Rabb passed warehouse thirty-three and pulled his SUV to a stop at a
staircase that led to a door announcing 'CP Imports, Warehouse 34'. He
checked his gun and exited the car to begin his search for Webb.
There was no obvious sign of any recent activity, and initially no sign of Webb. Rabb opened the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. The final part of his last communication with the operative lacked the background noise from earlier parts of the conversation: it seemed apparent to Rabb that Webb had chosen to hide behind the cover of a conveniently open door as there was no sign of forced entry.
Rabb did not have to go far before finding the CIA man. Webb, though propped up against an old, gray industrial-looking desk, was listing far over to his right, his face very nearly on the floor.
"Webb?" Rabb asked urgently, rushing to the man's side. No answer from the agent brought renewed alarm to Harm's actions.
"Webb?" he asked again, putting his hand on Webb's arm to try to set him up straight against the desk.
Webb gasped and tilted toward the ground. Rabb took his hand away, and grabbed for Webb's head and neck as it threatened to fall heavily to the hard concrete. He eased the spy down to the ground, looking quickly up at the desk for a lamp.
Webb's eyes opened briefly - long enough to show Rabb that he was in extreme pain. The eyes closed again and Rabb knew that the agent was in trouble as he saw and then felt something wet on his hand.
Having spotted a desk lamp, Rabb reached over and turned it on. The aid of the light only made him more worried; Webb looked ghostly white and frighteningly sick. Rabb moved the light close and saw the spreading red stain marring the designer overcoat that so defined Webb's look. Rabb could just imagine the damage to the custom-tailored suit.
The shoulder wound was still bleeding, or at least had only recently abated. Webb's semi-conscious state was also of great concern. Rabb pulled his phone out.
"Rabb." Webb started. He coughed, setting off a chain reaction of pain, first in the wound itself, followed by blossoming waves of pain down his right arm, and then across his back. His eyes fluttered briefly, the throbbing across his entire right side threatening to send him under again. But he knew he had to fight that feeling; he had to get Rabb to put that phone down.
"Don't." He tried to reach out with his left hand, his touch faint against Rabb's forearm. The hand fell down to his side, Webb's strength failing him.
"Clay, you need a doctor. You're gonna bleed to death," Rabb cautioned as he began to unbutton first the coat, and then the jacket and vest in order to assess Webb's injury.
"Can't," Webb tried again, blinking his eyes to try to get Rabb to stop shifting around. He felt he might pass out at any moment. In fact, he wasn't sure he hadn't already done that when Rabb suddenly came clearly within his sight. He had to get Rabb's assent for his plan before losing consciousness again.
"Yes you can." Rabb eyed Webb with concern as the agent provided only one- word responses. Rabb continued to move layers aside in order to check the bullet wound. Webb hissed as Rabb pulled the soaked shirt from the injury, and then tensed as the entrance wound was examined. Sweat trickled down Webb's forehead, making its way fleetingly down his cheek, disappearing into his already drenched collar.
"The bleeding's about stopped. I'm going to lean you over to check for an exit wound," Rabb instructed as he knelt further to look into Webb's eyes. He knew he'd glean as much about Webb's condition from that as he would from inspecting the bloody, scorched skin where the bullet entered.
"Wait," Webb begged, trembling from the brief touch. His moist, white face told as much as the simple plea. Webb was in serious trouble here. Rabb hoped he'd be able to get them out of the warehouse district without running across those responsible for putting Webb in this state.
"Easy, Clay." Rabb removed his hands, knowing the touch had caused more discomfort, necessary though it was.
"There's an exit wound," Webb offered, exhaustion setting in. His eyes drifted shut, his head falling away from Rabb.
They should be thankful for small favors, Rabb thought.
"We've gotta move, Clay," Rabb said as he eased Webb back up against the desk. "Whoever did this could come back at any time. Let's get you to a hospital while the bleeding's stopped."
"No."
"No?" Rabb was incredulous.
"Check.agh." Webb stifled a cry, the agonizing pain shooting daggers as before. Webb grimaced, gritting his teeth as he rode out the waves of pain. "Oh god," he sighed softly, as the sharp, shocking pain subsided, giving way to intense heat and throbbing.
"Check the .inside.of my.collar," he finally managed to direct as he breathed through the gnawing pain in his shoulder.
"Your collar? Webb," Rabb began, frustrated by what the spy considered important at a time like this.
"Harm?" The pleading tone and the operative's use of his first name told the JAG lawyer the desperate importance Clayton Webb placed on the directive.
Rabb felt the inside collar of Webb's overcoat. He started in the center and worked both hands toward the shoulders, taking care not to jar the wounded man on the right side. Rabb watched Webb's face as he felt for whatever it was that the spy thought he should find. The CIA operative's eyes remained closed throughout the inspection. Rabb found nothing, but made one more pass back toward the center of the collar when, suddenly, he felt something. It was small, but there was definitely something there. He stopped short, the sudden lack of movement bringing Webb's eyes open.
"You found it."
Rabb left it in place. "What is it?"
"Tracking device. Agh!" Once again, the convulsing pain made itself known, causing Webb to pitch forward against the Navy commander. Rabb stopped Webb's fall with a hand on the ailing man's chest, and then put his other hand on Webb's good shoulder, rubbing soothingly, hoping to ease the pain and trembling the suffering CIA man was going through.
"Webb, let's."
"No. Need." he breathed sharply as the daggers ebbed and flowed through the upper right side of his body. "Need them to come back. Draw them back."
"Webb, you can't."
"They'll come back, Harm," he said as he gave in and rested his head against Rabb's willing shoulder. "I'm all that's." Webb's breathing was not masking in the least his obvious discomfort. "I'm all that's standing between them.and.and a death sentence."
Rabb looked at his friend. The familiar feelings were beginning to rear their ugly head. He had worked hard to rid himself of these feelings for Clayton Webb, the commitment to a friendship that never seemed fully realized. A friendship that always managed to have a string attached, a quid pro quo always in the mix that prevented the friendship from moving beyond a certain point. But seeing Webb in this condition, and knowing the man well enough to accept on faith that he had placed himself in danger for the good of the country they were both committed to protecting, proved too much for Rabb to fight in the end.
He was going to do what Webb wanted, this he knew for certain, even if it meant risking Clayton Webb's life.
Rabb noted Webb hovering on the edge of consciousness. The man needed some rest, and they needed a place to regroup, a place to work out a plan, a place to treat Webb's wounds. Infection was opportunistic with injuries such as these. Even in the best conditions, infection and fever were hard to avoid.
"Okay. What do you want to do?" Rabb asked reluctantly.
"There's a cabin. Forty-five minutes from here. It's fortified." Webb looked at Rabb, gauging the Navy man's understanding of the euphemism.
"Fortified, huh?"
"Yeah. You know. Food. Weapons."
"Medical supplies?"
"That, too." Webb knew he was asking a lot, and risking a lot. But he also knew that Harmon Rabb was up to the task.
"Okay. You're sure?"
"Harm, they won't take long. This'll be over." Webb gritted his teeth, this time through what appeared more like dizziness and nausea to Rabb than the recent severe bouts of pain. "It'll be over before sunrise tomorrow."
"One way or the other?" Rabb asked knowingly.
"Only one way," Webb stated firmly.
"Are you ready to get up?" Rabb questioned, pretty sure what his own answer would be to the inquiry in similar circumstances.
The thought brought another touch of nausea to the spy. He swiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overcoat and, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, said, "Sure."
"You don't seem sure."
"I was being nice."
"Let me do the work," Rabb started.
"I can help," Webb insisted.
Rabb assisted the operative to his feet. Despite Rabb's best efforts, the movement jarred Webb's bad shoulder, forcing his knees to buckle as he stifled a cry of pain. He swayed heavily as Rabb held him up, Webb's left hand a vise grip on Rabb's forearm.
"Take it slow, Clay," Rabb said, looking with concern as Webb's face grew whiter. Webb leaned against the larger man's chest, not sure he could take even one step without going down.
"Let me.try." the nausea was fighting with the spy, waging a war Webb was bound to lose. He breathed through it, determined to be victorious, at least this one time. "I just need.a minute," Webb continued, biting back bile. Rabb noted the determined effort the man before him made to overcome the dizziness, and more, that Webb was experiencing. Rabb held him steady as the agent got his footing.
"I'm okay," Webb finally offered, taking a hesitant step, Rabb supporting him. The lawyer noted the deliberate pace and how the agent had unconsciously grabbed onto his forearm as though the support was all that was keeping him upright. Rabb was glad that Webb still trusted him enough to give up that control, considering their strained existence of late.
The walk to the exit progressed slowly, Rabb keenly aware that whoever it was that Webb expected might return could easily be waiting in the shadows within the rows of boxes and crates that resembled a maze within the confines of this warehouse. Leaving the building could expose them even more, but Webb's condition left them little choice.
Rabb shifted Webb slightly, putting his arm around the operative's waist as he opened the exit door. A cold front was bearing down on D.C., and as the wind made its way through the opening, the shiver that made its way through the injured man sent new waves of concern through the JAG lawyer.
Rabb eyed his charge. "I'll be fine. L-let's get going." Rabb silently agreed that moving out of the area quickly made the most sense, despite his own fear for what delaying medical help to Webb might cost them.
They worked their way uneventfully to Rabb's car. Rabb leaned Webb against the Lexus and said, "Can you manage to stand here a minute without falling down?
Webb understood that Rabb was trying to take the edge off of their dire situation, but he wasn't sure he could answer that question with any honesty in the affirmative. He decided sarcasm worked better than honesty at that moment.
"I'll see what I can do."
Rabb pressed a firm hand on Webb's chest, hoping to provide some sense of comfort to the ailing man.
The Navy man headed to the back of the vehicle. Webb could hear things jostling, but he had no real sense of what was happening. The dizziness had gripped him again full force, and he prepared himself for the onslaught of pain he knew that feeling harkened.
Rabb returned, though Webb only knew this from the movement of his body, first forward to lean against Rabb's chest. That was followed by sudden warmth as a blanket was placed around his shoulders. Then he was leaned back against the car. But this time, the car seemed unwilling to hold his body up. He heard a sound, then started falling against his will to the ground.
Rabb turned and swiftly stopped Webb from hitting the pavement, though the sudden jolt to his shoulder brought the stabbing pain back en force.
Webb's eyes rolled back, oblivion beckoning. "Webb, stay with me. Webb!"
Webb noted the alarm in the voice. He knew he should try to stay awake. The pain threatened to drown out everything, the daggers meeting their marks with each lunge of the invisible knife.
"Webb," Rabb said again, holding the full weight of his injured comrade. Webb's eyes came open suddenly, full of fear and confusion.
Rabb recognized the look. Just as he prepared to ask the question, Webb managed, "I'm gonna be sick." He pushed away from the vehicle and violently vomited at the side of the steps. Webb fell to his knees, stopping his fall into the vile puddle with his left hand, an uncontrollable groan emitted as the aborted collision to the ground jarred his inflamed right shoulder.
Rabb grabbed Webb across his waist and good shoulder, supporting his body as it trembled violently from the horrible retching. The spy's body was reacting fiercely to the violation the metal ripping through it had borne. Rabb continued holding him through the spasms of dry heaves, and then settled the exhausted body down to the ground.
His body spent, his stomach emptied, Webb shivered, his breathing bordering on hyperventilation.
"Easy Webb. Breathe slowly," Rabb encouraged, keeping his voice low, his instructions calm and simple. Though somewhat uncomfortable with the motion, Rabb massaged the shaking man's back, knowing the action could have a beneficial, calming effect, avoiding the right side that was causing the spy so much pain.
Webb was leaning heavily against Rabb now, oblivious to just how much he was doing so. Rabb was worried about how out of it Webb seemed; maybe he should ignore the CIA man and just get him to a hospital.
They sat together for a good while as Rabb let Webb recover from the onslaught of illness. He looked down, as Webb had slipped down into his lap from the previous position against his chest. Webb continued to breathe heavily, though the threat of hyperventilating had passed.
The CIA operative's hair hung damp in his face. Rabb couldn't tell how awake he was, so he moved the limp locks to get a look at the man. His hand hovered long enough on Webb's forehead to note the beginnings of fever. Rabb knew they would need to move quickly - he needed to clean and treat the wound soon to stave off, as best as the supplies would allow, the guaranteed infection to come.
"Help me up," Webb directed weakly. Rabb did as he was told, repositioning the blanket that had shifted off of Webb's shoulders.
Rabb turned to place Webb in the back of the car. "No, front seat."
"Clay, you'll be more comfortable in the back."
"No." Rabb didn't understand what Webb thought he would gain by being in the front, but the time and effort wasted arguing was definitely not worth the cost. Rabb helped the injured man in, not an easy task as he tried to avoid any pressure on Webb's right side.
He shut the door, noting the smear of blood on the panel of his SUV. The exit wound was bleeding again, the wracking of his body through the earlier illness having started the blood flowing once more. Rabb grabbed a few items out of the back of the vehicle and returned to the passenger side.
"I need you to sit forward a bit, Clay. Your back is bleeding again. I'm gonna put this towel between you and the seat." Webb quietly did as he was told, holding on to the dashboard to prevent falling head first into it.
"Afraid I'll soil your seats?" Webb jibed, the attempt at humor both painful and comforting to the Navy man.
Rabb smiled at the effort. He quickly finished and set Webb back into the seat. The shivering continued, and the ghastly white complexion seemed worse: both indications of shock.
Rabb decided against buckling the seatbelt, the light pressure against the wound likely to send Webb back to unconsciousness. He placed a small pillow between Webb and the door, then shut it and got behind the wheel, quickly switching the heat on high.
"Where to?" Rabb asked, eyeing Webb, wondering how long the spy would remain with him before losing him to sleep, or unconsciousness.
"Out 66.then south to Manassas..." Webb's exhaustion was clear and painful to witness. Rabb wanted to let the man rest, though he allowed him to continue with the directions. He decided to let his curiosity sit the ride out, giving Webb a chance for some peace. There would be time enough for questioning when they reached the cabin.
There was no obvious sign of any recent activity, and initially no sign of Webb. Rabb opened the door, not surprised to find it unlocked. The final part of his last communication with the operative lacked the background noise from earlier parts of the conversation: it seemed apparent to Rabb that Webb had chosen to hide behind the cover of a conveniently open door as there was no sign of forced entry.
Rabb did not have to go far before finding the CIA man. Webb, though propped up against an old, gray industrial-looking desk, was listing far over to his right, his face very nearly on the floor.
"Webb?" Rabb asked urgently, rushing to the man's side. No answer from the agent brought renewed alarm to Harm's actions.
"Webb?" he asked again, putting his hand on Webb's arm to try to set him up straight against the desk.
Webb gasped and tilted toward the ground. Rabb took his hand away, and grabbed for Webb's head and neck as it threatened to fall heavily to the hard concrete. He eased the spy down to the ground, looking quickly up at the desk for a lamp.
Webb's eyes opened briefly - long enough to show Rabb that he was in extreme pain. The eyes closed again and Rabb knew that the agent was in trouble as he saw and then felt something wet on his hand.
Having spotted a desk lamp, Rabb reached over and turned it on. The aid of the light only made him more worried; Webb looked ghostly white and frighteningly sick. Rabb moved the light close and saw the spreading red stain marring the designer overcoat that so defined Webb's look. Rabb could just imagine the damage to the custom-tailored suit.
The shoulder wound was still bleeding, or at least had only recently abated. Webb's semi-conscious state was also of great concern. Rabb pulled his phone out.
"Rabb." Webb started. He coughed, setting off a chain reaction of pain, first in the wound itself, followed by blossoming waves of pain down his right arm, and then across his back. His eyes fluttered briefly, the throbbing across his entire right side threatening to send him under again. But he knew he had to fight that feeling; he had to get Rabb to put that phone down.
"Don't." He tried to reach out with his left hand, his touch faint against Rabb's forearm. The hand fell down to his side, Webb's strength failing him.
"Clay, you need a doctor. You're gonna bleed to death," Rabb cautioned as he began to unbutton first the coat, and then the jacket and vest in order to assess Webb's injury.
"Can't," Webb tried again, blinking his eyes to try to get Rabb to stop shifting around. He felt he might pass out at any moment. In fact, he wasn't sure he hadn't already done that when Rabb suddenly came clearly within his sight. He had to get Rabb's assent for his plan before losing consciousness again.
"Yes you can." Rabb eyed Webb with concern as the agent provided only one- word responses. Rabb continued to move layers aside in order to check the bullet wound. Webb hissed as Rabb pulled the soaked shirt from the injury, and then tensed as the entrance wound was examined. Sweat trickled down Webb's forehead, making its way fleetingly down his cheek, disappearing into his already drenched collar.
"The bleeding's about stopped. I'm going to lean you over to check for an exit wound," Rabb instructed as he knelt further to look into Webb's eyes. He knew he'd glean as much about Webb's condition from that as he would from inspecting the bloody, scorched skin where the bullet entered.
"Wait," Webb begged, trembling from the brief touch. His moist, white face told as much as the simple plea. Webb was in serious trouble here. Rabb hoped he'd be able to get them out of the warehouse district without running across those responsible for putting Webb in this state.
"Easy, Clay." Rabb removed his hands, knowing the touch had caused more discomfort, necessary though it was.
"There's an exit wound," Webb offered, exhaustion setting in. His eyes drifted shut, his head falling away from Rabb.
They should be thankful for small favors, Rabb thought.
"We've gotta move, Clay," Rabb said as he eased Webb back up against the desk. "Whoever did this could come back at any time. Let's get you to a hospital while the bleeding's stopped."
"No."
"No?" Rabb was incredulous.
"Check.agh." Webb stifled a cry, the agonizing pain shooting daggers as before. Webb grimaced, gritting his teeth as he rode out the waves of pain. "Oh god," he sighed softly, as the sharp, shocking pain subsided, giving way to intense heat and throbbing.
"Check the .inside.of my.collar," he finally managed to direct as he breathed through the gnawing pain in his shoulder.
"Your collar? Webb," Rabb began, frustrated by what the spy considered important at a time like this.
"Harm?" The pleading tone and the operative's use of his first name told the JAG lawyer the desperate importance Clayton Webb placed on the directive.
Rabb felt the inside collar of Webb's overcoat. He started in the center and worked both hands toward the shoulders, taking care not to jar the wounded man on the right side. Rabb watched Webb's face as he felt for whatever it was that the spy thought he should find. The CIA operative's eyes remained closed throughout the inspection. Rabb found nothing, but made one more pass back toward the center of the collar when, suddenly, he felt something. It was small, but there was definitely something there. He stopped short, the sudden lack of movement bringing Webb's eyes open.
"You found it."
Rabb left it in place. "What is it?"
"Tracking device. Agh!" Once again, the convulsing pain made itself known, causing Webb to pitch forward against the Navy commander. Rabb stopped Webb's fall with a hand on the ailing man's chest, and then put his other hand on Webb's good shoulder, rubbing soothingly, hoping to ease the pain and trembling the suffering CIA man was going through.
"Webb, let's."
"No. Need." he breathed sharply as the daggers ebbed and flowed through the upper right side of his body. "Need them to come back. Draw them back."
"Webb, you can't."
"They'll come back, Harm," he said as he gave in and rested his head against Rabb's willing shoulder. "I'm all that's." Webb's breathing was not masking in the least his obvious discomfort. "I'm all that's standing between them.and.and a death sentence."
Rabb looked at his friend. The familiar feelings were beginning to rear their ugly head. He had worked hard to rid himself of these feelings for Clayton Webb, the commitment to a friendship that never seemed fully realized. A friendship that always managed to have a string attached, a quid pro quo always in the mix that prevented the friendship from moving beyond a certain point. But seeing Webb in this condition, and knowing the man well enough to accept on faith that he had placed himself in danger for the good of the country they were both committed to protecting, proved too much for Rabb to fight in the end.
He was going to do what Webb wanted, this he knew for certain, even if it meant risking Clayton Webb's life.
Rabb noted Webb hovering on the edge of consciousness. The man needed some rest, and they needed a place to regroup, a place to work out a plan, a place to treat Webb's wounds. Infection was opportunistic with injuries such as these. Even in the best conditions, infection and fever were hard to avoid.
"Okay. What do you want to do?" Rabb asked reluctantly.
"There's a cabin. Forty-five minutes from here. It's fortified." Webb looked at Rabb, gauging the Navy man's understanding of the euphemism.
"Fortified, huh?"
"Yeah. You know. Food. Weapons."
"Medical supplies?"
"That, too." Webb knew he was asking a lot, and risking a lot. But he also knew that Harmon Rabb was up to the task.
"Okay. You're sure?"
"Harm, they won't take long. This'll be over." Webb gritted his teeth, this time through what appeared more like dizziness and nausea to Rabb than the recent severe bouts of pain. "It'll be over before sunrise tomorrow."
"One way or the other?" Rabb asked knowingly.
"Only one way," Webb stated firmly.
"Are you ready to get up?" Rabb questioned, pretty sure what his own answer would be to the inquiry in similar circumstances.
The thought brought another touch of nausea to the spy. He swiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his overcoat and, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, said, "Sure."
"You don't seem sure."
"I was being nice."
"Let me do the work," Rabb started.
"I can help," Webb insisted.
Rabb assisted the operative to his feet. Despite Rabb's best efforts, the movement jarred Webb's bad shoulder, forcing his knees to buckle as he stifled a cry of pain. He swayed heavily as Rabb held him up, Webb's left hand a vise grip on Rabb's forearm.
"Take it slow, Clay," Rabb said, looking with concern as Webb's face grew whiter. Webb leaned against the larger man's chest, not sure he could take even one step without going down.
"Let me.try." the nausea was fighting with the spy, waging a war Webb was bound to lose. He breathed through it, determined to be victorious, at least this one time. "I just need.a minute," Webb continued, biting back bile. Rabb noted the determined effort the man before him made to overcome the dizziness, and more, that Webb was experiencing. Rabb held him steady as the agent got his footing.
"I'm okay," Webb finally offered, taking a hesitant step, Rabb supporting him. The lawyer noted the deliberate pace and how the agent had unconsciously grabbed onto his forearm as though the support was all that was keeping him upright. Rabb was glad that Webb still trusted him enough to give up that control, considering their strained existence of late.
The walk to the exit progressed slowly, Rabb keenly aware that whoever it was that Webb expected might return could easily be waiting in the shadows within the rows of boxes and crates that resembled a maze within the confines of this warehouse. Leaving the building could expose them even more, but Webb's condition left them little choice.
Rabb shifted Webb slightly, putting his arm around the operative's waist as he opened the exit door. A cold front was bearing down on D.C., and as the wind made its way through the opening, the shiver that made its way through the injured man sent new waves of concern through the JAG lawyer.
Rabb eyed his charge. "I'll be fine. L-let's get going." Rabb silently agreed that moving out of the area quickly made the most sense, despite his own fear for what delaying medical help to Webb might cost them.
They worked their way uneventfully to Rabb's car. Rabb leaned Webb against the Lexus and said, "Can you manage to stand here a minute without falling down?
Webb understood that Rabb was trying to take the edge off of their dire situation, but he wasn't sure he could answer that question with any honesty in the affirmative. He decided sarcasm worked better than honesty at that moment.
"I'll see what I can do."
Rabb pressed a firm hand on Webb's chest, hoping to provide some sense of comfort to the ailing man.
The Navy man headed to the back of the vehicle. Webb could hear things jostling, but he had no real sense of what was happening. The dizziness had gripped him again full force, and he prepared himself for the onslaught of pain he knew that feeling harkened.
Rabb returned, though Webb only knew this from the movement of his body, first forward to lean against Rabb's chest. That was followed by sudden warmth as a blanket was placed around his shoulders. Then he was leaned back against the car. But this time, the car seemed unwilling to hold his body up. He heard a sound, then started falling against his will to the ground.
Rabb turned and swiftly stopped Webb from hitting the pavement, though the sudden jolt to his shoulder brought the stabbing pain back en force.
Webb's eyes rolled back, oblivion beckoning. "Webb, stay with me. Webb!"
Webb noted the alarm in the voice. He knew he should try to stay awake. The pain threatened to drown out everything, the daggers meeting their marks with each lunge of the invisible knife.
"Webb," Rabb said again, holding the full weight of his injured comrade. Webb's eyes came open suddenly, full of fear and confusion.
Rabb recognized the look. Just as he prepared to ask the question, Webb managed, "I'm gonna be sick." He pushed away from the vehicle and violently vomited at the side of the steps. Webb fell to his knees, stopping his fall into the vile puddle with his left hand, an uncontrollable groan emitted as the aborted collision to the ground jarred his inflamed right shoulder.
Rabb grabbed Webb across his waist and good shoulder, supporting his body as it trembled violently from the horrible retching. The spy's body was reacting fiercely to the violation the metal ripping through it had borne. Rabb continued holding him through the spasms of dry heaves, and then settled the exhausted body down to the ground.
His body spent, his stomach emptied, Webb shivered, his breathing bordering on hyperventilation.
"Easy Webb. Breathe slowly," Rabb encouraged, keeping his voice low, his instructions calm and simple. Though somewhat uncomfortable with the motion, Rabb massaged the shaking man's back, knowing the action could have a beneficial, calming effect, avoiding the right side that was causing the spy so much pain.
Webb was leaning heavily against Rabb now, oblivious to just how much he was doing so. Rabb was worried about how out of it Webb seemed; maybe he should ignore the CIA man and just get him to a hospital.
They sat together for a good while as Rabb let Webb recover from the onslaught of illness. He looked down, as Webb had slipped down into his lap from the previous position against his chest. Webb continued to breathe heavily, though the threat of hyperventilating had passed.
The CIA operative's hair hung damp in his face. Rabb couldn't tell how awake he was, so he moved the limp locks to get a look at the man. His hand hovered long enough on Webb's forehead to note the beginnings of fever. Rabb knew they would need to move quickly - he needed to clean and treat the wound soon to stave off, as best as the supplies would allow, the guaranteed infection to come.
"Help me up," Webb directed weakly. Rabb did as he was told, repositioning the blanket that had shifted off of Webb's shoulders.
Rabb turned to place Webb in the back of the car. "No, front seat."
"Clay, you'll be more comfortable in the back."
"No." Rabb didn't understand what Webb thought he would gain by being in the front, but the time and effort wasted arguing was definitely not worth the cost. Rabb helped the injured man in, not an easy task as he tried to avoid any pressure on Webb's right side.
He shut the door, noting the smear of blood on the panel of his SUV. The exit wound was bleeding again, the wracking of his body through the earlier illness having started the blood flowing once more. Rabb grabbed a few items out of the back of the vehicle and returned to the passenger side.
"I need you to sit forward a bit, Clay. Your back is bleeding again. I'm gonna put this towel between you and the seat." Webb quietly did as he was told, holding on to the dashboard to prevent falling head first into it.
"Afraid I'll soil your seats?" Webb jibed, the attempt at humor both painful and comforting to the Navy man.
Rabb smiled at the effort. He quickly finished and set Webb back into the seat. The shivering continued, and the ghastly white complexion seemed worse: both indications of shock.
Rabb decided against buckling the seatbelt, the light pressure against the wound likely to send Webb back to unconsciousness. He placed a small pillow between Webb and the door, then shut it and got behind the wheel, quickly switching the heat on high.
"Where to?" Rabb asked, eyeing Webb, wondering how long the spy would remain with him before losing him to sleep, or unconsciousness.
"Out 66.then south to Manassas..." Webb's exhaustion was clear and painful to witness. Rabb wanted to let the man rest, though he allowed him to continue with the directions. He decided to let his curiosity sit the ride out, giving Webb a chance for some peace. There would be time enough for questioning when they reached the cabin.