Webb had asked, "You got a girlfriend?"

Harm smiled now. At the time he'd been too desperate to save Jordan to fully assimilate the tone of Webb's voice when he'd blurted that out. Harm had been terribly shaken when the Admiral told him and Mac that Clay was dead. His gut had clenched and stayed that way because of the news. Clay couldn't be dead, he'd thought. Not with the question of how they truly felt about each other hanging unresolved between them. They'd been dancing around one another for months, denying the attraction existed, neither giving voice to the possibility that anything might come of it other than a platonic friendship. Even though it was unspoken, they both knew it was there. Harm had seen it in Clayton's hazel eyes, and his exclamation on board the ship with Palmer's gun bearing down on them gave Harm hope that maybe he was ready to take the next step and admit how he felt. Harm's heartbeat picked up speed at the very thought, but he turned his Corvette down Webb's street in Alexandria and tried not to think about it too much.

He tried not to think about how stupid it was of him to pursue this. It would only lead to trouble for both of them. What if Clay didn't feel the same way towards him? What if he'd only imagined the attraction?

He ignored the little voice in his head and parked in front of Webb's townhouse.

#

Harmon Rabb stood on the other side of the open doorway. He was bathed in sunshine that haloed his hair and backlit his broad, uniformed shoulders. He looked like he'd stepped out of the daydream Clay had just been having about him. Webb was so disconcerted at seeing him there that he simply stared.

"This is stupid," Harm said, staring back.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. May I come in?" Harm asked in a low voice.

Stepping backward carefully, Webb nodded.

He closed the door after Rabb entered. Leaning heavily on his cane, he moved awkwardly to the leather armchair and eased himself down onto it.

"Sit down, Harm." He gestured toward the couch, and waited until his visitor was seated before asking, "Why are you here?"

"Just stopped by to see how you are. We didn't have time to talk at JAG the other day. How's the leg?"

Webb shrugged, his fingers pulling at the cotton of his pant leg. "I overdid it. Tried to do too much too soon, and put my recovery back a bit. Doctors say it will be good as new in a week or so, though."

"That's great, Clay, that you're getting better. Some flesh wound," Harm grinned.

"Yeah, well, it seemed like it was at the time."

"Adrenaline will do that to you."

"I guess so." Webb studied Rabb's face, letting his eyes roam over the handsome features. Then realizing what he was doing, he dropped his gaze to the head of his cane, rubbing the handle with his fingertips. "You've never been here before," he said, at a loss for anything more intelligent to say.

"I was here a couple of days ago. We fed your fish when we thought you were dead."

"We?"

"Bud and I came by. The manager of the complex let us in."

Webb's eyes narrowed. "Did you let Roberts touch anything?"

"He played Chopsticks."

Clayton's head swivelled towards his piano. "It sounded okay a few minutes ago. Roberts must not have done any permanent damage to it."

"It sounded better than okay," Harm leaned forward. "I heard you playing right before I knocked. I stood outside and listened for a bit. You were fantastic."

Clay was genuinely touched by the compliment. "Why, thank you, Harm. I'm not home long enough to play as much as I'd like. Until lately, that is."

"I'm sure you'll make good use of your time."

"You just stop by to make small talk, Rabb?" he asked gruffly, pleased though he was by the praise coming from this man.

"No," Harm smiled self-consciously. He turned the hat in his hands over a few times. After a moment, he said, "It's strange. I thought you were dead. Now you're not. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."

Clayton leaned back in his chair, changing the angle of how he sat, and draped an arm over the back. "Relieved would be nice. Happy, maybe?"

Grinning, Harm nodded, "Relieved and happy are good for starters. You scared me, Clay. I thought I'd lost a friend. I hate that feeling."

Taking a moment to think, Webb finally replied honestly, "I'm not sure what to say."

"Just promise me that you'll be careful the next time you're out in the field."

"I'm always careful."

"Promise."

"I promise! For Pete's sake, Harm, what's with you today?"

Rabb shrugged. "Just feeling a little unsettled is all." He hesitated, and then said in a rush, "You really scared me, Clay."

Suddenly that electrical charge was back crackling between them, pulling them together, and pushing them apart. Webb had felt it several times over the past few months, and each time was totally unprepared for how to deal with it.

Just like those other times, he felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. Struggling to regain control, he cast about for something to say, something that would lead Harm to explain exactly what he was thinking, or, more importantly, how he felt about him, about them. He came up with, "What's really wrong, Harm?" Then he winced inwardly, because his inner critic told him that sounded like it had given away more than he had intended.

Harm didn't seem to notice.

"I think," he paused, and then tried again. "That is, I, uh, broke up with Jordan."

"Your girlfriend?" He felt like adding, the one I didn't know you had until recently?

"Yeah. She's a brave lady, but that business with Palmer really upset her. And, we'd been having problems for a while. Someone kept coming between us."

"Oh?" Clayton licked his dry lips. "She found someone else?"

"No, I did. Someone who was right under my nose for the last few years."

"Mac?" (shut up shut up shut up don't give him ideas)

Harm blinked in surprise and sat up straighter.

"Mac? No. Why would you think that it's Mac?"

"Never mind."

"Clay, no. It's not Mac. I love her. She's my best friend, but I'm not in love with her."

"Oh?" Clayton quirked an eyebrow at him, and expressed his doubt.

Sheepishly, Harm said, "I'll admit I might have been infatuated with her for awhile, quite a while, to be honest, but I got over it."

"Because of Jordan?" Clay kept his voice neutral.

"Partly, or so I thought at the time."

Silence fell between them.

Sighing, because it looked like Harm wasn't going to say what Clay wanted to hear, and because he lacked the courage to say it himself, he said instead, "I need some fresh air. I'm going to take a walk."

"You okay to do that?" Harm glanced down at Clay's right leg where he'd been shot, and the cane he was using to lever himself out of the low chair.

"Yeah, a short walk won't hurt. You coming?"

Harm jumped to his feet at the invitation, indicating how tightly strung he was at that moment.

#

They walked side by side in silence at a pace that was easy for Clayton to sustain.

"It's a beautiful day," Harm said finally.

"Yes. Yes, it is." Clay agreed.

More silence.

Then: "There's a park about two blocks from here. We can go there, if you like." He caught Harm looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Harm glanced away guiltily. "Sure," he mumbled.

By the time they reached the park, Clayton was ready to sit down. His leg was throbbing, this much exercise being more than his mending wound would allow for one afternoon. They found a bench under the shade of an oak tree and sat.

Two women pushed strollers and chatted animatedly as they passed by on the footpath. A cyclist skimmed by a moment later, wearing a helmet and knee and elbow pads, handling his bike expertly. Lost in his thoughts, his expression was intense. He could have been imagining he was riding in the Tour de France. Farther away several teenagers tossed a Frisbee over the head of a golden retriever that leapt high in the air to snatch it in his jaws. The world revolved normally.

Clay stretched his sore leg out before him, and leaned forward, pressing his palm over the persistent ache.

"You okay?" Harm looked at him with concern.

"Maybe this wasn't such a great idea," Webb admitted. "But, dammit, I can only stay indoors for so long and then I go nuts."

Smiling, Harm nodded. "I'm the same way. Unless it's raining battleships, of course."

Glancing over at him, Clayton matched his smile. "Of course. Who'd want to go out then?"

"But walking in a gentler rain can be nice."

"Absolutely."

They simply locked eyes for a long moment, nearly achieving a state of serenity for the first time that day.

Casting about for another topic of conversation, Harm asked, "So you're off work for a while?"

Clayton shrugged. "I might go in to the office in a few days and get caught up with paperwork. The doctor advised me not to, but the thought of falling so far behind…" he trailed off.

"I can understand that. Maybe there's something you can take home to work on?"

Giving him a patient smile, Clayton said, "Most of what I do is classified. The files can't be removed from the building."

There was that sheepish grin again. Clay decided he was quite fond of it.

"Of course. I should have realized."

Quite naturally, and definitely without thinking, Clay reached over and clasped Harm's wrist in a gesture to tell him it was okay that he hadn't thought of that before speaking. When he became aware of what he was doing, he released his grip, but didn't immediately take his hand away. He let it hover there a scant inch above the warmth emanating from the skin below it. Then he started to lift it.

Harm moved quickly. He ended up with Clay's fingers intertwined with his own, holding his hand on the bench between them.

They both looked down at where they were joined.

"Harm," Clayton began, his gaze fixed on the fine, nearly invisible hairs on the back of Harm's hand. "Who came between you and Jordan?"

His reflexive swallow softly audible, Harm replied, "You did, Clay. It was you."

Slowly raising his eyes until they met the blue ones that stared unblinkingly at him with a trace of fear lurking behind them, Clay rubbed his thumb across the back of Harm's knuckles. He said, "I'm glad it was me."

Harm tightened his grip on Clayton's fingers.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me."

Clay squeezed back. "I think maybe I do."

~ end ~