First chapter = disclaimers

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Meg twirled a pencil around in her fingers as she contemplated her latest e-mail from Clay. She felt guilty. On one hand, she felt guilty that she had been probing into Clay's life. The way his e-mails came in just did not add up to a salesman with a normal work week. He seemed distracted sometimes. Other times, he would just appear to be e-mailing her in the middle of the night for no apparent reason.

This, of course, she could pass off easily if not for the fact that he tended to avoid certain questions. So she had started her own investigation of Claymore Weston. After a personal phone call to the manager of his company, she found out that he did not, in fact, work there. After a little more research, she found out that a certain Claymore Weston was working as a manager on rotating shifts at a twenty-four hour gas station.

The fact that he had lied to her bothered her for a bit until she realized he had just been trying to save her the humiliation of him being a gas pump jockey. Here she was a lieutenant commander and a lawyer, and he probably barely graduated high school.

But, she had another reason for feeling guilty. She never talked to Clay about her work, not really. It just seemed that her whole existence revolved around being a naval lawyer and the Navy in general. Was it wrong of her to focus on the rest of her life when she talked with Clay? One part of her said no. After all, he was not exactly truthful with her, why should she feel bad about avoiding mentioning the military?

Besides, she had a right to have a relationship that was not based on her career didn't she? So she did not tell her other friends about Clay and vice versa. Was that wrong? After all, he did not talk about his friends all that much.

Meg shook her head and placed her pencil down on her desk. Perhaps it was time to let a little more truth into their relationship.

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Harmon Rabb, JR , naval pilot and lawyer extraordinaire, opened his apartment door to a very frazzled looking Clayton Webb.

"Webb, what's wrong? Evil spies chasing you again, or did you forget your mother's birthday?"

"Very funny, Rabb," Clay said as he slid into Harm's apartment.

"Oooh, testy, and whatever it is, the answer is no."

"What makes you think I want something from you?"

"Do you ever come and see me when you don't want something?"

"Well, I sent you a get well card the last time you were beat up and put in the hospital. When was that anyway? Two weeks ago? Or was it one? It's hard to keep all of your injuries from blurring together."

"Hey, some of those injuries were because of you."

"Yes, but most of them were your doing. Honestly, not even the colonel gets in as much trouble as you do."

"Okay, okay. What do you want?"

"Actually, um, what I want is a little advice."

"Advice?" Harm's voice was incredulous.

"Yes. If you, by some chance, met a girl and she was under the impression that you were someone else, how would you tell her you weren't?"

"Webb, not to seem flippant, but don't you have more experience in this than I do? I mean, how hard is it to tell someone that you really work for the CIA and not for the State Department?"

"Well, let's say, for the sake of debate, that she didn't know I worked for the State Department."

"I would say that would depend on what she thought you did."

"Suppose I said she thought I was a middleclass salesman with a typical mortgage and taste for all American sports."

"Some poor woman actually believes that? Webb, either she is too stupid to live, or you have somehow gotten her enthralled with you. I'd say the best thing to do for her is shoot her."

"Very funny, Rabb. This coming from the man who dated 'Neurotic Annie.'"

"Have you been talking to Mac?"

"Actually, Mac talked to Harriet who agreed and told Bud who told Chegwidden who told me."

"The Admiral told you?"

"Well, he was drunk at the time. We were celebrating our little rescue mission and instead of breaking my nose, he told embarrassing stories about his officers."

"Pity he didn't break your nose."

"I think this is a mistake."

"Aww, come one Webb, I was just joking."

"No, I meant coming to you at all. My mind's eye has been reliving your romantic endeavors. I also reviewed Mac's. I've got to tell you, the two of you are a matched set. I wonder if I could talk to Chegwidden. All he has had is a divorce and a dead girlfriend. He's a love guru compared to the two of you."

Harm frowned, "That was a bit harsh."

"I really should say something nasty and sarcastic right now, but I won't because I like you… I did not just say that out loud did I?"

"Clay, I think this whole thing is affecting you more than you realize. We were wondering why you were being so nice."

"I have not been being nice."

"Webb, you sent Bud and Harriet classical music cds and horseback riding lessons for A.J."

"That was simply to annoy Roberts. It has nothing to do with being nice."

"Oh, how about that file that mysteriously landed on Mac's desk the other day?"

"I was simply doing a favor so that I could redeem it later on."

"Webb, can you ever not shade the truth?"

"Yes."

Harm shook his head and sighed, "Look, if I were you, I'd just take her somewhere nice and tell her. It's the best that you can hope for. I'd say something about her loving you, but I'm not really sure that that is possible," Harm shot Webb his flyboy grin.

"You know Rabb, there are days I envy you. Everyone can love the truth seeking pilot, not a lot of people can stomach the guy creeping around every corner and snooping through their lives. We're both out there trying to keep the same people safe, but you will be the one with 'hero' written in your obituary. Mine will probably say, 'Man found floating in river, apparently choked on a piece of lobster and fell overboard."

"Clay…"

"Don't, please, I'm losing my self identity here. Besides, bad things happen to your friends almost as often as your love life crashes."

"Clay," harm's voice was tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

"No, really, I'll bring you the statistics."

"Goodnight, Webb."

"Goodnight, Rabb. Oh, and think about what I said. You and Mac would make a great pair."

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There on his computer screen laid his latest e-mail. Clay tapped his fingers on his desk before he responded. Meg had a leave coming and she wanted to spend it with him. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to her. It was the perfect opportunity to just get it all out in the open, but he found himself hesitating.

A million 'what ifs' ran amok in his head, thousands of worries were battling to swallow him whole. With his typical resoluteness, he began typing. After all, with a beautiful location like Florida, what could possibly go wrong?