Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.

- Clayton Webb's hospital room

Webb stared at the phone without seeing it. It was true: He was glad that Harriet and her baby were all right. And he appreciated her call as what it was - an outstretched hand of two peoples who shared the painful knowledge how it was to loose a child. When he had seen her sitting on that bench, crying like that... He hadn't been able to walk past.

He had never intended to tell her, though. In fact he had tried to avoid the Roberts and not just after the death of their child. He couldn't feel comfortable around pregnant women. He couldn't feel exactly comfortable around children too but pregnant women ... there were too many memories to deal with.

And the jealousy.

This awful jealousy. He couldn't help it. Why were they allowed to be so lucky and he wasn't? It was wrong and totally screwed up but still ... he couldn't help it. And it had made him feel terrible when he had learned what had happened to Harriet. Guilty.

When she had lashed out at him in that café he had seen the same anger, the same helpless scream in her soul. The same question without an answer: Why me? He had understood so perfectly. There were wounds that could only heal so far.

He had tried not to think of Harriet when he had learned that she was pregnant again. As if his thoughts could put a curse on her. And he had been so glad when Mac told him she was all right and her son too. But as Mac had continued to talk about the baby - how sweet and tiny and wonderful - he had felt his walls coming up again. For the first time he had wished she'd leave the room soon.

Speaking of Sarah - there things weren't running smoothly too. Maybe he should have told her more about the information in that file before giving it to her. But he had fallen back into his old habit of 'humor JAG when they ask for information and eventually you'll get something back in return'. Information was information and it was valuable to possess it first of all - the use could be considered later. It seemed like that wasn't working well for a lawyer.

He didn't know if the incident with the file was the reason Mac drew back from him or the fact that Harm had decided to join the CIA. And Webb didn't agree with Kershaw concerning that point. Harm was ... well, Harm and just this fact should have disqualified him from working in the shadows of intelligence services. It was only a matter of time until the man's conscience and his mission were getting in conflict. And then Webb certainly didn't want to be around and handle the fallout. But right now there was nothing he could do about it than playing along.

However, Mac had asked him to take it slow. She had talked about dating and growing together and it had sounded reasonable. Unfortunately the real problems had started right at that point. It seemed they weren't able to talk without stumbling over something classified - because a great part of his life was classified, so to say - or something he simply wasn't able to talk about without stirring up the pain again.

Like his child. He never talked about his child.

Funny. Sarah had been concerned if she could trust him - and now he wasn't able to trust her enough to let her in this part of his life. Not now when he wasn't sure about her intentions. And so he had started to pile up the walls even higher ... and he was a master of building walls around soft spots of his soul. He knew it wasn't fair to let Mac run into these walls. But he wasn't ready to share the memory.

This special memory. Of soft hot skin under his hand. Of a tiny heart beating fast against his fingers. And the smell of chemicals and hospital.

Webb shook his head violently to break the train of thought. He didn't want to go there. He couldn't. He wished fervently for a drink or a run of ten miles or anything that would prevent him from thinking. But of course that was no option right now. With a little luck the strict "no sports, no driving, no alcohol and stay in bed" rule of the doctors would be history tomorrow when they got the last test results. He knew his nerves - and not just the physical ones - still needed time to heal but on the other hand he really needed to get out of the hospital. He had already spent too much time of his life in these facilities, either to be taken care of ... or to take care of somebody else. Or to watch someone die. Again he forced himself to change the direction of his thoughts.

Anyway, considering this special memory or not, he had had to bottle up his feelings almost all his life. It was part of his job and sometimes it was simply necessary to survive without getting insane. How could he be expected to change this old habit in a few days?

He pinned all his hope on the possibility that Mac would be able to understand.

- JAG headquarters, Wednesday, one week later

"I don't care how just get me the damned file!" After being heard through the whole bullpen Mac stormed into her office and slammed the door. Bud, who had barely avoided getting in her way by pressing himself against the next desk, let out a breath of relief. He turned to Coates.

"Wow, she's mad today. Don't take it personally. Commander Turner has beaten her in court and I think she's quite upset about it."

"I don't mind if she's angry and I don't care if the reason is work or love life or whatever," Coates gulped before she continued, "But she doesn't have to dump it on my head!"

Bud ignored the last comment and handed her a stack of files. "Can you sort them in? I've got to go to an interview."

Coates rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, of course. Just all on my head." Then she took a closer look. "Uhm ... Is something wrong? I mean, you look ... well..."

Bud groaned. "Don't ask."

"You know, you can always talk to me. Is ... something with the baby?"

"It had been so easy with AJ," Bud complained exhausted. "We fed him, changed the diaper, put him in his bed and fine. But Jimmy..."

"Long night?" Coates had sympathy in her voice but the corners of her mouth were twitching.

"I'd be grateful for just one long night. But it's like this for almost a week now!"

"How often do you have to get up?"

"All fifty minutes straight. He's regular as clockwork." Bud shook his head. "And when he cries, he wakes AJ up and then you have to deal with two cranky boys and when AJ hasn't got enough sleep he's cranky all day and -" He had to come up for air.

"I see. So Harriet is pretty exhausted too, huh?" Coates tried to change the subject before the stressed father could rant on.

"Exhausted? I don't know if this word is strong enough."

"Oh, so you won't come on Saturday?"

"Saturday? Oh! Saturday. The ball." Bud sighed. "Harriet's mother insists that we go at least an hour or two. She says Harriet needs a break. I'm just not sure if it's going to be that much fun."

Bud thought of the big Military-Summer-Ball next Saturday - a lot of raising money for charity, small talk and a great opportunity to watch other people dance - no, definitely not his favorite free time activity. He sighed once more and looked at the ceiling for help.

"And on top of that I think Harriet's still a little bit mad at me because of the name."

"Well, you should have seen that coming," Coates commented dryly. "Maybe it's time you'll make it up to her somehow."

Bud thought about that like the idea had never come across his mind.

"But how?" he asked finally.

"Surprise her? But it has to be something really special and unexpected. And if I may give you some advice: A bunch of flowers will simply not do this time."

"A surprise." Bud turned and headed for the lift. "And special and unexpected. What on earth could that be?"

- A gym, one hour later

"Any other questions, Lieutenant?"

"Huh?" Bud shook his head and tore his gaze away from a bulky man lifting weights in a futuristic frame. Gathering his thoughts he refocused on the woman in front of him. Now she reminded him even more of a Klingon lady in bad mood: ready to hit somebody. She was fitting perfectly into this big room filled with people working their bodies in shape.

"Uhm, no, Mrs. DiSaggio. That's all for the moment. Thank you for your time," he managed to get out.

"Fine. I hope the bastard is going to rot in jail!" the woman snapped and turned away.

Bud fled to the door and breathed a sigh of relief as soon as it closed behind him. How his rather small and tiny client had ended up being married to such a fierce woman was beyond him. He was happy to be in the safety of the stairway again.

He was about to walk down the stairs when first the sound of an opening door on the floor above and then the voices of a man and a woman echoed in the concrete walls.

"... no, really, I like it. You'll get standing ovations you'll see."

Bud looked up. Didn't he know that voice?

"I don't know. You don't think it's overdone? Considering..."

"Karen it's perfect." It was Clayton Webb's voice, Bud was sure about it. "Just be careful with that little gesture, you know this one. You don't want Frank to look gay."

The woman laughed. "You miss it, admit it, Clayton!"

"Miss what?"

"Working as a dancing instructor. Believe me, you're born for it."

Bud froze. 'Dancing instructor? Clayton Webb?'

"Please, Karen," Webb sounded suddenly tired, "Don't bring that up again. That's water under the bridge and it has been for a long time."

"Well, give me a call when you change your mind. Any help is appreciated. Now, tell Porter a big thank you. She'll get the key back after the weekend."

"No need to hurry. She's glad to help. Bye, Karen."

"Bye, Clayton."

The sound of a heavy door falling shut filled the stairway. Webb walked carefully down the steps, took the turn at the landing and stopped short because he found Bud Roberts staring at him with eyes big as saucers.

"Bud?"

"Dancing instructor?" Bud choked out.

"Oh, damn," Webb muttered under his breath. He looked up to the floor he just came from and back down on the startled Lieutenant. "How much did you hear?"

"You've worked as a dancing instructor?" Bud repeated once more and giggled.

"I think that's none of your business." Webb proceeded his way down the stairs. He felt his hands trembling again. 'Damn it, not now!'

"A dancing instructor?" Bud was laughing hard now.

"Cut it, Bud. You sound like a parrot," Webb snapped irritated. He almost missed the last step but caught himself. Pressing his lips together tightly he hurried outside and started walking away.

Bud noticed the stumble and the slight tremble in his hands and quickly grew serious. Webb seemed to be truly hurt and that was something Bud hadn't intended to do. He suddenly remembered the months of his own recovery. He had been very sensitive to any comments about his past or his abilities even when it was meant to be nice. He'd just always gotten it the wrong way.

"Mister Webb!" He followed the other man. "Mister Webb, I'm sorry. I didn't intend to ... It wasn't meant that way."

"Forget it, Roberts. Just forget it." Webb kept walking.

"That's the wrong way to deal with it."

"What?" Webb turned around in his surprise. Bud slowed down and took a deep breath.

"I did that a lot. After I - well, lost my leg. Whenever somebody laughed I thought he was laughing at me. Only it wasn't like that. But you're, well, a little bit thin-skinned after ... after..." Bud got stuck and trailed off.

Webb raised his brows. "Are you trying to counsel me?"

"Well, no, not directly, I mean: No! But maybe that's something we have in common." Bud stumbled over his words. Again it sounded completely different than what he had wanted to say.

"In common? We?" Webb shook his head and was about to turn away again.

"The friends are the hardest part."

Webb stopped.

"They never want to hurt you but somehow they always do. It's easier to deal with strangers. They haven't known you before." Bud gulped. It dawned on him that he had stuck out his neck a little bit far. Never before he had spoken to Clayton Webb like this. "I - I just wanted to tell you I understand. I'm sorry if I overstepped the line ..."

Webb sighed. He couldn't help feeling pity for the squirming Lieutenant. And there was quite some truth in his words. Friends were the hardest part - though he would never consider Roberts as a friend. Strange thought.

"Don't be and you haven't. Just close the subject now, all right?"

"Of course." Bud was more than ready to agree. He looked around and suddenly noticed they were standing in front of the next Metro Rail station.

"Oh, still medical order not to drive?" As soon as the words were out he wanted to bite his tongue. Speaking of out of the line.

Webb grimaced. "Drop it, Roberts!" He aimed for the stairs.

"Mister Webb?"

"What now?"

"I ... I've got the car over there. Can I give you a lift?"

Webb hesitated. He wanted to say no but on the other hand he hated the Metro at the moment. In fact he had discovered to have a general problem with rooms where he wasn't able to get out anytime he wanted to.

"It's no problem. Really."

"No more counseling, Bud," Webb warned.

"I promise."

"Then thanks for the offer."

They walked over to the car and got in. Bud pulled out into the traffic. After driving a few minutes in rather uncomfortable silence he couldn't hold back any more.

"I have to say ... I somewhat envy your dance experience."

Webb's response was a muffled grunt.

"I mean, I never attended a single dancing lesson. Harriet did and I know she enjoys dancing very much - she even tried to show me some patterns. I guess I blocked her too good ... after a while she stopped talking about it." Bud went silent. "And now it is too late to learn it anyway," he added somewhat sadly.

Webb said nothing.

"And now we have to go to the ball next Saturday - the Military-Summer- Ball, you know, the money they'll get for the cards will be donated to charities and -"

"I know that," Webb interrupted, "Mac told me all about it when she asked me to go there a few weeks ago."

Though he loved dancing he wasn't exactly looking forward to the ball. Firstly he still had problems to hold his balance sometimes and secondly it wasn't very easy to talk with Mac at the moment. Not after the half-fight they had had last Monday.

"Oh. Well, anyway I already know there's nothing else I can do than standing around and watching other man dance with Harriet - if she doesn't decline because she doesn't want to hurt my feelings..."

"For heavens sake, then dance with her and stop complaining," Webb almost erupted. "If I can manage to dance with nerve damage I'm sure you can do a simple Foxtrot too."

Bud opened his mouth and shut it again as a crazy idea crossed his mind. He tried to push it down - totally ridiculous, what was he thinking - but... He glanced over to the passenger seat.

"You ... you really think that's possible with one leg?"

Webb shrugged. "In a simple form why not? You don't have to twist your ankles too much, the speed is usually low and it's not like you're trying to attend a competition."

'Something really special and unexpected.' Coates words popped back into Bud's thoughts. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"And this ... this Foxtrot is easy to learn?"

"Shouldn't be a problem, even for you." Webb's voice contained a hint of his old sarcasm.

Bud considered it again. It was crazy. But it was also... He took his courage in both hands and decided to go for it.

"You - uhm - you've really worked as a dancing instructor, Mister Webb?"

"In college, Bud! In college! There, you're satisf-" Webb suddenly noticed the wall he had just backed himself against. His head snapped around, an expression near to panic in his eyes.

"Whoa, stop here, Bud! If you're thinking what I'm thinking you're thinking the answer is no! No way!"

"You've said it's easy to learn."

"But I've never said I'll teach you to do it! Take lessons!"

"The ball is next Saturday."

"I know when the damned ball is!"

Bud was silence for a few heartbeats before speaking again quietly. "It would mean a lot to Harriet."

"Bud..." Webb trailed off. Bud had just hit his soft spot perfectly and that most probably without knowing it. "You and me ... that's just not a good idea, Bud."

"Why?"

The last second Webb swallowed the harsh 'because' he had on the tip of his tongue. "Well, first of all you'd have to follow my orders," he said instead.

"No problem."

Webb coughed. "That would be the first time!"

"Mister Webb, I know, maybe I'm asking a lot, but Harriet is still so mad at me because of Jimmy's name and he isn't sleeping well and she's so exhausted and she went through so much the last year, more than the last year and I want to surprise her and I know she'll never expect something like that and Coates said to think of something special and I'll keep it a secret, I swear, I won't tell anybody and if there's a chance -"

"Watch out, it's red! RED!" Webb screamed at the top of his lungs.

Bud slammed on the brakes. Thanks to the ABS the car stopped hard on the line but nevertheless a horn bleared.

For some seconds they were simply sitting and trying to catch their breath.

"All right," Webb finally managed to get out, "You've convinced me it's important to you."

Bud turned to face Webb and looked pleadingly. Confronted with this Webb suddenly felt the urged need to jump off the car and run for his life.

"Bud...," he tried with little hope. He got no answer, just Bud's eyebrows rose a little bit higher adding more weight to his expression.

Webb groaned helplessly and pinched the bridge of his nose.