Harmon Rabb made it to the stairs that would take him to his car. His
anxiety about Jordan and the danger Palmer might have put her in was
foremost on his mind. He began his descent toward the car. He cursed the
budget cutting that had removed car phones from official vehicles: he hoped
Webb still had his mobile phone.
His current state of mind was none too sound for driving, but getting to Jordan was the immediate goal. He was growing agitated that the CIA spy was slowing his progress toward that goal.
Rabb paused to look back for Clayton Webb. Where was he? He had expected the operative to be trailing behind, but when he saw no sign of the spy, agitation mixed with concern, concern for both Jordan and, surprisingly, for Webb as well. Any delay could make the difference if Clark Palmer had followed through on his threat. And with Palmer now missing, Rabb couldn't put it past the former DSD agent to make his way to Rabb's place and carry through on what he'd threatened.
The JAG lawyer climbed back up the steps quickly. As he approached the deck, he looked toward the doorway and noticed Webb leaning heavily on the doorjamb. Webb's face was distinctly paler than when Rabb first found him. It also seemed that the agent was panting a bit as he tried to work up the energy to move away from the door that was clearly the only thing keeping him upright.
Rabb silently chided himself for his aggravation toward Clay those few moments earlier. He knew that Webb was hurt when he first saw him limp away, Webb's protestations of a flesh wound notwithstanding. The fact that Webb was now approaching forty-eight hours without getting that wound treated was finally catching up with him.
Rabb admired the conviction, the determination that Webb always showed in getting the job done. Rabb had more than once forsaken his own well being for the sake of a successful mission. He hated to admit how very much alike they were in that commitment. It was a shared commitment borne of duty, but sustained by a similar sensibility to - something. Rabb wasn't sure he was ready to put a label on it just yet.
Webb lifted his head as Rabb approached. Rabb noted with alarm the fresh blood now soaking Webb's pant leg. The sheen of sweat now marking the waxen face was of no small concern as well.
"Just a flesh wound, huh?" Rabb asked as he reached to assist Webb off the ship.
"Well, I've been a little busy these last few minutes," he responded through grimaced breaths. "Looks like it started up again," the deep breathing causing Rabb more worry.
"What else is going on? Is there something you're not telling me?" Rabb grabbed the case and put his arm around Webb's waist, assisting him toward the exit that would lead them off the ship.
"There isn't."
"I think there is." Webb was hard pressed to ignore the earnestness of the concern Rabb was expressing.
"I, uh, I hit my head during the explosion. Just feelin' a little dizzy, tha's all." The slight slur of the words showed Rabb that the spy was reaching his limit.
"You've probably got a concussion along with that bullet hole. Not too smart, Webb."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rabb. My priorities were elsewhere," Webb finished, unable to hide his irritation with Rabb and his insistence in pointing out the obvious.
"I know. Sorry."
Webb knew the apology was sincere. It wasn't something he figured Harmon Rabb was apt to say often: Webb was too tired and too sick not to accept it.
"I doubt you didn't earn yourself a concussion tonight too, my friend."
Rabb laughed lightly at Webb's use of the moniker. Was this the label he had been hesitant to use? He guessed that they were friends, though it was a strange and strained friendship, to be sure. What Rabb had said earlier to Admiral Chegwidden was true: Webb always came through. It was almost always painful getting to that point, but Rabb knew that finding out that Clayton Webb was indeed alive had eased an ache that had lingered deep in his soul from the moment the admiral shared the awful news with he and Mac the previous day.
"What's so funny?" Webb asked as they took the final steps down to the dock.
"You," Rabb answered.
"Actually, I am, though I don't know how you'd get that from tonight." The perplexed look from Webb almost sent Rabb to laughing again, except that it seemed to Rabb that the conversation was sapping Webb of his strength, and that was no laughing matter. The commander recognized that the combination of fatigue, blood loss and lingering effects of concussion were battling with Clayton Webb's innate tendency to ignore pain until the job was done.
Rabb had to agree with Webb about the hit to the head he himself had taken earlier. He hoped that he and Webb were the only victims of Clark Palmer that night.
"What're you doin' Rabb?" Webb asked as Rabb opened the door to the back seat.
"You're going to get in the back seat and take it easy while I run to check on Jordan. Do you have my phone?"
"I lost it dodging bullets. I'm sure he was bluffing, Harm."
"I hope you're right," Rabb replied as he patted Webb's shoulder and closed the door.
Rabb got behind the wheel and Webb continued, "Um, about that. You've got a girlfriend?"
"What is your point? That's the second time you asked like that?"
"What d'ya mean?" Webb asked, continuing evidence of his overly tired state manifesting itself in his slurred tone.
"You're asking like you're surprised," Rabb added as his pulled away.
"Hah," was Webb's response, followed by a not quite successfully stifled moan.
"Never mind," Rabb said as he took the next turn especially fast, jerking his passenger across the back seat.
Another slight moan emanated from the back of the car, followed by, "I guess I'm a little surprised. It's not really any of my business."
"You're right. It's not." Rabb hoped that would be the end of the conversation. He looked in the rearview mirror and noticed the spy had closed his eyes and leaned his head deep into the headrest.
They drove quickly away from the riverfront, Rabb working through, despite his aching head, the most direct route to his place. His mind more on getting to Jordan, Rabb realized that it had been some time since Webb had spoken. He looked to be asleep, from the limited glimpses Rabb had managed in his feverish attempt to get home. Rabb decided he had better make sure that Webb was just asleep and not passed out.
"Webb, you okay back there?"
"Uh. Rabb, you have got to be the worst driver in D.C."
"I'm kind of in a hurry," Rabb replied, knowing the fast turns were surely wreaking havoc with the dizziness Webb had mentioned earlier.
"Yeah." Rabb could tell that Webb was breathing through the nausea. There was nothing to be done about that until he could check on Jordan.
Rabb continued the reckless driving, managing to get to his place without drawing the attention of local law enforcement.
"Webb," Harm said as he parked next to his loft.
"Rabb," Webb answered, opening his eyes and rubbing them to try to get Rabb in focus.
"I'll be right back." Rabb started out of the car. He stopped as he heard Webb fumbling with his weapon. Webb was having trouble keeping his hands steady enough to reload the gun.
"Give me that," Rabb said, grabbing the gun. Webb's hand felt like ice. He quickly loaded the gun and handed it back.
"Don't shoot yourself," he said.
"Rabb, this superconductor is valuable, in more ways than you know. I've got to keep it safe, with my life if necessary."
Rabb looked at his friend, knowing the truth in that statement. "Just be careful. I won't be long."
It seemed only moments had passed when Rabb eased Jordan into the front seat. Rabb loaded himself into the car and hastily drove away from his home. Webb thought how Rabb must feel: he could easily empathize with the pain of the realization that he wasn't safe in his own home.
Rabb slowed to a reasonable speed. The occupants remained silent for some time. Finally, a quiet voice from the back seat asked, "Where are we going?"
Jordan gasped and jumped in her seat.
"Oh God, Jordan, I'm sorry." Rabb promptly pulled the car over. "Jordan, Clayton Webb. Webb, Lt. Commander Jordan Parker."
Jordan looked back at Webb and was immediately awake, though she really hadn't been until that moment. Her doctor's instincts immediately in overdrive, Jordan looked at Harm, and then back at Webb.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
A smirk came from the driver's seat.
"I.I've been better." Harmon Rabb was taken aback. The candor was a clearer sign than the obvious pain that Clayton Webb needed to get to a hospital.
Jordan opened the passenger side door.
"Jordan, what." Harm started as he reached to keep her in her seat.
"Harm, have you looked at Mr. Webb lately?" She leaned in close to Harm to prevent Webb from overhearing. "He's heading into shock. I'm going to see what I can do for him." She finished whispering, then said in a more commanding manner, "And get us to a hospital."
"Langley," Webb said.
"What?" Harm and Jordan asked in unison.
"Langley. Can't go to a regular hospital."
"You need to get to a hospital now," Jordan said as she took the seat next to Webb.
"No. It's only another half hour. Too many questions."
Jordan took Webb's wrist to check his pulse. Her concern for her new patient was enhanced when she felt his chilled and trembling hand.
"Harm, is there a blanket in the trunk?"
"I don't need a blanket." Webb realized his statement sounded more like a whine. He decided to keep his mouth shut, so long as Langley was their ultimate destination.
Rabb understood the import of Jordan's request. Shock was a serious thing if left untreated.
"Grab a flashlight and a first aid kit if you've got 'em," Jordan added.
Harm went to check the trunk and returned in seconds with the requested blanket and flashlight. "There's no first aid kit."
As she took the blanket, Jordan leaned over to Rabb's ear and whispered, "Turn the heat on a little," and then kissed his cheek.
"That's sweet," Webb said, sarcasm still evident through the pain.
"Shut up, Webb," Rabb said, looking past Jordan to the CIA agent.
"Harm," Jordan warned, hoping to keep everyone calm. From what she'd observed so far, these two were about at the end of their endurance. The stress of what the two had been through was threatening their ability to remain civil with each other. She was going to have her hands full with these two.
"What'd I say?" Webb continued, sure that he'd hit a nerve.
"Nothing. As usual."
"Boys! You two are just adorable together," Jordan remarked, clearly not a novice in the sarcasm department. She continued to check Webb over, first feeling his respiration, then checking his forehead for signs of fever.
"Thanks," both men replied in tandem. They both laughed, which Rabb was surprised to find had a comforting ring. It didn't take much for the operative to put the lawyer in better spirits, considering the alternative that Rabb had lived the last twenty-four hours.
"Okay boys, that's enough. Mr. Webb, where are you hurt? You've got a slight fever. How do you feel?"
"He's got a gunshot wound in his right thigh," Harm offered. Webb returned a disgusted look Rabb's way.
"Harm, let's let Mr. Webb answer the questions. You should concentrate on driving."
"Good idea," Webb offered.
"You," Jordan said to Webb, "mind your business. I'm going to check out your leg."
"Are you sure you need to do that? Can't we wait until we get to Langley?"
"Not if it's still bleeding we can't." Jordan gingerly pulled the cloth from the wound, handing the flashlight to Webb as she ripped the tear in the pants wider to get a better look. She palpated the skin around the wound, noticing the beginnings of infection.
Webb barely flinched at the touch, providing no additional evidence of the pain he must have felt. Jordan was impressed with his efforts.
"I'll take that," she said as she relieved Webb of the flashlight. "You have an exit wound?" she asked.
"Yeah." The quick breathing had made a new appearance.
"Are you feeling sick?"
"Mmm. A little."
"Do you need to throw up?"
"No." Jordan could tell that Clayton Webb was the kind of man who would avoid that at any costs. It reminded her of a tall, handsome Navy man she knew.
"Okay. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but it looks like you lost a bit. You'll feel better when you get another pint or two in you."
"Great," Webb countered.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Jordan continued with the examination.
"Nothing important."
"He hit his head during the explosion the other night," Rabb helpfully offered.
"Rabb, didn't your girlfriend tell you to mind your business?"
"No, she told you to mind your business," Jordan chastised. "And I think a blow to the head is your business."
"Jordan, he." Rabb started.
"Harm, minding your business is good advice, don't you think?" Jordan asked sweetly.
"Yes I do, ma'am." Rabb continued driving toward the Virginia CIA headquarters. He was all too familiar with where he stood when Jordan used that tone.
Webb refrained from laughing, in deference to the good doctor who, he was amazed to find, had managed to make him feel better. It may have just been her calming manner, but he was feeling better. He found himself a little jealous of Harmon Rabb.
There's a first time for everything, he thought wryly.
Jordan tenderly felt around Webb's neck and head, finding a medium-sized lump behind his left ear.
"Well, I can't do much for that here. The nausea is probably from that, and a little bit from that fever. Some antibiotics will work that infection out pretty quickly."
"Yeah."
"When did you eat last?"
"Ugh. It's been a while. And it'll be a while until I want to."
"I think a little something would actually settle your stomach. It looks like you could use about a week's worth of rest, too."
"No doubt," Webb replied, smiling. Rabb could tell that Webb was beyond tired, his obnoxiously reserved manner and suspicious nature giving way to the interesting, complicated, even charming person that was rarely visible unless dire circumstances caught him with his guard down. In this moment, Rabb could see why Mac saw him as 'lovable'.
Then again, Jordan's considerable charms would be hard for any man to fight, even a healthy, rested Clayton Webb.
Webb caught Rabb's eye in the rearview mirror.
"What're you looking at?" Webb asked, sounding more tired than annoyed.
"Mr. Webb, why don't you close your eyes and try to relax?" Jordan calmed, taking her own opportunity to catch a glimpse at Harm.
Webb fell back into the seat and closed his eyes. But he wasn't finished with Harmon Rabb.
"Well?" Webb asked.
Jordan rolled her eyes.
"It seems to me you've got your own blonde. Don't get any ideas."
Webb rubbed his hand up his face, pausing briefly to massage his aching temple, and then ran his hand through his hair. Sparring with Rabb, though normally an interesting diversion, was particularly exhausting in his current condition. He'd have to remember to avoid it in the future whenever he was less than one hundred percent.
He failed to hold in a yawn when he asked, "What are you talking about, Rabb?"
"Well, when we thought you were dead, Bud and I took a look around your townhouse. We were looking for some clue about what might have happened. We thought you were dead, we were desperate for something. We fed your fish and watered your plants, by the way."
Jordan let Rabb continue his story. Rabb's ruminations on the goings-on at Webb's place was acting as a better sedative than any injection could have. She pulled Webb's head to her shoulder so that he wouldn't add a kink in his neck to his injury list.
".and then I saw a picture of a beautiful blonde. Who is she Clay?" No immediate answer brought the prosecutor out in Harmon Rabb.
"Well, Webb? Who is she?"
"Sssh," Jordan answered softly. "He's asleep."
"Yeah, right," Rabb snorted as he approached CIA headquarters.
"Mr. Webb seems to bring out the sixth grader in you," Jordan whispered knowingly.
Rabb saw Jordan's face in the mirror. The gentle teasing, Harm understood, was the psychiatrist's way of easing the bite of a serious observation.
There was something about Clayton Webb that brought out the worst in Harmon Rabb. That was true. But at the same time, working with Webb had also produced some of the most amazing, challenging and personally satisfying experiences of his professional life.
His admiration for Webb, despite Rabb's dislike for the man's, for the agency's methods, was enhanced by the knowledge that Webb was never in it for himself - that was made even more clear after Rabb's visit with Webb's mother earlier that day.
Harm looked at Jordan as he stopped the car at the security gate at Langley.
"I'll try to do better," he said with an endearing smile.
Jordan smiled back as she felt Clayton Webb chuckle softly against her shoulder.
The End.
His current state of mind was none too sound for driving, but getting to Jordan was the immediate goal. He was growing agitated that the CIA spy was slowing his progress toward that goal.
Rabb paused to look back for Clayton Webb. Where was he? He had expected the operative to be trailing behind, but when he saw no sign of the spy, agitation mixed with concern, concern for both Jordan and, surprisingly, for Webb as well. Any delay could make the difference if Clark Palmer had followed through on his threat. And with Palmer now missing, Rabb couldn't put it past the former DSD agent to make his way to Rabb's place and carry through on what he'd threatened.
The JAG lawyer climbed back up the steps quickly. As he approached the deck, he looked toward the doorway and noticed Webb leaning heavily on the doorjamb. Webb's face was distinctly paler than when Rabb first found him. It also seemed that the agent was panting a bit as he tried to work up the energy to move away from the door that was clearly the only thing keeping him upright.
Rabb silently chided himself for his aggravation toward Clay those few moments earlier. He knew that Webb was hurt when he first saw him limp away, Webb's protestations of a flesh wound notwithstanding. The fact that Webb was now approaching forty-eight hours without getting that wound treated was finally catching up with him.
Rabb admired the conviction, the determination that Webb always showed in getting the job done. Rabb had more than once forsaken his own well being for the sake of a successful mission. He hated to admit how very much alike they were in that commitment. It was a shared commitment borne of duty, but sustained by a similar sensibility to - something. Rabb wasn't sure he was ready to put a label on it just yet.
Webb lifted his head as Rabb approached. Rabb noted with alarm the fresh blood now soaking Webb's pant leg. The sheen of sweat now marking the waxen face was of no small concern as well.
"Just a flesh wound, huh?" Rabb asked as he reached to assist Webb off the ship.
"Well, I've been a little busy these last few minutes," he responded through grimaced breaths. "Looks like it started up again," the deep breathing causing Rabb more worry.
"What else is going on? Is there something you're not telling me?" Rabb grabbed the case and put his arm around Webb's waist, assisting him toward the exit that would lead them off the ship.
"There isn't."
"I think there is." Webb was hard pressed to ignore the earnestness of the concern Rabb was expressing.
"I, uh, I hit my head during the explosion. Just feelin' a little dizzy, tha's all." The slight slur of the words showed Rabb that the spy was reaching his limit.
"You've probably got a concussion along with that bullet hole. Not too smart, Webb."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rabb. My priorities were elsewhere," Webb finished, unable to hide his irritation with Rabb and his insistence in pointing out the obvious.
"I know. Sorry."
Webb knew the apology was sincere. It wasn't something he figured Harmon Rabb was apt to say often: Webb was too tired and too sick not to accept it.
"I doubt you didn't earn yourself a concussion tonight too, my friend."
Rabb laughed lightly at Webb's use of the moniker. Was this the label he had been hesitant to use? He guessed that they were friends, though it was a strange and strained friendship, to be sure. What Rabb had said earlier to Admiral Chegwidden was true: Webb always came through. It was almost always painful getting to that point, but Rabb knew that finding out that Clayton Webb was indeed alive had eased an ache that had lingered deep in his soul from the moment the admiral shared the awful news with he and Mac the previous day.
"What's so funny?" Webb asked as they took the final steps down to the dock.
"You," Rabb answered.
"Actually, I am, though I don't know how you'd get that from tonight." The perplexed look from Webb almost sent Rabb to laughing again, except that it seemed to Rabb that the conversation was sapping Webb of his strength, and that was no laughing matter. The commander recognized that the combination of fatigue, blood loss and lingering effects of concussion were battling with Clayton Webb's innate tendency to ignore pain until the job was done.
Rabb had to agree with Webb about the hit to the head he himself had taken earlier. He hoped that he and Webb were the only victims of Clark Palmer that night.
"What're you doin' Rabb?" Webb asked as Rabb opened the door to the back seat.
"You're going to get in the back seat and take it easy while I run to check on Jordan. Do you have my phone?"
"I lost it dodging bullets. I'm sure he was bluffing, Harm."
"I hope you're right," Rabb replied as he patted Webb's shoulder and closed the door.
Rabb got behind the wheel and Webb continued, "Um, about that. You've got a girlfriend?"
"What is your point? That's the second time you asked like that?"
"What d'ya mean?" Webb asked, continuing evidence of his overly tired state manifesting itself in his slurred tone.
"You're asking like you're surprised," Rabb added as his pulled away.
"Hah," was Webb's response, followed by a not quite successfully stifled moan.
"Never mind," Rabb said as he took the next turn especially fast, jerking his passenger across the back seat.
Another slight moan emanated from the back of the car, followed by, "I guess I'm a little surprised. It's not really any of my business."
"You're right. It's not." Rabb hoped that would be the end of the conversation. He looked in the rearview mirror and noticed the spy had closed his eyes and leaned his head deep into the headrest.
They drove quickly away from the riverfront, Rabb working through, despite his aching head, the most direct route to his place. His mind more on getting to Jordan, Rabb realized that it had been some time since Webb had spoken. He looked to be asleep, from the limited glimpses Rabb had managed in his feverish attempt to get home. Rabb decided he had better make sure that Webb was just asleep and not passed out.
"Webb, you okay back there?"
"Uh. Rabb, you have got to be the worst driver in D.C."
"I'm kind of in a hurry," Rabb replied, knowing the fast turns were surely wreaking havoc with the dizziness Webb had mentioned earlier.
"Yeah." Rabb could tell that Webb was breathing through the nausea. There was nothing to be done about that until he could check on Jordan.
Rabb continued the reckless driving, managing to get to his place without drawing the attention of local law enforcement.
"Webb," Harm said as he parked next to his loft.
"Rabb," Webb answered, opening his eyes and rubbing them to try to get Rabb in focus.
"I'll be right back." Rabb started out of the car. He stopped as he heard Webb fumbling with his weapon. Webb was having trouble keeping his hands steady enough to reload the gun.
"Give me that," Rabb said, grabbing the gun. Webb's hand felt like ice. He quickly loaded the gun and handed it back.
"Don't shoot yourself," he said.
"Rabb, this superconductor is valuable, in more ways than you know. I've got to keep it safe, with my life if necessary."
Rabb looked at his friend, knowing the truth in that statement. "Just be careful. I won't be long."
It seemed only moments had passed when Rabb eased Jordan into the front seat. Rabb loaded himself into the car and hastily drove away from his home. Webb thought how Rabb must feel: he could easily empathize with the pain of the realization that he wasn't safe in his own home.
Rabb slowed to a reasonable speed. The occupants remained silent for some time. Finally, a quiet voice from the back seat asked, "Where are we going?"
Jordan gasped and jumped in her seat.
"Oh God, Jordan, I'm sorry." Rabb promptly pulled the car over. "Jordan, Clayton Webb. Webb, Lt. Commander Jordan Parker."
Jordan looked back at Webb and was immediately awake, though she really hadn't been until that moment. Her doctor's instincts immediately in overdrive, Jordan looked at Harm, and then back at Webb.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
A smirk came from the driver's seat.
"I.I've been better." Harmon Rabb was taken aback. The candor was a clearer sign than the obvious pain that Clayton Webb needed to get to a hospital.
Jordan opened the passenger side door.
"Jordan, what." Harm started as he reached to keep her in her seat.
"Harm, have you looked at Mr. Webb lately?" She leaned in close to Harm to prevent Webb from overhearing. "He's heading into shock. I'm going to see what I can do for him." She finished whispering, then said in a more commanding manner, "And get us to a hospital."
"Langley," Webb said.
"What?" Harm and Jordan asked in unison.
"Langley. Can't go to a regular hospital."
"You need to get to a hospital now," Jordan said as she took the seat next to Webb.
"No. It's only another half hour. Too many questions."
Jordan took Webb's wrist to check his pulse. Her concern for her new patient was enhanced when she felt his chilled and trembling hand.
"Harm, is there a blanket in the trunk?"
"I don't need a blanket." Webb realized his statement sounded more like a whine. He decided to keep his mouth shut, so long as Langley was their ultimate destination.
Rabb understood the import of Jordan's request. Shock was a serious thing if left untreated.
"Grab a flashlight and a first aid kit if you've got 'em," Jordan added.
Harm went to check the trunk and returned in seconds with the requested blanket and flashlight. "There's no first aid kit."
As she took the blanket, Jordan leaned over to Rabb's ear and whispered, "Turn the heat on a little," and then kissed his cheek.
"That's sweet," Webb said, sarcasm still evident through the pain.
"Shut up, Webb," Rabb said, looking past Jordan to the CIA agent.
"Harm," Jordan warned, hoping to keep everyone calm. From what she'd observed so far, these two were about at the end of their endurance. The stress of what the two had been through was threatening their ability to remain civil with each other. She was going to have her hands full with these two.
"What'd I say?" Webb continued, sure that he'd hit a nerve.
"Nothing. As usual."
"Boys! You two are just adorable together," Jordan remarked, clearly not a novice in the sarcasm department. She continued to check Webb over, first feeling his respiration, then checking his forehead for signs of fever.
"Thanks," both men replied in tandem. They both laughed, which Rabb was surprised to find had a comforting ring. It didn't take much for the operative to put the lawyer in better spirits, considering the alternative that Rabb had lived the last twenty-four hours.
"Okay boys, that's enough. Mr. Webb, where are you hurt? You've got a slight fever. How do you feel?"
"He's got a gunshot wound in his right thigh," Harm offered. Webb returned a disgusted look Rabb's way.
"Harm, let's let Mr. Webb answer the questions. You should concentrate on driving."
"Good idea," Webb offered.
"You," Jordan said to Webb, "mind your business. I'm going to check out your leg."
"Are you sure you need to do that? Can't we wait until we get to Langley?"
"Not if it's still bleeding we can't." Jordan gingerly pulled the cloth from the wound, handing the flashlight to Webb as she ripped the tear in the pants wider to get a better look. She palpated the skin around the wound, noticing the beginnings of infection.
Webb barely flinched at the touch, providing no additional evidence of the pain he must have felt. Jordan was impressed with his efforts.
"I'll take that," she said as she relieved Webb of the flashlight. "You have an exit wound?" she asked.
"Yeah." The quick breathing had made a new appearance.
"Are you feeling sick?"
"Mmm. A little."
"Do you need to throw up?"
"No." Jordan could tell that Clayton Webb was the kind of man who would avoid that at any costs. It reminded her of a tall, handsome Navy man she knew.
"Okay. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but it looks like you lost a bit. You'll feel better when you get another pint or two in you."
"Great," Webb countered.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Jordan continued with the examination.
"Nothing important."
"He hit his head during the explosion the other night," Rabb helpfully offered.
"Rabb, didn't your girlfriend tell you to mind your business?"
"No, she told you to mind your business," Jordan chastised. "And I think a blow to the head is your business."
"Jordan, he." Rabb started.
"Harm, minding your business is good advice, don't you think?" Jordan asked sweetly.
"Yes I do, ma'am." Rabb continued driving toward the Virginia CIA headquarters. He was all too familiar with where he stood when Jordan used that tone.
Webb refrained from laughing, in deference to the good doctor who, he was amazed to find, had managed to make him feel better. It may have just been her calming manner, but he was feeling better. He found himself a little jealous of Harmon Rabb.
There's a first time for everything, he thought wryly.
Jordan tenderly felt around Webb's neck and head, finding a medium-sized lump behind his left ear.
"Well, I can't do much for that here. The nausea is probably from that, and a little bit from that fever. Some antibiotics will work that infection out pretty quickly."
"Yeah."
"When did you eat last?"
"Ugh. It's been a while. And it'll be a while until I want to."
"I think a little something would actually settle your stomach. It looks like you could use about a week's worth of rest, too."
"No doubt," Webb replied, smiling. Rabb could tell that Webb was beyond tired, his obnoxiously reserved manner and suspicious nature giving way to the interesting, complicated, even charming person that was rarely visible unless dire circumstances caught him with his guard down. In this moment, Rabb could see why Mac saw him as 'lovable'.
Then again, Jordan's considerable charms would be hard for any man to fight, even a healthy, rested Clayton Webb.
Webb caught Rabb's eye in the rearview mirror.
"What're you looking at?" Webb asked, sounding more tired than annoyed.
"Mr. Webb, why don't you close your eyes and try to relax?" Jordan calmed, taking her own opportunity to catch a glimpse at Harm.
Webb fell back into the seat and closed his eyes. But he wasn't finished with Harmon Rabb.
"Well?" Webb asked.
Jordan rolled her eyes.
"It seems to me you've got your own blonde. Don't get any ideas."
Webb rubbed his hand up his face, pausing briefly to massage his aching temple, and then ran his hand through his hair. Sparring with Rabb, though normally an interesting diversion, was particularly exhausting in his current condition. He'd have to remember to avoid it in the future whenever he was less than one hundred percent.
He failed to hold in a yawn when he asked, "What are you talking about, Rabb?"
"Well, when we thought you were dead, Bud and I took a look around your townhouse. We were looking for some clue about what might have happened. We thought you were dead, we were desperate for something. We fed your fish and watered your plants, by the way."
Jordan let Rabb continue his story. Rabb's ruminations on the goings-on at Webb's place was acting as a better sedative than any injection could have. She pulled Webb's head to her shoulder so that he wouldn't add a kink in his neck to his injury list.
".and then I saw a picture of a beautiful blonde. Who is she Clay?" No immediate answer brought the prosecutor out in Harmon Rabb.
"Well, Webb? Who is she?"
"Sssh," Jordan answered softly. "He's asleep."
"Yeah, right," Rabb snorted as he approached CIA headquarters.
"Mr. Webb seems to bring out the sixth grader in you," Jordan whispered knowingly.
Rabb saw Jordan's face in the mirror. The gentle teasing, Harm understood, was the psychiatrist's way of easing the bite of a serious observation.
There was something about Clayton Webb that brought out the worst in Harmon Rabb. That was true. But at the same time, working with Webb had also produced some of the most amazing, challenging and personally satisfying experiences of his professional life.
His admiration for Webb, despite Rabb's dislike for the man's, for the agency's methods, was enhanced by the knowledge that Webb was never in it for himself - that was made even more clear after Rabb's visit with Webb's mother earlier that day.
Harm looked at Jordan as he stopped the car at the security gate at Langley.
"I'll try to do better," he said with an endearing smile.
Jordan smiled back as she felt Clayton Webb chuckle softly against her shoulder.
The End.