Disclaimer: all of these characters etc belong to Donald Bellasario; CBS, NBC, USA and any other network or production company involved. I do not own nor am I making any money off of these characters.

Okay, this is my first JAG fic. Fair warning, it is a touch implausible, but then again, so is the series.

Let's say that this is set sometime before Bud got his leg blown off and that Mac and Brumby are not together.

Clayton Webb sighed as he sank blissfully into the pool that the hotel he was in had provided. He personally considered it a small miracle that the hotel had a pool large enough to do laps in and not just a kiddy friendly decorative one.

Growling under his breath, he began his early morning swim. He was being punished. There was no other way to put it. A spy of his caliber would not be tailing around after a low ranking smuggler if he was not being punished. Clayton Webb assigned the people who assigned these types of surveillance projects. He did not sit around in a family friendly middleclass hotel and watch for some arms dealer to take an order.

It was boring and way below his capabilities. The order man was impossibly easy to track. He was not very smooth about when he lied, and he probably would not make a very big deal.

Oh, any information would no doubt be helpful to the company, but still…

He really should change his number. Maybe he should ask for a transfer. If he just had not caved into Rabb and his "Look at me, Mr. American, Wanna be my friend?" grin, he would not be tailing around some idiot.

Clayton turned and started kicking his way back across the pool. He really needed to quit making friends. Maybe he could incite Roberts to speak of the evils of the CIA. A little nudge at the Admiral should hammer in how untrustworthy Webb was. That would make Rabb suspicious and leery again.

Either that, or Clayton Webb would find himself watching some ridiculous sports game and male bonding with Rabb.

Clayton sighed as he pushed himself to swim faster. If there was a way to make MacKenzie hate him, she would convince Rabb that hating Webb was a good thing too. The only problem with that theory was that the Major was just as determined to be Webb's friend as Rabb was. Well, maybe a little less friendly, but still…

With a groan, Webb pulled himself out of the pool and stared at the room his subject was occupying. No light on. Not really surprising, the schlep had been out drinking 'til all hours last night. It did not matter if the guy was awake, Webb already had the whole room bugged. If anything happened, it would be recorded on video tape and two audio tapes. He doubted that this level of creep had the imagination to look for bugs at all, let alone all of the ones he had planted.

With a final glance at the room, Clay began to head back to his own room, already cursing the rising heat.

He hated Texas.

Things had not improved come lunch time. He was sitting at bar of the hotel restaurant eating something that was supposedly a seafood salad while his subject began on his daily drinking festivities.

He took another bite of his salad. Gah, only iceberg lettuce, the shrimp was canned and he swore that that imitation crab was really made out of chicken.

"Excuse me," a voice came from the bar stool to his left, "is that salad any good?"

'Oh great, a native' was the first thought that popped into Clay's mind. The Texas accent was mild, but it was undeniably there. The second thought that popped into his mind was to highly recommend the salad and the hideous Italian dressing they served with it, but he was not feeling particularly sadistic at the moment.

"If you must know, it tastes like cardboard and the lettuce has wilted to the texture of the green snot that comes out of your nose when you have the flu."

'There,' thought Clay, 'that should ward off any further conversation.'

"I'll order something else then."

The voice was suspiciously still friendly. Too friendly. The kind of friendly people put on when they are really in a bad mood but want to show others what a great time they are having.

Sipping at his water to cleanse his palate, Clay decided to solve the mini-mystery sitting next to him. I had to beat watching his subject drink beer.

A somewhat petite blond sat next to him. Her freshly cut hair was very utilitarian and could definitely use a touch more styling. Same thing went for her makeup. She had good facial features and judging by her arm muscles, she was in very good shape.

"Not to appear rude, but why are you talking to me?" He'd have to thank Rabb for the first part of that sentence. Normally, he just would have snipped out the main question.

Blue eyes hardened over as his companion glared at him, "Don't patronize me."

Clay's eyebrow went up. Okay, so the lady was temperamental. That meant she either just had a fight with her parents or her boyfriend.

"Bad day?" he asked, hoping he sounded genuine.

"You could say that," she replied slightly more friendly.

"Boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend. I did have a date."

Clay looked around the room to see a tall and handsome man trying not to look like he was eyeing them.

"Mr. Swarthy Knuckles over there?" Clay asked as he gestured with his thumb.

The lady laughed, "An old high school friend set me up with him. He insulted me and my profession four times in the hour I've been with him. When we got here, he started talking about how great he was. I couldn't stand it, so I told him that I was really just going out with him to sooth my friend's feelings. I told him that I'd just acquired a new boyfriend and that he was waiting for me."

"Sooo, you came to the bar because?"

"Because he somehow got the impression that my boyfriend was waiting for me in this place. I didn't want to look like I'd been lying and explain that my "boyfriend" was elsewhere, so I picked out the cutest guy at the bar that looked like he was alone."

"Which would be me. I'm flattered."

"Don't be. I usually pick out taller guys with more charming dispositions."

"I'd be insulted if not for the fact that you're my girlfriend, and I'm extremely bored. If you'll excuse me, I think I should have a chat with your boyfriend."

"WHAT? You can't do that."

"He insulted my girl, do you think any self-respecting man would stand for that?"

"But, you're not really my boyfriend, and he'll flatten you."

"Yes, but he broke every rule about politeness on a date. Unless… you don't do anything illegal for a living do you?"

"No."

"Are you a showgirl or a stripper?"

"What!"

"Well then, like I said, I'm perfectly justified in my outrage."

Clay ignored his stunned companion and walked over to the brute.

"I'd like a word with you, sir."

The swarthy man looked him up and down, "Go home. Your girl probably does your fightin' for you anyway. Tell me, do you really like a woman who's out of her place like she is?"

"The only person out his place is you. Now, I request that you apologize to… ummm… my girl," Clay finished lamely.

The problem was, the guy viewed Clay's stuttering as fear instead of ignorance.

One short trip outside later, Clayton Webb had a bruised gut and a split lip. The other guy was unconscious and worse off.

"Are you crazy?" the woman from the bar was beside him.

"Of course not, I had to defend myself after he took the first swing. The problem with these guys is that they always leave their lower bodies open to attack."

"You should have just stayed at the bar. Do you realize how much trouble your interference has caused?"

"My interference? Look you're that one who picked me to be your boyfriend."

"You realize that the police are coming."

"So? He attacked me, everyone saw it. I'll get all patched up, go back to home-sweet-hotel room, and then I'll be nice and not press charges."

"How are you going to explain how the fight started?"

"I'm going to tell the truth. He insulted my girlfriend; I asked him to apologize; he insulted me; I insulted him; he swung first."

"But I'm not your girlfriend!"

"Well, you'll just have to be, now won't you?"

"Fine. Don't you think that I should know your name? At least before we get questioned?"

"Claymore Weston. I sell industrial tools. I'm here on vacation from Virginia to visit my online girlfriend which would be you."

"What were you vacation here to do before?"

"Get a tan and see the sights of Texas on an economy plan."

"Oh, well I'm Meg, and I'll be happy to show you around."

Clay inwardly winced at the thought of going sightseeing, but smiled bravely, "You don't have to do that, Meg. I'm just fine as it is."

"Oh, but I owe you for that display. There is no way I could have done that."

"I'm sure you could have. You look like you're in good shape."

"I could have beaten him easily, but the military frowns on their members beating up civilians."

"You're in the military?" Clay asked conversationally although he suspected it already.

"Yeah, I'm a lawyer."

Clay smiled. He needed to brush up on his sneaky tactics at Jag. How much easier would it be if he practiced on another lawyer?

"Really? That must be fascinating work."

"It is. Look, can I call you something shorter then Claymore? It doesn't seem appropriate for me to call you something so long."

"You can call me Clay."

"Great."

Clayton Webb got up the next morning with a certain amount of zeal. He might hate what he was doing as far as his assignment went, but to practice his craft on a live lawyer was just the spice he needed.

Too many people saw through his façade at JAG. He needed to be less transparent to the legal eye. Meg would be perfect for that.

Now, if only he could tamp down on the nagging feeling that she was familiar somehow. The quick background check he had called in the night before showed her to be an exemplary officer. He hadn't asked for specifics because he was too busy practicing his excuses for getting into a fight on company time. Besides, the specifics were not necessary beyond the fact that she was not a threat to him or his assignment.

She had a week long leave. Of that week, she only had three days left, it was not like she was going to be a permanent fixture in his life.

With a smile, he headed out the door for his "date."

Clayton Webb smiled as he very calmly poured his beer down the stadium floor. He had come to the incontrovertible fact that while non-imported beer was bad, the beer at sports events in the cheap seats was worse. At least Rabb had the grace to have it chilled and not flat.

"Are you having a good time?" Meg asked interrupting his gloomy thoughts.

"Wonderful, I can never thank you enough for introducing me to football. I mean, Texas football. Or that is the Texas football team."

"You've never seen a football game before?"

Blast, he'd been caught off guard. What kind of middleclass salesman did not watch football on the weekend?

"Well, I usually prefer other sports. You know, baseball, golf…"

"Hey, you don't need to get defensive. Not everyone watches football."

Webb smiled, "Are you sure you don't have a boyfriend? I mean you're understanding and watch sports. That should make you irresistible to men."

"Did you just give me a compliment?"

"No, it was only an observation. I swear upon my future grave."

She smiled and shook her head at him. He smiled back for a while before he caught himself and stopped.

"I, um, I dropped my beer during the last cheering bout. I think I'll go get a new one. Can I get you anything?"

"No, go on I'm fine." Meg replied once again engrossed in the game.

Clay all but ran from the stands. He needed to get a grip. A big grip. There was absolutely no way he was going to let himself become friendly with a member of the opposite sex who was a member of the US military, especially when he was undercover.

Besides, they had nothing in common. She was from Texas, he was from the east coast. He was sneaky and underhanded. She was an upright military lawyer. He did the foxtrot; she probably square danced. He drank limited vintage wines; she probably drank wine coolers.

It would be like dating Harm, only Harm wasn't from Texas and didn't square dance.

Okay, so it would not be like dating Harm, but it still was highly inadvisable. It was unsafe. It could jeopardize his mission. It would never work. They were not compatible.

Clay hesitated. He was trying to talk himself out of a situation that he was not even in. Great, now he had proof he had been around Roberts too much. He was starting to worry.

Shaking his head, he got a flat soda instead of a flat beer and headed back to the bleachers.

By the next night, Clayton Webb admitted that he was in way over his head. He had been in a euphoric state earlier in the day. His subject had finally taken the order, and he had called in the necessary information. All that was left was to hang around the area for a while and cover his tracks.

He blamed his earlier good mood for his current situation, which was the fact that he was having pizza with Meg. She had called his room and asked if he had plans for the evening. He stupidly said no.

Now, he was stuck in a small pizzeria with a beautiful blond. A blond that, he might add, had not ranked on his beautiful list the first time he had met her. She had ranked somewhere around the 4.0 mark then. Now she was very rapidly dispelling the other women he could still recall.

That meant that infatuation was setting in. Okay, so he had always been a bit of a sucker for a slightly nerdy woman. He couldn't help it. It was a family weakness. Webb men always strived for a woman that could beat them at mind games.

Of course, when he found out she had horses, well that had been another mark in her favor. Naturally, she did not ride the same thoroughbreds and Arabians that he did, but she had a deep respect for the basic animal that Clay found refreshing. After all, riding styles were important, but they meant nothing if you could not properly enjoy the animal itself.

"So, Meg, why are you here with me tonight?"

"Honestly? I couldn't stand my mother asking me about my love life, so I said I was going out with Gary."

"The guy I beat up?"

"Well, Mom doesn't know how the date ended, so I told her that I was seeing him again. It was better than telling her I was going to see some guy I met in the bar of a hotel."

"Ah."

Well that also added sneakiness to her admirable traits.

"Clay, what are your parents like?"

He froze for a second and thought, he did not have a detailed background story for this operation. He could bluff his way through, but she would know that he was lying. Besides that little seed of conscience that Rabb had planted was growing. He was having a hard time sticking to his cover story as it was.

"Well, my father died when I was young. He was overseas and there was and accident. A building collapsed on him. My mother is still alive. She runs the household. Makes sure I eat when I come home. Tries to make me make friends."

Meg laughed, "Don't you mean make good friends?"

"No, she's pretty thrilled when I can get a dog to like me. Sometimes she'll settle for a fly landing on me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You're the one who called me un-personable."

"I most certainly did not."

"Well, I didn't rank as having a charming personality."

"You still don't."

"Then why don't you believe me about my friend-life?"

"Because you keep getting that look that says your thinking about what your friends would say."

"Actually, I'm conjuring up what my enemies would say."

"Really, and what would they say?"

"That I'd somehow tricked such a wonderful person into going out with me."

"Does that line normally work for you?"

"No, usually 'Do you want to spend the weekend in Martha's Vineyard' works better."

Meg laughed harder, "You have got to be kidding."

"Hey, I look very respectable in a suit."

"Oh yeah, I can just see you in a designer three-piece suit in some exclusive nightclub picking up girls."

"You don't think it would suit me?"

"Clay, after watching you slouching around in blue jeans and tee-shirts I find it hard to see you as that stuffy. You might be snotty enough, but you're just too much of a real person to pull it off. You've got a heart buried somewhere under your attitude. Besides, your hair would need more grooming."

Clay squirmed. Opting for the easy out, he said, "So, you don't like my hair?"

"Actually, I really like it. The softly tousled look becomes you."

He blushed, "I usually don't get compliments like that."

"Probably because you chase away all the nice girls with your one liners. I, on the other hand, have learned to see beyond first impressions."

"And how did you see beyond my first impression?"

"You were chivalrous to a woman you didn't know. You got in a fight with a guy that you could easily have avoided by telling the truth to him and making a fool out of me. A guy that would do that isn't as mean as he pretends to be."

Clay smiled weakly. He was beginning to think that lawyers would be his Achilles heel. They seemed to see straight through him.

"Clay," Meg began, "Do you think that maybe we could write each other?"

"What?"

"You know, your mother wants you to have friends. Why don't we write to each other. I don't get to have many friends outside of the military. I'll give you my e-mail address, and you can give me yours."

Clay knew he should have said no, but he didn't. Soon they were parting and he was running back to his hotel room to set up the e-mail account that he had given her.

He shook his head. What in the world was he thinking?