~ Webb~
I have yet to truly admit it, but Matthew Reed was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had.
When, I was growing up, his mother was our house keeper, and Matthew lived in this little house next to ours with his mother and his little sister Annie. We grew up together. Nearly everyday as a child, I would wonder away from the dreary restraintment of my massive, affluent household, and I would meet Matthew at this enormous apple tree at the edge of our estate. Matthew and I would run through the fields playing and laughing and exploring until it got dark, when we would wearily retire back to our homes.
I was always clean cut, untrusting,forlorn, and some-what dispirited, while Matthew was always happy and smiling and talkative. He seemed to be always excited about something. Despite our differences, we were always best friends.
Matthew was fascinated when I told him that my parents were spies. He always wanted to know about them and what they did. Matthew had wanted to be a spy since the day he discovered what a spy was. As teenagers, we would sneak into town whenever the theater was playing a James Bond movie. We both loved them.
I convinced my mother to help put Matthew through school, and so she did. Matthew was always a year behind me in school, and I joined the CIA right out of college. Two years later, I acted as if I was ecstatic when Matthew informed me that he had also joined with the agency. Truthfully, it destroyed our friendship. We were always away on 'business' most of which was classified. We barely had time to speak with each other, and when we did, we couldn't talk about work, which had consumed our lives to the point where we had nothing else to discuss. So over the years, we grew distant. We kept in touch, but we were distant.
And so there I was, after three decades of history, sitting at a long brown table under a harsh over-light, staring down at a snap-shot from a criminal profile. Staring down into the dark, sinister eyes, of Amir Hamid, the man who killed my best friend. For the first time in my life, I felt completely out of control of the anger and despair that threatened to consume me.
" Clay?" I was sharply pulled away from my thoughts, at the sound of my first name, spoken softly and sounding strangely foreign on the deep and soothing undertones of the Colonel's voice. " are you all right?" It took me a moment to gather my thoughts as I found my self staring into her beautiful face, which had settled into a slightly concerned expression. Once again, I was reminded by that little, smoldering amount of passion that still lies within me, that I am just a little bit in love with Sarah Mackenzie.
I nodded briefly and closed the file, " yes I'm fine." I said. I was definitely not fine. My best friend was dead, my life had no meaning, and I hadn't slept in four days.
She nodded and quickly changed the subject, " so your sure these people are Al-Qaeda?"
" well, yes, based on their profiles. and they have numerous Al-Qaeda contacts that they regularly keep in contact with. We have close to nothing on them, except for what's in this file." I handed it to her, and studied her intently as she glanced through the criminal profiles. She closed the file, then looked up at me.
" Clay, what time is it?" she asked.
I glanced at my watch carelessly, " It's nearly three AM." I said. ' as if you didn't already know that.' I thought.
She nodded, " yes, it is nearly three AM. When was the last time you slept?" she questioned.
" I sleep when I need to." I was slightly intrigued by the idea that she might actually care for me, but I pushed this thought from my mind. Caring for people was too dangerous. That was something I'd learned a long time ago, something that I was still learning.
She paused, and looked at me for a moment, as if she were gazing right through me to someone else. "I just wonder about you Webb. I mean, do you ever get tired of playing the dark, apathetic, man of mystery? don't you ever just want to let it all go?" she asked.
I hesitated, wondering where all of her new found curiosity towards my personal outlook was coming from. I didn't want to discuss this with her, but I was too exhausted to resist her persistent questioning.
" yes." I admitted, surprised by how raspy and tortured that one word sounded coming from my mouth. "but not now, just not now." I said. I looked around the room, It began to blur slightly, and I felt dangerously.... detached.
" Clay, who was Matthew Reed?"
I felt the room begin to spin around me as I finally admitted the denial that had been tearing at my being, and keeping me awake for the past four days.
" Matthew Reed was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had."
And with that, I felt my world fade to darkness. Somehow, in the midst of it all, Sarah Mackenzie had become my confessor.
When I woke up the next morning, I had a pounding headache, and that alarmed feeling that you get, when you wake up some place unfamiliar, and you don't know where you are. I reached down to my waist band for my gun, and panicked when I realized that it wasn't there. I rose from the freshly lavender scented queen size bed that I had been sleeping in and looked to the bedside table. My gun was placed on it, next to a picture of little AJ. Memories of the night before flooded back to me as I realized where I was. ' Mac must have taken me home with her last night.'
My suit case was placed at the foot of Mac's bed, along with a note that read, ' Webb, I had to run back to JAG to pick up a few things. help yourself to the shower, I'll be home in a few. - Mac' I smiled at the friendly tone to which the note had been written. Out of all of the people in the world I could have had a mild nervous breakdown in the presence of, I was lucky it had been Mac.
I have yet to truly admit it, but Matthew Reed was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had.
When, I was growing up, his mother was our house keeper, and Matthew lived in this little house next to ours with his mother and his little sister Annie. We grew up together. Nearly everyday as a child, I would wonder away from the dreary restraintment of my massive, affluent household, and I would meet Matthew at this enormous apple tree at the edge of our estate. Matthew and I would run through the fields playing and laughing and exploring until it got dark, when we would wearily retire back to our homes.
I was always clean cut, untrusting,forlorn, and some-what dispirited, while Matthew was always happy and smiling and talkative. He seemed to be always excited about something. Despite our differences, we were always best friends.
Matthew was fascinated when I told him that my parents were spies. He always wanted to know about them and what they did. Matthew had wanted to be a spy since the day he discovered what a spy was. As teenagers, we would sneak into town whenever the theater was playing a James Bond movie. We both loved them.
I convinced my mother to help put Matthew through school, and so she did. Matthew was always a year behind me in school, and I joined the CIA right out of college. Two years later, I acted as if I was ecstatic when Matthew informed me that he had also joined with the agency. Truthfully, it destroyed our friendship. We were always away on 'business' most of which was classified. We barely had time to speak with each other, and when we did, we couldn't talk about work, which had consumed our lives to the point where we had nothing else to discuss. So over the years, we grew distant. We kept in touch, but we were distant.
And so there I was, after three decades of history, sitting at a long brown table under a harsh over-light, staring down at a snap-shot from a criminal profile. Staring down into the dark, sinister eyes, of Amir Hamid, the man who killed my best friend. For the first time in my life, I felt completely out of control of the anger and despair that threatened to consume me.
" Clay?" I was sharply pulled away from my thoughts, at the sound of my first name, spoken softly and sounding strangely foreign on the deep and soothing undertones of the Colonel's voice. " are you all right?" It took me a moment to gather my thoughts as I found my self staring into her beautiful face, which had settled into a slightly concerned expression. Once again, I was reminded by that little, smoldering amount of passion that still lies within me, that I am just a little bit in love with Sarah Mackenzie.
I nodded briefly and closed the file, " yes I'm fine." I said. I was definitely not fine. My best friend was dead, my life had no meaning, and I hadn't slept in four days.
She nodded and quickly changed the subject, " so your sure these people are Al-Qaeda?"
" well, yes, based on their profiles. and they have numerous Al-Qaeda contacts that they regularly keep in contact with. We have close to nothing on them, except for what's in this file." I handed it to her, and studied her intently as she glanced through the criminal profiles. She closed the file, then looked up at me.
" Clay, what time is it?" she asked.
I glanced at my watch carelessly, " It's nearly three AM." I said. ' as if you didn't already know that.' I thought.
She nodded, " yes, it is nearly three AM. When was the last time you slept?" she questioned.
" I sleep when I need to." I was slightly intrigued by the idea that she might actually care for me, but I pushed this thought from my mind. Caring for people was too dangerous. That was something I'd learned a long time ago, something that I was still learning.
She paused, and looked at me for a moment, as if she were gazing right through me to someone else. "I just wonder about you Webb. I mean, do you ever get tired of playing the dark, apathetic, man of mystery? don't you ever just want to let it all go?" she asked.
I hesitated, wondering where all of her new found curiosity towards my personal outlook was coming from. I didn't want to discuss this with her, but I was too exhausted to resist her persistent questioning.
" yes." I admitted, surprised by how raspy and tortured that one word sounded coming from my mouth. "but not now, just not now." I said. I looked around the room, It began to blur slightly, and I felt dangerously.... detached.
" Clay, who was Matthew Reed?"
I felt the room begin to spin around me as I finally admitted the denial that had been tearing at my being, and keeping me awake for the past four days.
" Matthew Reed was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had."
And with that, I felt my world fade to darkness. Somehow, in the midst of it all, Sarah Mackenzie had become my confessor.
When I woke up the next morning, I had a pounding headache, and that alarmed feeling that you get, when you wake up some place unfamiliar, and you don't know where you are. I reached down to my waist band for my gun, and panicked when I realized that it wasn't there. I rose from the freshly lavender scented queen size bed that I had been sleeping in and looked to the bedside table. My gun was placed on it, next to a picture of little AJ. Memories of the night before flooded back to me as I realized where I was. ' Mac must have taken me home with her last night.'
My suit case was placed at the foot of Mac's bed, along with a note that read, ' Webb, I had to run back to JAG to pick up a few things. help yourself to the shower, I'll be home in a few. - Mac' I smiled at the friendly tone to which the note had been written. Out of all of the people in the world I could have had a mild nervous breakdown in the presence of, I was lucky it had been Mac.