffed the air tentatively.
"As long as it isn't tofu stir-fry..."
Harm suppressed a grin and piled scrambled eggs on two plates. "Another time. Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
Webb helped himself to some bread and dragged his fork through the eggs. After some bites he gestured at the radio.
"Mind turning on the news?"
"No problem." Harm adjusted the volume and sat back down. "Waiting for something special?"
Once more he received no answer. This got just a TAD exhausting. He took into his own breakfast. The song on the radio ended and a reporter started talking very fast about some traffic jam. Then the music continued. Webb tapped his fork on the plate.
"Where's Renée?"
"Doing an advertisement in the desert of Arizona."
"Oh."
"Well, she seemed to be quite enthusiastic. You know how she is."
Both men spent some more time on their eggs. Harm glanced every now and then at Webb's lowered head and finally couldn't restrain himself any longer.
"Care to tell me what happened last night?"
Webb sipped his coffee and grimaced. He shrugged. "I took a swim in the river."
"Thought I knew that smell," Harm commented dryly. This got him a look that reminded considerably of the old Webb.
"In your suit?" he pushed to keep the conversation from dying again.
"With the car."
"The car." Harm needed a moment to comprehend what he had just heard. Then he abruptly slammed his cup down. "THE CAR?"
A tiny smile played around the corner of Webb's mouth.
"The car, yes. Can't recommend it." He grew serious again. "Harm, you know I can't tell you what happened. That's..."
"... classified. What else," Harm growled sarcastically. "You take a dive with the car, crawl across half the town on my doorstep and are now waiting if your stunt made it into the news. Just Great!"
"Harm..." Webb squirmed uncomfortably under the angry glare. He ran his fingers through his hair. And unintentionally the gesture drew the other man's attention to the thick bump at his temple that had by now turned a magnificent shade of dark blue.
Harm felt his anger evaporate. He sighed. What had he expected, really? Webb was Webb and would always be.
"You know you sometimes quite get on my nerves, don't you?" he said in a more friendly tone. "The important thing is you managed to get out in time. Looks like you took quite a blow there."
Webb touched the swelling and flinched. "I was lucky."
For a moment his voice betrayed a hint of the emotions the memory stirred up. Fear, shock, pain, disbelief this could happen to him. For a moment its dark echo showed in his eyes before everything was hastily clamped down and locked back in the secret place Clayton Webb had reserved for these things.
But not fast enough for Harm to miss it.
"I should make a phone call," said Webb abruptly. "Did I still have my cell last night?"
He frowned but Harm would have been exceptionally surprised if he remembered more than foggy pictures. He stood and walked to his desk.
"It was there, yes. But I don't think your bath agreed with it." An assumption that proved all too correct after a short inspection. Harm nodded at his own telephone. "Take that one. I'll go and change in the meantime."
- Harm's apartment.
By the time Harm had fixed his uniform Webb had finished his phone call and came looking for his clothes. Harm retrieved the hanger from the bathroom and they considered the sorry mess that was left of a once expensive, tailored three-piece suit. Harm shrugged.
"Well, I guess there isn't much hope either. You can have some of my stuff if you want to."
"Very funny, really." Webb gave him a sidelong glance and made sure to take extra notice of the fact that the Navy commander was a good deal taller than he was. He fingered the clammy fabric with a gloomy expression. "All right, maybe a shirt. The pants will do somehow."
Biting back any further comment Harm took a white shirt out of the closet and handed it over. "Shaving kit is above the sink. And in the bottom drawer you should find a new toothbrush."
Webb nodded and disappeared in the bathroom while Harm made short work of the dishes. He had barely stored the last plate away when Webb came back, freshly shaved, dressed and combed. The agent almost looked like himself as he walked down the steps while discreetly slipping his weapon in a pocket of the jacket he held across one arm.
Except for the still slightly wet pair of trousers, the water stains on his shoes and the fact that he had to roll up the sleeves because the shirt was too big. And, of course, the large bruise on his face together with a shadow of fatigue in his stance.
Nevertheless Harm found it hard to believe that he had almost had to carry the same man into his apartment just a few hours ago. He gave the counter one last wipe and cleared his throat.
"Shall I drive you to your apartment?"
"No thanks, I'll be picked up any moment."
"Whatever."
Harm took up his briefcase and unlocked the door then reached for the handle. Webb's hand on his arm stopped him. The agent once more appeared uncertain. And strangely vulnerable.
"Harm, I..."
A long moment they stood like that, looking at each other. Then Harm nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Any time, Clayton. Any time."
Webb's gaze dropped then he looked back up and forced a small smile. Without another word they left the apartment.
End of Episode Four and end of Strange Friends
Author's note: A big, heartfelt Thank You to everyone who sent a review. Your opinion is always appreciated. And to the silent readers: I hope you enjoyed.
