Clayton Webb stepped back after embracing his friend. His relief in
finally achieving Tim Fawkes' freedom was overwhelming. He felt light-
headed and chilled and wondered, not for the first time in this past long
year, whether Tim would even want to bother with him. After all, it was
Clayton Webb's fault that Tim Fawkes had been successfully kidnapped from
the busy piazza.
The thought of losing Tim Fawkes' presence in his life, for real, weighed painfully on his mind.
Webb turned away from the reunion of the two Vietnam era veterans and walked to the far side of the fountain. He was hit by the fine spray, further chilling him. He was sure that the embrace he and Tim had shared was due to pure adrenaline on Tim's part. Once he had a chance to come down from that high, Webb was convinced that Tim would have some choice words for him. Webb didn't feel the least prepared to take that medicine. He didn't know if he ever would.
The admiral and the former hostage finished, for now, with the reminiscing. They noticed Decker sitting on the rim of the fountain, the look of shock and fear giving way to simple gratitude at making it through this incident alive.
"You did good," Admiral A.J. Chegwidden said, putting a hand on Decker's shoulder.
"Thanks," Decker replied, a reluctant grin peeking through his otherwise relieved demeanor.
"The payoffs kept me alive. Thanks for your efforts in keeping me that way," Tim said as he shook George Decker's hand.
"I wish it could have been more." The looks exchanged between the three acknowledged their agreement on that thought. The government's lack of will in getting one of their own back was unconscionable, especially to the former SEAL. Chegwidden would never understand the CIA's stance on this point.
Chegwidden was still mad at Webb, mostly for not being told of Tim's kidnapping for so long. But the anger had been tempered by many things in the last few days - chief among them, Webb's crushing guilt, an emotion not often exposed by the CIA operative.
A.J. knew he wasn't getting the whole story on that day a year ago, so there was no way of knowing whether Webb's guilt was justified. He thought it a good sign, though, that Webb was able to feel that emotion. It meant that he'd been able to count on him for this mission, and he thought that bode well for future assignments that his people would be involved in with the spy.
Being in Italy had also had a calming effect on him, despite the tension and threat filled meeting with the Sicilian Mafia. This country and its loving and compassionate people meant a great deal to Chegwidden. The chance to practice his rusty Italian brought brief moments of delight to a very difficult time. 'Quando in Italia, la vita รจ bellissima,' he thought.
Finally, getting Tim back had practically wiped out any lingering bad feelings A.J. may have had towards Webb's actions that day. Finding his old buddy, the man who 'saved his soul' those many years ago, alive and well acted as a balm. This day, A.J.'s soul had been not saved, but somehow soothed, and Webb was a major part of those good feelings.
The admiral needed to thank Clayton Webb. He understood this man and his motivations more now than he had before they boarded the plane to Italy. He also knew that what Webb had done today, killing Teresa Marcello, had to have affected him. He had learned a great deal about Clayton Webb on this mission. He knew that the agency man felt deeply and profoundly, despite all outward efforts to mask that side of his character. He decided it was time to get out of the piazza and begin the debriefing at the embassy. The sooner he could get this done, the sooner he could get Clayton Webb aside to discuss how the day's events had affected him.
Killing another human being tore at one's soul, even if the cause was just. Killing for the first time could have devastating consequences if the fallout wasn't handled correctly. Chegwidden had seen the bad side of that equation one too many times in the aftermath of Laos and Vietnam. Though he knew that Webb had the mettle to recover from his actions, Chegwidden was determined to assure that Webb had all the resources he needed to ease that recovery.
Tim Fawkes had the same idea. He grabbed A.J. by the elbow and nodded his head toward Webb, who stood at the far side of the fountain, looking toward the 'press box'. They could only see his back as Webb stared up toward Teresa Marcello's dead body; they exchanged pained looks at what they would find once they reached him.
"Decker, can you take care of the polizia? I'm taking Tim back to the embassy. Webb, too." The worry in A.J.'s voice was evident.
"Everything okay?" Decker asked, puzzled.
A.J.'s grim countenance was the only reply as he and Tim headed to Webb.
"Clay," Tim began. Webb flinched, then swayed slightly. Tim put his hand on Webb's back, steadying him just enough. Fawkes could feel a slight trembling under the jacket.
"Tim, I." Webb didn't know how to continue. His head was filled with a million different thoughts, his mind and his heart finding the mix of emotions too much to sort out.
Webb's stance, his body language as a whole, said that he had met his limit. He had not fully recovered from the grenade attack a few days earlier; the limp, A.J. noted, was no better than the day Webb had come to ask for Chegwidden's help in rescuing his mentor.
Webb turned to face Tim Fawkes. Despite the turmoil going on in his head, he knew foremost that he had to apologize for his actions, or rather lack of action, on that fateful day.
Before Webb could say anything, he heard a slight gasp from Fawkes, and then, "Christ Clay! What happened to you?"
Clayton Webb was expecting that reaction. He knew he should have done something that day. Freezing when the man he cared for as a father was being hauled into a speeding vehicle was no way for an agency man to react. That reaction had brought Tim Fawkes nothing but a year's worth of anguish and confinement.
Somehow, though, the question still stung. Stunned, Webb was unable to come up with the words to express his shame and grief. And guilt. He suddenly felt colder than before, if that was possible, and disconnected from the activity going on around him.
"A.J., what the hell?" Tim demanded. It was obvious to both Tim Fawkes and A.J. Chegwidden that Clayton Webb was in shock, the scrapes and bruises he'd sustained days earlier were now a vivid contrast to the starkly white cast of Webb's face.
The fight gone, his energy completely drained, Webb felt himself losing touch with the present. 'How can I explain to him what I did that day?' he thought. But the minute that thought came to mind, it was replaced by the image of Teresa Marcello with a bullet hole in her forehead. A bullet he put in her skull. And as fast as that thought ripped through his brain, he wondered how it could have gotten so cold so fast on such a pretty, sunny day in Rome.
"He was injured the other day when they tried to rescue you," A.J. said as he took Webb's left arm.
"The grenade," Tim said, understanding now the still healing marks adorning his friend's face. Tim took Webb's right arm and helped A.J. in keeping him upright.
"Yeah, his leg is injured, too. Damn fool's probably been running around with a concussion, too." Chegwidden knew that the combination of events in the last few days was wreaking havoc on the CIA agent.
"He also thinks he's to blame for you being taken. Says he froze." A.J. was growing more and more concerned for Webb as he remained quiet during this exchange.
"Damn. Let's get him out of here," Tim said. They hailed a taxi and made their way to the American Embassy.
"Tim, I'm sorry," Webb said as they neared the strada that housed the embassy.
"Sorry?" Tim replied, incredulous. "You saved my life. What are you talking about?"
"No, no. When they got you." Webb was tiring, and his inability to get out what he wanted to say was frustrating him. Unable to focus his thoughts, Webb closed his eyes and laid his head back against the headrest. His efforts to keep a handle on his emotions were failing him. He was feeling sick, and so tired. His emotions getting the better of him, a single tear slipped out.
"I didn't.I couldn't do anything.I.I fr.froze and they got you. I'm sorry." Webb opened his eyes and looked at Tim, ready to take the blame he was sure he'd find in Tim Fawkes' face.
Tim and A.J. exchanged glances. A.J. could see the empathy, the compassion in Tim's expression; Chegwidden knew for sure at that moment that Webb's guilt had been self-imposed, and completely unwarranted.
"Clay," Tim began, putting his arm around Webb's shoulders and pulling him close. "You did nothing wrong that day. You had assault weapons aimed at you. If you'd tried something, anything, you would have been killed. Teresa Marcello has killed before, I'm sure you know that. And that could well have lost me any options of surviving long enough for our people to arrange any deal to keep me alive."
Tim and A.J. could feel the tension in Webb decrease, barely, followed by an onslaught of trembling that scared both men. They knew that Webb was trying his best to control his emotions; he was having less success controlling his body's reaction to the day's events.
Though Webb managed to keep his emotions in check for most of the ride, a solitary sob tore from his soul as his friend embraced him. He hugged Tim Fawkes tightly, the need to feel that his friend was alive more important than any future embarrassment his reaction might cause him. He felt safe from future kidding from Tim about this display; he was far less sure what A.J. Chegwidden would do with the information.
By the time they reached the embassy, Clayton Webb had fallen into a light sleep, the stress of the past week catching up with him. Tim Fawkes took the hand that had been resting on Webb's shoulders and grasped A.J.'s shoulder. The firm, warm touch sent A.J. Chegwidden the sign that Tim was okay. A.J. turned to look at his old friend.
"He's a good man, A.J."
"Yes, I'm starting to see that," Chegwidden replied as the gate opened.
The End
The thought of losing Tim Fawkes' presence in his life, for real, weighed painfully on his mind.
Webb turned away from the reunion of the two Vietnam era veterans and walked to the far side of the fountain. He was hit by the fine spray, further chilling him. He was sure that the embrace he and Tim had shared was due to pure adrenaline on Tim's part. Once he had a chance to come down from that high, Webb was convinced that Tim would have some choice words for him. Webb didn't feel the least prepared to take that medicine. He didn't know if he ever would.
The admiral and the former hostage finished, for now, with the reminiscing. They noticed Decker sitting on the rim of the fountain, the look of shock and fear giving way to simple gratitude at making it through this incident alive.
"You did good," Admiral A.J. Chegwidden said, putting a hand on Decker's shoulder.
"Thanks," Decker replied, a reluctant grin peeking through his otherwise relieved demeanor.
"The payoffs kept me alive. Thanks for your efforts in keeping me that way," Tim said as he shook George Decker's hand.
"I wish it could have been more." The looks exchanged between the three acknowledged their agreement on that thought. The government's lack of will in getting one of their own back was unconscionable, especially to the former SEAL. Chegwidden would never understand the CIA's stance on this point.
Chegwidden was still mad at Webb, mostly for not being told of Tim's kidnapping for so long. But the anger had been tempered by many things in the last few days - chief among them, Webb's crushing guilt, an emotion not often exposed by the CIA operative.
A.J. knew he wasn't getting the whole story on that day a year ago, so there was no way of knowing whether Webb's guilt was justified. He thought it a good sign, though, that Webb was able to feel that emotion. It meant that he'd been able to count on him for this mission, and he thought that bode well for future assignments that his people would be involved in with the spy.
Being in Italy had also had a calming effect on him, despite the tension and threat filled meeting with the Sicilian Mafia. This country and its loving and compassionate people meant a great deal to Chegwidden. The chance to practice his rusty Italian brought brief moments of delight to a very difficult time. 'Quando in Italia, la vita รจ bellissima,' he thought.
Finally, getting Tim back had practically wiped out any lingering bad feelings A.J. may have had towards Webb's actions that day. Finding his old buddy, the man who 'saved his soul' those many years ago, alive and well acted as a balm. This day, A.J.'s soul had been not saved, but somehow soothed, and Webb was a major part of those good feelings.
The admiral needed to thank Clayton Webb. He understood this man and his motivations more now than he had before they boarded the plane to Italy. He also knew that what Webb had done today, killing Teresa Marcello, had to have affected him. He had learned a great deal about Clayton Webb on this mission. He knew that the agency man felt deeply and profoundly, despite all outward efforts to mask that side of his character. He decided it was time to get out of the piazza and begin the debriefing at the embassy. The sooner he could get this done, the sooner he could get Clayton Webb aside to discuss how the day's events had affected him.
Killing another human being tore at one's soul, even if the cause was just. Killing for the first time could have devastating consequences if the fallout wasn't handled correctly. Chegwidden had seen the bad side of that equation one too many times in the aftermath of Laos and Vietnam. Though he knew that Webb had the mettle to recover from his actions, Chegwidden was determined to assure that Webb had all the resources he needed to ease that recovery.
Tim Fawkes had the same idea. He grabbed A.J. by the elbow and nodded his head toward Webb, who stood at the far side of the fountain, looking toward the 'press box'. They could only see his back as Webb stared up toward Teresa Marcello's dead body; they exchanged pained looks at what they would find once they reached him.
"Decker, can you take care of the polizia? I'm taking Tim back to the embassy. Webb, too." The worry in A.J.'s voice was evident.
"Everything okay?" Decker asked, puzzled.
A.J.'s grim countenance was the only reply as he and Tim headed to Webb.
"Clay," Tim began. Webb flinched, then swayed slightly. Tim put his hand on Webb's back, steadying him just enough. Fawkes could feel a slight trembling under the jacket.
"Tim, I." Webb didn't know how to continue. His head was filled with a million different thoughts, his mind and his heart finding the mix of emotions too much to sort out.
Webb's stance, his body language as a whole, said that he had met his limit. He had not fully recovered from the grenade attack a few days earlier; the limp, A.J. noted, was no better than the day Webb had come to ask for Chegwidden's help in rescuing his mentor.
Webb turned to face Tim Fawkes. Despite the turmoil going on in his head, he knew foremost that he had to apologize for his actions, or rather lack of action, on that fateful day.
Before Webb could say anything, he heard a slight gasp from Fawkes, and then, "Christ Clay! What happened to you?"
Clayton Webb was expecting that reaction. He knew he should have done something that day. Freezing when the man he cared for as a father was being hauled into a speeding vehicle was no way for an agency man to react. That reaction had brought Tim Fawkes nothing but a year's worth of anguish and confinement.
Somehow, though, the question still stung. Stunned, Webb was unable to come up with the words to express his shame and grief. And guilt. He suddenly felt colder than before, if that was possible, and disconnected from the activity going on around him.
"A.J., what the hell?" Tim demanded. It was obvious to both Tim Fawkes and A.J. Chegwidden that Clayton Webb was in shock, the scrapes and bruises he'd sustained days earlier were now a vivid contrast to the starkly white cast of Webb's face.
The fight gone, his energy completely drained, Webb felt himself losing touch with the present. 'How can I explain to him what I did that day?' he thought. But the minute that thought came to mind, it was replaced by the image of Teresa Marcello with a bullet hole in her forehead. A bullet he put in her skull. And as fast as that thought ripped through his brain, he wondered how it could have gotten so cold so fast on such a pretty, sunny day in Rome.
"He was injured the other day when they tried to rescue you," A.J. said as he took Webb's left arm.
"The grenade," Tim said, understanding now the still healing marks adorning his friend's face. Tim took Webb's right arm and helped A.J. in keeping him upright.
"Yeah, his leg is injured, too. Damn fool's probably been running around with a concussion, too." Chegwidden knew that the combination of events in the last few days was wreaking havoc on the CIA agent.
"He also thinks he's to blame for you being taken. Says he froze." A.J. was growing more and more concerned for Webb as he remained quiet during this exchange.
"Damn. Let's get him out of here," Tim said. They hailed a taxi and made their way to the American Embassy.
"Tim, I'm sorry," Webb said as they neared the strada that housed the embassy.
"Sorry?" Tim replied, incredulous. "You saved my life. What are you talking about?"
"No, no. When they got you." Webb was tiring, and his inability to get out what he wanted to say was frustrating him. Unable to focus his thoughts, Webb closed his eyes and laid his head back against the headrest. His efforts to keep a handle on his emotions were failing him. He was feeling sick, and so tired. His emotions getting the better of him, a single tear slipped out.
"I didn't.I couldn't do anything.I.I fr.froze and they got you. I'm sorry." Webb opened his eyes and looked at Tim, ready to take the blame he was sure he'd find in Tim Fawkes' face.
Tim and A.J. exchanged glances. A.J. could see the empathy, the compassion in Tim's expression; Chegwidden knew for sure at that moment that Webb's guilt had been self-imposed, and completely unwarranted.
"Clay," Tim began, putting his arm around Webb's shoulders and pulling him close. "You did nothing wrong that day. You had assault weapons aimed at you. If you'd tried something, anything, you would have been killed. Teresa Marcello has killed before, I'm sure you know that. And that could well have lost me any options of surviving long enough for our people to arrange any deal to keep me alive."
Tim and A.J. could feel the tension in Webb decrease, barely, followed by an onslaught of trembling that scared both men. They knew that Webb was trying his best to control his emotions; he was having less success controlling his body's reaction to the day's events.
Though Webb managed to keep his emotions in check for most of the ride, a solitary sob tore from his soul as his friend embraced him. He hugged Tim Fawkes tightly, the need to feel that his friend was alive more important than any future embarrassment his reaction might cause him. He felt safe from future kidding from Tim about this display; he was far less sure what A.J. Chegwidden would do with the information.
By the time they reached the embassy, Clayton Webb had fallen into a light sleep, the stress of the past week catching up with him. Tim Fawkes took the hand that had been resting on Webb's shoulders and grasped A.J.'s shoulder. The firm, warm touch sent A.J. Chegwidden the sign that Tim was okay. A.J. turned to look at his old friend.
"He's a good man, A.J."
"Yes, I'm starting to see that," Chegwidden replied as the gate opened.
The End