First chapter = disclaimers
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Meg shook her head as she stomped through the hallways of Clayton Webb's apartment complex. As much as she respected the Admiral, she could not see why he seemed to dislike Clayton Webb so much. Sure, he was sneaky; it was his job to be sneaky.
The Admiral's general attitude was easy to understand compared to his insane defense of Webb though. Meg had asked if there was any reason to suspect that Clay had been in any way unfaithful to his country. She did not think she had ever seen a person do a complete about face so quickly.
One moment the Admiral and Bud were listing off the various evils of Clayton Webb, so she asked what she had perceived as a logical question. The next thing she knew, she was getting lectured about how she would never again whisper the words "Webb" and "mole" in the same sentence unless she was speaking about beauty marks.
She was totally bewildered. Nobody except for Harm and Mac seemed to like the guy, but no one could say he had ever done anything that was not for a greater good, even if it was devious and detrimental to friendships.
After the hubbub at the office had died down, she had managed to make it through her work day. Before she left, she finagled Webb's address out of Harm: hence her being in front of his door. She took a deep breath before she knocked.
Inside his apartment, Clayton Webb froze. His eyes quickly darted to his clock. Just enough time had passed from the end of the standard JAG shift for someone to drive to apartment. If that someone was Chegwidden, he was dead. He could, of course, look through the peephole, but Chegwidden would hear him moving around in his apartment, and he would be toast. He did not successfully navigate his escape from JAG headquarters only to become blender food at his own apartment.
On the other hand, it could be Meg, or it could be Harm with a message from Meg, or it could be his mother asking why there was a new dent in the hood of her car. Clay winced. He really should not have banged that guy's head there when Meg went in to pay for her gas.
Well, he reasoned, he really should go and see who it was. He opened the door just as Meg was about to knock again.
"I was beginning to think you weren't home."
Webb shrugged, "I thought you were Chegwidden. I do own a doorbell, you know."
Meg smiled, "I figured the doorbell was too polite. Knocking usually gets people's attention more than ringing the doorbell."
Webb motioned for her to come in, "Barbarian."
"For not using the doorbell?"
"I'm a snob, didn't they tell you that?"
"Among other things."
"And you didn't belt me one as soon as you saw my face? Well, you have more control than the Admiral does."
"The Admiral hit you?"
"How did you think I broke my nose?"
"When? Why?"
"Rabb, Mac, Russia: don't really like to relive it."
"I suppose not."
"It is the price I pay for my job. You do know what I do now right? You don't think I'm secretly a circus clown or anything?"
"Not unless circus clowns play cellos now."
"I wouldn't know. I haven't been to a circus in years."
"Would you like to?"
"To what?"
Meg rolled her eyes, "Go to a circus."
"Why?"
"Are you being dense on purpose, or is this one of those guy things?"
"Umm, guy thing. It just sounded like you asked me to go to the circus with you."
"I did."
"Why?"
"You're infuriating, you know that? Because I thought it would be nice to see if we still had a thing going."
"Two questions. First, don't you think we're a little old for the circus? Second, why do still want to go anywhere with me?"
"Because I happen to like mysterious, scheming men, and nobody is too old for popcorn, peanuts, and cotton candy."
"And watching grown men run around in makeup?"
"Just think of the clowns as mimes. That should be
culturally acceptable for you."
"I use mimes for target practice. That's why my aim is off."
"You can't shoot straight?"
"Ah, it's something between Chegwidden and I. Forget I said anything. So, you really like the fact that I'm underhanded?"
"Clay, all men are devious in relationships. This time, I know you're sly straight off. Besides, if you ever cheat on me, there are whole slew of people at Jag who would be more than willing to kill you for me."
"Now there's a comforting thought."
"It's your reputation; there is nothing I can do about it."
"Well then, I accept your offer to go to the circus. I'll get the tickets."
"Of course you will. I'm getting paid a naval salary. You have a family fortune."
"You're slightly mercenary, you know that?"
"No, I'm not. Sometimes you just have to put your bull back in line."
"You're comparing me to your family livestock?"
"Well it worked. Did anyone ever tell you that you're adorable when you're irritated?"
"What?"
"Is that your favorite word, Clay? You seem to be using it an awful lot tonight."
"I think my brain is shutting down. I'm having a little bit of trouble following your thought processes."
"Then I'm doing my job. Before I go, I have one more thing to shut your brain off."
"What is that?"
"This," Meg grabbed Webb's collar, hauled him close and almost sucked the air out of his lungs.
"Goodnight, Clay. I'll let myself out," she called over her shoulder as she left.
Clayton Webb stared dazedly at his door as it closed. Women.
He turned and stumbled into his bedroom. He looked into his mirror to see a perplexed and dopey look on his face. With a grunt of disgust, he pushed away from the offending reflection. Clayton Webb was never perplexed and most certainly never dopey.
He wondered if the agency was looking into the inner psyche of women. Their tactics certainly could do wonders for interviewing prisoners. The poor people would probably be so confused, they would beg to cooperate.
With a short smile, he plopped onto his bed and tugged his shoes off. He was going to the circus, and he hated the circus. He had had a very bad experience with the elephant ride as a child. Maybe the Agency should look into the psyche of men to find out what makes them susceptible to women's ways…