Revelations

A.J. finally took matters into his own hands. Fed up with the bureaucracy of the CIA, he called a halt to the debriefing, hustled Tim Fawkes and Clayton Webb out of the office, down the stairs, and out of the building. He led them to the rental car, ordered them to get into it, and drove towards the outskirts of Rome.

"Second time in a year that I've been kidnapped," Tim commented dryly. "I do believe this is the more pleasant of the two experiences. Where are you taking us, A.J.?"

Grinning at his old friend, A.J. said, "I know of a little café in a village just outside Rome. Perfect place to unwind and get reacquainted."

"Sounds great." Tim settled back against the seat and proceeded to enjoy the drive. He wore a huge smile on his face. He had a taste of his freedom and he was savouring it.

Glancing in the rear view mirror, A.J. watched Clayton. The agent was very quiet. Usually by now he would have had something to say, generally sarcastic. He hadn't said a word since he told A.J. to shoot the big guy with the glasses, when they rescued Tim from the terrorists in the piazza. Then he had put a bullet between the eyes of their leader, Teresa Marcello.

"You okay, Clayton?" he asked.

Tim also glanced into the back seat.

Webb stared out the side window at the passing scenery. Traffic was thinning out, as they got closer to the edge of the city, and the architecture of the buildings was becoming quainter, looking less like it belonged in a world class city, and more like a smaller town.

Clayton roused himself. "Yes, fine. I'm fine."

Tim shot a puzzled look towards A.J.

Wondering if he should be revealing what he was about to say, A.J. decided that it would be for the best. Tim was Clay's mentor and deserved to know.

"Teresa Marcello was Clay's first kill."

Fawkes twisted in the seat so he could see his friend better. "Damn, Clayton. I should have realized."

"I shot her. She died. Let's move on, shall we?"

Chegwidden and Fawkes traded looks. Clay was not handling the incident at all. He was ignoring it. A.J. made up his mind to get him to deal with it whether he liked it or not.


They arrived at the village within the hour. A.J. was pleased to that the café was still there looking exactly as he remembered it. The owner, a man in his sixties, hurried out to greet them, chattering rapidly in Italian. A.J. noticed that Clayton did not object this time to not being able to understand the conversation, as he did not speak the language. When the café owner seated them at an outdoor table, took their orders and vanished inside, Clayton appeared content to sit back and let Tim and A.J. get caught up.

A.J. had other ideas.

"It was Webb's idea to rescue you, Tim. He's the one who got me over here."

"So I gathered. Several of our European Station Chiefs were not pleased that you worked without authorization, son."

"Someone had to do something. I spent a lot of time back in the States trying to convince the Company to attempt a rescue. When they wouldn't do it, I did."

Reaching across the table, Tim clasped Webb's hand. "And I am grateful, Clay. Thank you."

Clay smiled without restraint, and gripped Tim's hand tighter. "I'm just glad you're here now."

Tim smiled and released him. "So am I."

"And you wouldn't be if Clayton wasn't such a good shot. You held out on me, Webb. You let me believe you couldn't shoot the broad side of a battleship."

Webb grimaced. "I'd rather shoot a ship."

"So would we all, Clay, but sometimes it's necessary."

Gazing fondly at Tim, Clay agreed, "It certainly was this time, and I'd do it again if it meant freeing you."

Fawkes laughed and pounded his former student on the arm.

"I'd gladly have you watching my back any time, Clayton."

"And so would I," A.J. told Webb sincerely. The younger man had impressed the hell out of him on this trip.

Clayton looked startled but pleased at the praise, and took a drink of his wine.

Still grinning from the sheer delight of freedom, Tim said, "Well, A.J. What have you been up to since we last met? You're an Admiral now, I hear."

Knowing that Tim was joking, A.J. said, "I'm sure there's not much you don't know about, you old spook."

While the two old friends got caught up with each other's lives, Clayton listened without speaking. Once or twice, A.J. caught him staring at him. Webb's expression puzzled him. It was as if he was fascinated by whatever A.J. was saying. Yet when the Admiral looked at him directly, Webb's eyes slid away to settle on something in the distance or his meal. He knew Tim had noticed, too, but when A.J. tried to catch his eye, Tim started a new story about the old days. A.J. had no choice but to let the matter slide, but he was not going to let it drop completely. He would find out sooner or later.


They got back to the hotel rather late. Tomorrow they would fly home.

Webb made himself scarce, telling them he was going for a walk. A.J. made a mental note to call Clayton's room later to see if he had returned. If not, he would go looking for him.

Turning to Tim, he asked, "Want to go inside for a drink?"

"Just one. I want to keep my head on straight until I get the hell out of this country."

A.J. clapped him on the shoulder. "I couldn't agree more."

They found a table and settled in with their drinks.

"So, what was that all about with Webb this afternoon?"

"All what?" Tim sipped at his bourbon, not meeting A.J.'s eyes.

"There was something going on with him, and you know it. Tell me, Tim."

"You're not my commanding officer, A.J., and you never were, so that tone is not going to work on me." He smiled to show that he wasn't angry. When A.J. continued to stare pointedly, he sighed. "Drop it. Please. It's up to Clay to talk about, not me. And that's not saying there is anything to talk about."

"Okay." A.J. raised his hands off the table in surrender. "It's dropped."

But, he thought, he wanted to get to know Clayton Webb better, to get answers to all the questions he had about him. The man was an enigma to him, but he did know that Webb was decent, and a man who could be counted on when needed. Without that knowledge he wasn't sure he would even bother. Webb was also a pain in the ass when he wanted to be.


Down the street in another bar, Clayton sipped at his drink. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed heavily. This was the first time he'd had to himself all day, and here he was replaying the day's events, and more disconcertingly, his head was filled with thoughts of A.J. Chegwidden.

He did not need or want to be attracted to the man. It would just complicate his life too much. Not that the JAG, an ex-SEAL, and all around man's man, would ever consider a sexual relationship with another male. He was sure of that much.

He was also sure that Tim recognized what was going on with him. Tim was one of the few people who knew him well enough to read him with a look.

And what about David, who was back home waiting for him to return? It wasn't fair to him that Clay was becoming interested in someone else. He loved David. They had a good thing together, and he did not want to jeopardize that.

Yet the attraction he felt towards A.J. was gaining strength the longer he knew him. It had started last year sometime, he wasn't sure of the exact date. He simply realized one day, in a way he hadn't before, that the Admiral was a virile, good-looking man and that he wished to get to know him better. Spending all this time together only reinforced the fascination.

No, he decided, downing the remainder of his drink in one gulp, he had to get over this infatuation with A.J. He was committed to David and their relationship. That's where his love and loyalties were established, and that's where they would stay.


He crossed the lobby of the hotel just as Webb entered through the main doors. The agent looked tired, but no worse for the wear than he had when he parted from them earlier.

Webb saw him and changed direction to approach. A.J. waited for him to get closer.

"Clayton."

"A.J." Webb wore a half smile.

"How are you?"

His smile fading, Webb said, in a slightly annoyed tone, "I'm fine. I'm not fragile, A.J."

Glancing around, Chegwidden saw that there were several people checking in at the desk; too many for a private conversation where they were standing.

"C'mon." He led Clayton to the armchairs near the front windows away from the general traffic of the lobby.

Webb sat down, settling deep into the protective wings of a chair. His eyes slid closed.

Keeping his voice low, A.J. said, "You took a human life today, Clayton."

"She deserved it."

"True, but this is not something you can do and then forget about. You need to deal with it. It looks to me like you aren't handling it as well as you could."

Clayton's eyes slowly opened. Before he could speak, A.J. said, "This afternoon you retreated into yourself. You barely spoke to us."

"How long has it been since you and Tim got together?"

The seeming non sequitur threw A.J. "Years. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I just thought that the two of you might want to visit, to get caught up."

"And we did, but...what the hell was that weird look you were giving me?"

Without giving anything away, Webb said, "I wasn't aware I was looking at you any differently than usual."

"Well, I don't know what it was, but you were a million miles away."

"Oh." Webb turned his attention to the fabric of the chair's arm, running his manicured nails along the weave. "I was just thinking about someone, a friend of mine. Wondering how things were back home. That's all. I must have spaced out and you got caught in it."

Sounded reasonable. A.J. decided to indulge his curiosity about something else. "Is this someone special to you? I'm only asking because Rabb and McKenzie have told me that they've seen you from time to time with quite a few different women. You must have an active social life."

Looking amused, Webb replied, "Those women were part of my cover at the time."

Laughing outright, A.J. snorted, "I'll just bet they were your...cover."

Webb smiled. "It's not what you think."

"Uh huh. So is there someone back home waiting for you?"

Clayton hesitated, then: "Yes."

"Does she have blonde hair?"

Webb got an odd look on his face. "Dark brown."

"Funny, I would have thought you to go for blondes."

"Why are you so interested in my social life? Jealous?"

"I think you mean to ask if I'm envious, and the answer is no, I'm not. I do very well in that area."

Webb wore that mysterious half smile again. It was beginning to irritate A.J. He glowered at the younger man.

"So you're just curious?" Clayton asked.

"Webb, I can't figure you out. Just when I think I understand how your mind works, you go and do something unexpected."

"Admiral, I'm really not that complex." His expression changed again, and A.J. decided he had no idea what Webb was thinking now.

"Yeah. Right."

Webb smiled.

A.J. wanted to curse him out. Instead, he asked, "You going up to your room now, or are you going for another walk?"

"I just want to get some sleep and go home."

"So, are you going to call your girlfriend, let her know when you'll be home?"

Webb stifled a laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I must be more tired than I thought," he said more to himself than to Chegwidden. "It's nothing, and, yes, I was thinking about making that phone call."

"Good. Do that. It'll help get your head on straight."

"My head is on as straight as it's going to get, A.J., but thank you for your concern."

A.J. nodded, satisfied that Clayton was going to be all right.


He almost made it to his room. This time it was Tim Fawkes who intercepted him when he stepped off the elevator.

"Hello, Tim."

His mentor smiled broadly. "I just wanted to thank you for getting me a room here at the hotel. Looks like we're on the same floor."

"You're welcome, Tim."

"Do you have a minute to talk?"

Clayton had a feeling he knew what the subject of this conversation was going to be. He nodded, knowing it would be useless to try to avoid it. One way or another Tim would make certain they talked.

"Let's go to my room."

He let Tim into the room and closed the door behind him.

"I'd offer you something to drink, but I want to make a phone call soon."

"Calling David? You two are still together, I hope?"

Clayton relaxed at the mention of his lover's name. He smiled unreservedly. "Yes. It's David I need to call. Maybe I can catch him before he leaves for work."

Tim sat on the chair in front of the desk. "I won't keep you. Just thought we could chat a minute or two."

Clayton took his jacket off, hung it on the back of a chair, and sat on the end of the bed.

"Go ahead."

Tim spoke in an amiable tone. "This isn't an inquisition, Clayton. We haven't seen each other in over a year. I'm only trying to get reacquainted with you. Find out how you are, what you've been up to, what the hell you're thinking?"

Clayton had been looking down at his hands, but jerked his head up at the change in Tim's voice.

"About what?"

"I saw the way you were looking at A.J. today. Don't go there, Clay. First of all, he'd never allow it. Secondly, there's David to think about."

"I already had this argument with myself, Tim. That's why I left you downstairs when we got to the hotel. I needed to think. You know I would never do anything to betray Davey."

"But you do feel something for A.J.?"

"Maybe."

"Clayton," Tim said warningly.

"I'm not being coy, Tim. Maybe I am attracted to him. It's something I'm still trying to work out in my head."

"Hmm. I'll bet you have most of it already figured out, but I know you won't hurt David."

"Never."

"Good." Tim stood up and moved towards the door. "It's getting late. We both better get some sleep. It'll be a long plane ride home tomorrow. Thank you for having some clothes and supplies sent over for me. You think of everything."

"Yes, I do."

Tim grinned and opened his arms wide, and Clayton moved into them. Sharing a hug felt good. Clay needed the human contact.

"I'm glad you're safe, Tim."

Fawkes tightened his arms, they slapped each other on the back, and then he released Webb.

"Good night," he said.

"Sleep well."

"Say hello to David for me."

"I will."

"See you in the morning for breakfast?"

"You're buying."

"You got it."

After Tim was gone Clayton went directly to the phone and placed his call.

He smiled at the sound of the sleepy hello on the other end.

"Hi, love. Did I wake you?"

"If you were here right now you would be severely beaten about the head with a feather pillow," his boyfriend told him.

Clayton pulled off his shoes, and then lay back on the bed against the pillows, "I miss you."

"That's no reason to wake me up...God, an hour before the alarm will go off. Clayton! That's just mean." David didn't sound too upset, so Webb wasn't worried. There was a breathy sigh, and then David said, "I miss you, too. What's wrong?"

"What makes you think anything's wrong?"

"I can hear it in your voice."

"I've barely said anything to you yet."

"Doesn't matter. I can tell. Give. What's wrong?"

"Nothing I can talk about..."

"That's always your excuse. If something has happened, talk to me. You can tell me. You know I won't say anything to anyone else."

"I know."

"Well?"

Webb hesitated. "There was a shooting..."

"Clay! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I...I shot someone," he faltered. "A woman."

"Clayton? Tell me."

"She's dead."

"Baby, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"I will be. I don't want to talk about it right now. When I get home?"

David sighed in his ear. "Okay. But you will talk to me."

"Promise."

"Okay."

Clayton's hand drifted to his crotch. "What are you wearing?"

He grinned at the bark of laughter from the other end. "You only called so we can have phone sex?" David asked.

"It's not the only reason, but it's in the top two." He rubbed his hand over the growing bulge in his pants. "So, what are you wearing?"

"What do you think? You know I always sleep in the buff."

"I know that when I'm away you sleep in my boxers and t shirt."

There was a pause while David assimilated that. "How did you know?"

"I got home early one day. You were still sleeping."

"And you let me sleep rather than climb into bed and have your way with me?"

"It was very early. Didn't want to disturb you. I was too keyed up to sleep that time, so I went downstairs to read until I heard you get up."

"You're too good to me."

"Too good for you, is more like it," Clayton teased.

"Yeah," David said fondly, "but I am spoiled rotten by my boyfriend."

"Take off the t shirt, Davey."

"You have a one track mind."

"Yes. Take off the t shirt."

He heard something, some indistinct sounds, and guessed that David was doing as directed.

"Is it off?"

"Yes. I'm lying here under the comforter wearing nothing but your light blue boxers and a smile."

"Run your hand over your chest."

"Clay, this is silly." David had always been endearingly shy about things like this, preferring to do the act rather than talk about it. Even when Clay did the talking David tended to blush.

It was funny. He'd seen David at work in the emergency room of the hospital where he'd interned. He was all authority, tough, no-nonsense, bossy even. In private practice he was wonderful with his patients, and firm when he needed to be. Yet, with Clayton he was almost submissive. He liked being taken care of, and preferred that Clay make most of the decisions in their lives.

"Do it for me, Davey. Play with your nipples. You know how you like that."

David's breathing quickened slightly.

"Take one and roll it between your thumb and forefinger." While he spoke, Clayton worked the buttons on his sport shirt through the holes. He had on a lot more clothing than his lover and needed to catch up. He paused to slide his fingers over his own chest, his eyes fluttering closed as he imagined David lying in bed doing the same thing.

David moaned quietly. It didn't take much. He was super sensitive.

Webb parted the sides of his shirt, and pulled on his own nipples. He felt the jolt go straight to his groin.

"Clay? Are you doing it, too?" David had heard the small gasp.

"Yeah." He rested the receiver on the pillow next to his ear and quickly opened his pants. "Keep going, Davey."

Clayton had the zipper down now, and reached inside the cotton material of his shorts to free his cock. It swelled into his hand, hot and already leaking. It didn't take much for him, either, when he was away from home. He wanted so badly to be in bed with his lover, to touch him, and just hold him, but David was thousands of miles away. This was the next best thing. At least they could hear each other.

"Where are your hands, David? Are they on your cock?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Are mine there, too?"

"Uh huhh."

"I'm stroking you. My thumb is running up the underside along the vein, just the way you like it. You always wiggle your hips when I touch you there, David. Are you wiggling now?"

A low moan was his answer. Clayton smiled, and then thrust reflexively into his own touch. The phone slid down off his shoulder. He took advantage of the break to push his pants down past his hips. Arching off the bed, he slid the trousers and boxers down his legs and kicked them off, and pulled off his socks as well. Then he sat up and shed the shirt. The cool breeze from the air conditioner touched his bared skin making him shiver.

Grabbing the phone, he asked, "David? Are you still there?"

"I'm here. Did you just strip for me, Clay?"

"You know me so well," he whispered, pleased at the question.

"Get under the covers, baby. That way when you come and you fall asleep, you won't get cold."

He did as he was told. "Yes, dear."

"Shut up," David said affectionately. Clay could hear the grin in his voice.

"Are you naked, too?"

"Yes."

Clay wanted to get them both back in the mood. "Slide your fingers down your belly. Can you feel the heat under your fingertips, and the silk of your skin? You have the softest skin on your thighs, Davey. Take your cock in hand and just hold it. Let it warm up in your palm. I want you to think about how it feels when I put my mouth on you. You like that, don't you? You like it when I suck you."

A low groan was his answer.

He pressed his head deeper into the pillow. David's wordless response made his cock twitch in his hand.

"Now stroke yourself. Up to the head, rub your thumb over the crown..."

"Clay, I want..." he stopped, his shyness stopping him from saying it.

"What do you want, Davey? Tell me."

"I want...if I think hard about it, I can feel your tongue on me, lapping it up."

Clay's breathing speeded up. "I always loved the way you taste, Davey."

"Do I need salt?" It was a little joke between them. The first time he'd sucked him, David wanted to know what he tasted like. Clay had kissed him so he could taste, too. David had declared that he needed salt.

"Maybe a little, but you have more than enough pepper for both of us." He'd never told him that before.

"That's cute."

"You're cute, but I mean it. You look so hot and you have so much energy. I have trouble keeping up with you sometimes."

There was a silence on the other end. "I'm really hard, Clay. I need to come. Help me?"

"Okay. Tighten your fist around your shaft and stroke it hard and fast. Are you with me, Davey?" Clayton was still doing everything he told his lover to do, and he was getting close, too. "Are your balls getting hot? Mine are. Spread your legs, give them room."

Clayton raised his knees, flipped the covers aside, and spread his own legs wide. The heat between his thighs and the fact that every ounce of blood in his body was rushing to his cock, made it difficult to think. He pumped himself with his fist. Sweat had sprung up on his chest and abdomen, and trickled down his neck. His hand was getting slippery with it and his pre-ejaculate. He grunted as his balls tightened and lifted.

Images swam before his closed eyelids. Clay saw David lying in their bed at home, his fist clamped around his cock, and straining into the makeshift channel. The image changed. He saw A.J. Chegwidden naked and sprawled on his bed, stroking his own cock. He saw himself lying beside A.J. and being taken into the other man's arms, being covered by A.J.'s large, gorgeous body, heaving and thrusting, his cock buried deep inside Clay.

"Clay! I'm... ohhh, Clay!"

David's cry was all he needed. Clayton's seed rocketed up his shaft. He yelled as it shot out over his hand and onto his belly and chest. It took him a few moments to come back down. He let his legs flop back to the mattress while he waited for his breathing to get back under control. Then he realized the phone had fallen away again. He reached around for it with a shaky hand, and replaced it between his shoulder and ear.

"Clay?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish you were here."

"I do, too."

"I heard you come. It sounded like a ball breaker."

"It was good. Would have been better if I was there with you." God. Now he was lying to David. Only he wasn't. He did want to be with his boyfriend, but it was the fantasy of A.J. that had sent him into ecstasy.

"Do the people you work with know what a softy you really are?" David sounded amused but sleepy.

"It's a figment of your imagination." He kept his voice light, hoping that Davey was too tired to pick up on the confusion he felt.

"Right. Just like the way you take care of me is also my imagination."

"Uh huh."

"You're deluded."

"Just a man in love."

"I love you, too."

Yawning, Clayton glanced at the bedside clock. The digital readout glowed red in the dark. "You still have time to get some more sleep before you need to get up for work."

"Are you coming home soon?"

"I'll be there tomorrow. Will you greet me at the door wearing nothing but plastic wrap and with a rose clenched in your teeth?"

Normal. Keep it normal. Davey would expect some comment like that.

David snorted. "Don't make me laugh. I want to go back to sleep."

"I was serious." In a way, he was.

"G'night, Clay."

"See you tomorrow when you get home from the clinic." But the connection had already been closed. He replaced the phone in its cradle. Then he wiped himself off with some tissues, dropped them in the small waste container beside the bed, pulled the covers up to his neck, and tried to fall asleep.

All he could do was agonize over what had just happened.


David Chase was ecstatic to see his partner home safe and sound. He dropped his keys on the table near the door of his apartment, and hurried across the living room to greet Clayton with an enthusiastic hug, which turned into a passionate kiss. When they drew apart, David said, "I'm so happy to see you. What a surprise! I was planning to go to the townhouse and dig you out of bed. You're always so exhausted when you come back from overseas or wherever it is that you go." He petted Clay's cheek with gentle fingertips.

Capturing one of the fingers, Webb brought it to his mouth and drew it inside, sucking on it, licking him from knuckle to tip.

His eyes widening, David smiled broadly. "You devil. I was thinking about you every minute that you were gone. Now that you're here, I'm supposed to seduce you."

Clayton removed the finger and kissed the palm of David's hand. "You can have your turn next time. Today, you're mine."

"I've got news for you, fella. I'm always yours."

Walking backwards, Clayton pulled David towards the bedroom.


"Mmm. Definitely not tired this time, honey." David writhed with pleasure under Clayton's talented hands. He closed his eyes and simply revelled in the sensation of being made love to by the man he adored.

Clayton dropped feathery kisses on the corner of David's mouth, trailing more down his neck and across his collarbone. He kissed and sucked his way down the centre of David's chest, pulling on a nipple with his lips. David's hands knotted in the sheets. Clay knew exactly what to do and where to do it. When Clayton moved below his belly, his breath tickling the tip of his straining erection, then took the organ into his mouth, David was certain he was going into overload.

Clay made it last a long time, but finally David could not hold back. He came in the warm haven of Clay's willing mouth, spurting until he was empty. Then his lover slid up his body.

Panting, sweating, and completely wrung dry, David opened his eyes. He saw Clayton leaning over him. There was love in his eyes, love with something else edging it out. Something disquieting.

"What's wrong, Clay?" he asked, disturbed by the expression in the hazel eyes.

"Nothing's wrong." He smiled. Clay smiled. That was something he seldom did, especially lately. Then he pulled David closer.

"You didn't come." David was still unsettled.

They both looked down the length of their bodies. Clayton's erection lay between them. His eyelashes flickered up.

"You do it for me, Davey. Please?" The strange expression was turning into something close to desperation. David didn't like it, not at all. It was more than the look in Clay's eyes. It was a feeling he had deep down in his bones that there was something very wrong.

However, he could deny Clayton nothing. He took him in his hand and stroked him hard the way he liked it, bringing him off in a matter of minutes. Clay sighed against David's shoulder. His lips brushed the skin there.

Then he rolled out of bed, returning a moment later with a damp cloth in his hand. He sat on the side of the bed and tenderly wiped the residue of his orgasm off David's body and hand.

When he raised his eyes, meeting David's, the weird expression was still there but less obvious now.

Reaching for David, he stroked the side of his face then leaned down for another kiss. David gave it to him readily.

Clay seemed to want to say something, but it wouldn't emerge. He looked troubled.

"Davey...

Hurrying to cut him off, in case he was going to say something that they both would regret, something that would hurt, David patted the mattress beside him. "Come to bed."

As they settled in for the night, David realized something else, or possibly someone, had entered their relationship. Until he knew for sure, he wouldn't rest easy.


Two weeks later:

"David, David... Slow down. What's your hurry?" Clayton murmured.

Fingers grasping at Clayton's shirt, and tugging it free of his pants, stole underneath, stroking long expanses of skin. David kissed the corner of his lover's mouth, his eyes, his cheeks; any spot his lips could reach. Frantic kisses, giving love, demanding love, and each one filled with sorrow.

Returning as many kisses as he could catch, Clayton wound his arms around David's neck. His lover's fever was contagious. His hips moved forward, and he felt his and David's mutual need manifesting in rock hard arousal. Slipping his hand down between their bodies, Clayton stroked David through the front of his black suit pants. He wanted more. The zipper rasped down, and Clayton snaked his hand inside the pants, under the cotton briefs, where he captured the heat.

David moaned in his ear, "Please, Clay."

"Please what, Davey?" Clayton asked, rubbing his palm up and down the silky flesh.

"Please... I need...I need you, Clay. Please."

Clayton pulled his head back so he could see David's face. What he saw was pain and sorrow mixed with desire and something else he couldn't describe. All he knew was it scared and inflamed him, and it mirrored the confusion within his own soul. He held the sides of David's head between both hands and kissed him until they were both gasping for breath.

David pulled out of his arms, his hands sliding down to take one of Clayton's, leading him to the bed. They undressed each other, haste making them ungainly. When they were naked, they met in a clinging embrace again and tumbled together onto the bed. Clayton fell on top of David, pinning him to the mattress. He tried to roll to the side but David held him in place, moving his hips up and down, grinding against him.

Too far gone for thinking, Clayton mindlessly rubbed back. His hand traveled down David's chest, thumb flicking against a nipple that caused his lover to groan loudly and thrash harder. His erection grazed David's belly. Clay abandoned the nub to slide downwards, seeking his ultimate goal. He found it pressing into his thigh, and shifting just...like... that, he had David's swollen member nestled within the heat of his palm. His thumb swept over the top, gathering leaking fluid, lubricating on the downturn. He stroked David while he humped against him, taking them higher and higher. David arched his back, pressing deeper into Clayton's grip, the move pushing them both to the brink...

"No!"

David's cry startled Clayton. He was so close, and certain he couldn't stop.

"Please, Clay!"

Struggling to regain control, Clayton took his hand away.

"What is it?"

"I want you inside me. Please, Clayton?"

Those beautiful brown eyes pleaded with him silently.

"This is going to be quick," he warned. There was nothing he could deny David, and especially not this. It was the wildly unsettled look that bothered him, and the timing. They were both feverish with need.

He got up on his knees between David's sprawled legs.

"Hurry, Clay. Please, hurry. I love you, Clay. I love you."

Clayton began to prepare David for the intrusion, but his lover stopped him again.

"It's okay. I'm ready. Just love me, Clay."

"I do love you and I don't want to hurt you."

"Just fuck me!"

The outburst took him by surprise. What had happened to his patient, adoring lover?

David's manner changed again. "I want you to make love to me now," he pleaded again.

Clay began to ease inside him, his cock swollen and incredibly sensitive to the walls surrounding it. He wanted to go slowly, to make it last if he could. David had other ideas. He moved suddenly, impaling himself on the shaft.

It only took two long strokes and Clayton finally, thankfully, reached the point of no return. David got there just before him.

He was still trembling when Clayton came down. Lifting his head to regard the chest heaving under him, Clay looked up further into chocolate brown eyes. David looked back. The sadness was still there.

Clay kissed him softly. He pulled out of him, and then lay down beside him, his head resting on the same pillow as his lover's.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" David stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make the pain go away." He watched as a single tear leaked out of the corner of David's right eye, running down his cheek. Clayton stared at it for a moment before brushing it away on the tip of his finger. It was the first evidence that David would finally let go and properly give vent to his feelings. David hadn't cried yet that he had seen, and they'd been together almost constantly in the past three days.

"You did." David turned to look at him, his misery and torment painfully evident. "You did, Clay. For a little while."

Accepting the lie, and gathering him close into his arms, Clayton pressed a kiss against David's cheek tasting salt from the tear.

"It might not seem like it, but it will get better."

"Right now it feels like my world is in a million pieces. How am I going to go on without Michael?"

"You will go on, and I'll be here with you. Every step of the way."

Suddenly David rolled over so that he was snug up against Clayton's body, his hands clutching as though seeking rescue. Obligingly, Clayton wrapped his arms around him and held him close, his chin resting on top of the other's head.

"You've always been the strong one, Clay. Thank you for getting me through Michael's funeral. I wouldn't have made it without you."

"Shh. I'll always be wherever you need me, you know that."

"Yeah, I know."

It could have been his imagination, but Clayton thought he heard the tiniest bit of doubt in David's voice. When he looked more closely, David managed a smile and Clay decided he had heard wrongly.


David lay awake listening to Clay breathe, watching him sleep, and waiting. Finally his lover stirred and rolled onto his back, his arms falling open, and allowing David to slip easily out of the embrace. He waited another minute or two then, certain that Clay was not going to wake up, he got out of bed. He dressed quickly, and quietly. Searching through the pocket of Clay's jacket, he found the cell phone he knew would be there, and placed it on the nightstand next to the lamp. Then he stood by the bed, gazing down at the man who thought he loved him. Clayton sprawled without him there, his arms and legs claiming the entire bed.

"You always were the strong one, Clay," he whispered. "I wish I had half your strength."

He walked out of the bedroom, went downstairs, and left the townhouse.


He dreamed that a church bell was chiming. It rang over and over until it woke him up. That was when his subconscious finally clued him in that it was the phone that was ringing. Clayton reached out from under the blankets for the bedside phone, and then woke up further to realize the sound was coming from his cell phone which sat next to the other. He blinked confusedly before activating it.

"Webb."

"Clayton Webb?" a strange voice asked.

"Who is this and how did you get my number?" He was wide-awake now. No one he did not know had his cell phone number. He was sure of it.

"Mister Webb, this is Officer William Ogden. I'm with the State Highway Patrol."

"Yes?"

"Mister Webb, your name and number were found at the scene."

"What scene?" Fear, nameless, boundless fear gripped him, turning his insides to water as he looked at the empty bed beside him. His cell phone had been out when he distinctly remember leaving it in the pocket of his suit jacket. Without being told, he knew this odd call in the middle of the night had something to do with David.

"There's been an accident, sir, a car accident. There was no other identification on..."

Clayton stopped listening.

David.

"Mister Webb? Are you all right?" The officer's concern pierced the thick fog surrounding his brain.

No. He was not all right. Not now, not ever.

"Is he dead?" he asked dully.

"I'm sorry, sir. The victim died instantly. We need you to come down to the morgue to identify the body."

Clayton managed to absorb and retain the directions the officer gave him, and ended the conversation with the promise that he would meet him at the morgue as soon as possible. He sat cross-legged in bed resting his head in his hands for a moment before he got up and started dressing.


It was a nightmare, a living, recurring, no, an *unending*, nightmare. Just three nights ago he and David had been to this same facility to identify the body of David's son, Michael. Now here he was again. Only this time he was standing in the cold, stainless steel room waiting for a drawer to be opened as if David was a kitchen utensil.

This time he was alone.

He fixed his stare on the wall of compartments and wondered how many there were. He hadn't been able to count them the other night, being too busy keeping David from collapsing at the sight of his fourteen-year-old son lying lifeless before them.

He could tell without looking this time when David was being presented, having heard the nearly imperceptible whisper of the drawer being pulled out. Shouldn't they oil those things so that the bereaved couldn't hear them at all?

Finally he gave in and lowered his gaze so that it fell on his lover's still face.

He stared without feeling anything. No grief, no anger, nothing. He wondered why not.

He nodded.

"His name is David Allen Chase," he told Officer Ogden, who stood to the side at a respectful distance.

The technician or whatever he was, who had not uttered a word since Clayton's arrival in his domain, pulled the white sheet over David's face, and slid the drawer back into the wall. Clayton watched until his lover was out of sight, and then turned and walked out.

He knew the rest of the procedure by heart.


It was getting so that whenever his cell phone rang, Clayton tensed up. Ever since that phone call about David two days ago...

This was now the seventh ring.

He answered the call even if it was only to stop the incessant ringing, even if he wasn't interested in talking to anyone right now.

"Webb," he said impatiently, shrugging into his suit jacket.

"Clayton, it's A.J. We have a situation here and I'd like you to sit in on the briefing."

"Let me know when."

"ASAP," came the succinct reply.

"Well, that would be later this afternoon. Much later. Actually, tomorrow would be better." He struggled with his tie one-handed, finally placing the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could fix it properly while standing in front of the mirror.

"SecNav wants in on this one. He's on some kind of hands-on kick, and he's on his way." There were voices in the background. "He's here now, Webb."

"I can't make it today, A.J."

"I don't want to hear your excuses. Get your ass over here."

Chegwidden hung up.

Letting the phone drop into his hand, Clayton frowned at the instrument. Studying his reflection, he saw a very tired, very distracted man trying to put his tie on, and it just wasn't working. He tossed the phone onto his bed, took the jacket off, and started again.


"He should be here any minute." A.J. tried to placate the officious little man who was getting impatient. God knew A.J. wasn't about to make excuses for Webb, but Clayton was his friend, and a good man. It wasn't fair for SecNav to make disparaging remarks about Webb. That was his job. On that note, he swore he'd break Clayton in two if he didn't show up in the next ten seconds.

They waited.

And waited.

A.J. placed another call to Webb's cell phone and was told the customer was not in range.

The Secretary fumed about Webb's behaviour, ordering A.J. to find out what was going on.

A.J. barely heard him. He was concerned enough about Webb being a no-show without having to be told to check it out. He had seen nothing of him since their return from Italy, and had no inkling as to his state of mind. The man simply did not blow off work-related business. His job was of the utmost importance to him. And now he wasn't here when his presence had specifically been requested?

Something was wrong.


When the phone rang at his home that evening, A.J. was handling the never-ending paperwork that came with his job. He could have been doing something more pleasant, but wanted to get this done and out of the way, and so he'd brought it home from the office. For some reason using a computer took longer than the old fashioned way with a pen, but he'd been assured that when he got used to being online he would become more efficient. Even he could see the advantages to using the computer, though he was loath to own up to that just yet.

Studying the screen before him, he absent-mindedly reached for the phone. "Yes?"

"A.J., it's Webb. Could I come over? There's something I want to say to you."

His attention wholly on the conversation now, A.J. said in a mildly threatening tone, "There's a lot I want to say to you, too."

"I'd prefer to talk to you in person."

Webb's voice sounded heavy, even depressed.

"All right. I'll be here all evening."

"Thank you." Webb ended the conversation.

A.J. clicked off the Talk button.

The doorbell rang right then.

He opened the door to find Webb leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into the pockets of a battered-looking leather bomber jacket, and his head down. He looked up when the door opened.

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" A.J. commented with a grudging smile. "Come inside."

Awkwardly, Webb pushed himself off the wall. He stumbled slightly, recovered, and followed A.J. into the house.

A.J. indicated that he should sit on the couch, but remained standing so he could have the advantage of height. He would anyway, but standing while the other person was seated was a definite psychological advantage. He was prepared to chew him out.

Webb sat.

"Well?" A.J. prompted. Webb hadn't said a word yet. "You wanted to tell me something?"

Sitting hunched forward with his hands clasped between his knees, Clayton looked up. "I apologize for missing the meeting today."

He sounded sincerely contrite. That took the wind out of the Admiral's sails. He studied Clayton's face. There were lines there that he'd never noticed before, and Clay's eyes were a bit glassy. A.J. sat down beside Webb. "Apology accepted. What's wrong?"

Webb grimaced, his head dropping down again as he contemplated the carpet. He seemed reluctant to speak.

"Clayton, tell me why you missed the meeting today." A.J. made it sound like an order even though he spoke in a reasonable tone.

Webb's fingers clenched each other until the skin around the knuckles turned white. Clearing his throat, he spoke quietly. "Five nights ago, the fourteen year old son of a friend of mine died of a drug overdose. Michael went out with his new friends who took him to a crack house, and introduced him to the wonders of cocaine. Turns out, the drug was a particularly lethal mix. It killed another boy, and nearly killed a third. He's recovering in the hospital."

A.J. was horrified. "My God, Clay. I'm so sorry."

Nodding, although Chegwidden wasn't sure if he'd heard him, Clayton went on. "We buried Michael two days ago. That night David, his father, wrapped his car around a tree. He died instantly." Webb's voice cracked, but he continued, "It was David's funeral I went to today instead of the meeting."

"No wonder... It's my turn to apologize, Clay. If I'd given you a chance to explain I would have gotten SecNav to postpone the meeting. Hell, it seems so unnecessary now."

"I got to the service in time. That's all that mattered," he said, his voice dulled from fatigue.

Briefly placing his hand on Webb's knee, A.J. said, "Let me fix you a drink. You look like you could use one."

Webb said nothing, so A.J. went to the sideboard and poured Scotch into two glasses. When he brought it to him, Clayton took the drink, but sat staring at the golden liquid. Taking his seat next to him, A.J. sat back.

"You've had a rough week," he began sympathetically, but broke off when he saw the hand holding Webb's glass start to tremble. The hand shook violently, sloshing liquid against the inside of the glass. Reaching out, he took the drink away. Webb offered no resistance. After a moment the hand went to cover his eyes, and he half-turned away so that A.J. couldn't see his face. When Clayton's shoulders began to shake, A.J. couldn't just sit there, unmoved. He put his left arm around the grieving man and simply held him.

After awhile the shudders wracking Clayton's body stopped, and he scrubbed at his face. Tugging gently to get him to sit back against the cushions, A.J. handed him his drink again, removing his arm from where it lay across his shoulders.

Clayton swallowed a mouthful of Scotch. Holding the glass in his lap, he mumbled, "I'm sorry. Guess it was inevitable."

A.J. said, "It's good that you came here tonight. You shouldn't be alone, Clay. You've been through a lot in the last few weeks."

Sighing heavily, Clayton said, "I miss him, A.J. I miss David."

"I'm sure you do, Clay." He paused, "What about his wife?"

"Wife?" Webb asked blankly.

"His son's mother. Where is she?"

"Oh. She was at Michael's funeral, but if she was there today, I didn't see her. Patty and David divorced several years ago. They had joint custody, though, and David spent a lot of time with Michael, going to amusement parks, ball games, and things like that. I joined them whenever I could." He smiled faintly.

It was obvious that Clayton wanted to talk now that he'd allowed the grieving process to start, so A.J. let him go on.

"My job didn't allow me time to be with them as much as I would have liked, but we had some fun together." His voice shook, and he rubbed at his nose, but hung onto his precarious control. Taking a breath, he went on, "I still don't understand how Michael got involved with the kind of kids that would take him to a crack house. He was a good kid who never got in trouble otherwise."

"Peer pressure is a pretty strong influence, especially on teenagers. No matter how well kids are raised, sometimes the right, or wrong, combination of circumstances can lead to a tragedy like what happened to Michael."

"I was at the hospital the night he was born. I knew him his whole life." He looked up, stricken by the thought. "Fourteen years, A.J. How can that be anyone's entire life?"

"It doesn't seem fair, I know."

"Not even close to being fair."

Clayton swallowed hard, but didn't say anything more for a time. Just when A.J. thought he wasn't going to speak again, his eyes half shut against his inner torment, Clayton said, "David and I had a standing date for racquetball once a week, when I could make it."

"What did David do for a living?"

"He was a doctor. Had a lucrative practice in a private clinic with two other physicians. David and I were roommates at Harvard. He moved into my dorm in our junior year." He paused. "He was the kind of guy who made friends just by walking into a room."

Clayton fell silent again, perhaps lost in memories. At least his eyes had lost most of that haunted look they'd borne when he first arrived.

"Drink up," A.J. urged.

"No, I think I've had enough today already. I, uh, started before I came out here."

It all became clear: the stumble at the door, the glazed look in his eyes. No wonder Webb's famous emotional control had taken a nosedive. He was drunk, or well on the way to it. A.J. was suddenly furious. "Clayton, drinking and driving is stupid. I know you're hurting, but you could have had an accident..." A.J. trailed off when he saw the stricken expression on Webb's face. He'd inadvertently reminded him of David's tragic death. He continued less harshly. "I just don't want you to get hurt. You're going to stay here tonight. You've had too much to drink and I will not let you drive home. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir. Admiral, sir."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, A.J. said, "You can sleep in the guest room. I'll go make it ready for you."

When he came back, Clayton was resting his head against the back of the couch with his eyes closed. He opened them at A.J.'s approach. His empty glass sat on the coffee table, next to Chegwidden's untouched one. A.J. frowned. Webb didn't seem like the kind of man who drowned his sorrows, but this time he was probably justified if he did.

Well, at least he wasn't going any further than the next room tonight. No chance of him endangering himself and others.

"Come on."

When Clayton stood up, the alcohol slammed into his system. He swayed precariously a moment, trying to regain his balance. A.J. caught him by the arm, and led him to the bedroom.

"I'm okay."

"They all say that right before they fall down or walk into a door."

Webb laughed a little too loudly at that.

"Oh, yeah. You're drunk all right."

A.J. helped Clayton off with his jacket, but then was waved away. Picking up items of clothing as they were dropped to the floor, A.J. hung the jacket, jeans and sweatshirt on a chair. He let the Nikes lie where they'd fallen.

He turned back in time to see Clayton, wearing just a pair of dark blue briefs, trying to get his sock clad feet under the sheets. His coordination was off, and he was tangled in the cotton.

"You gonna wear socks to bed?" People did strange things when they were under the influence of alcohol. He didn't know how much Webb had consumed, but it was rapidly taking charge of his actions.

"My feet are cold," he said, stubbornly fighting with the bedcovers.

"All right," A.J. said, amused. "Here, let me help before you tie yourself in a knot."

He pulled the sheets back long enough for Clayton to get properly settled, and then covered him up to his waist. Clay took the sheets from him, pulling them all the way to his chin.

"Good night, Clay." He began to leave.

But Webb was in a talkative mood.

His voice was partially muffled by the pillow he held bunched up next to his face while he sank down further into the blankets. "...couldn't face an empty house tonight. Whenever I had a bad day Davey would know and be waiting for me when I got home. Could always count on him to make it better."

A.J. frowned, not understanding. "You and he shared a place?"

"Had his own apartment. Looked better that way. People like to talk, and neither of us needed the gossip following us."

Stepping closer, A.J. asked carefully, "What gossip, Clay?"

Webb was tiring, and yawned. "Hmm? Oh, about us."

"What about you?"

"Didn't need them to know we were lovers."

Stunned, A.J. stared while Clayton drifted painlessly into sleep.


Checking in on Clayton before he went out for his morning run, A.J. saw his friend curled around a pillow, hugging it to his chest, and snoring softly. The pillow had a faint damp spot on it and Clayton's eyes looked even more swollen than they had last night. A.J. let rage invade him for a moment as he thought about all that Webb had had to endure in the last few days. Life was just so damned unfair sometimes.

Retreating from the room, he let him sleep, and quietly left the house.


Thanks to a splitting headache, Clayton emerged from his shower feeling even less human than he had lately. Cursed with a fantastic memory, despite his hangover, he recalled waking up sometime in the middle of the night. Nightmares of what he imagined had been David's last moments alive had been jolting him awake every night since the crash, allowing him little peace and no real sleep. He'd muffled his sobs into the pillow before falling asleep again. He flushed with embarrassment when he also remembered crying in front of A.J. And then there was his confession about just how close a friend he had been to David. Between the alcohol and his exhaustion, he'd let out far more than he ever would have done while sober.

It was A.J.'s patience and sympathy that had been Clayton's undoing. Many at the service yesterday had also shown sympathy towards him, knowing that he was David's best friend. He'd endured the expressions of condolence with iron control over his emotions. Apart from David's partners at the clinic, whom he knew only to say hello to, his mother had been the only one there who knew the true extent of his relationship with David, but he suspected she did not quite understand it. She tried, but he knew it was beyond even her broad-mindedness.

Clay had no close friends now; no one to talk to about the few things he could share about his work, no one to share his private life with, no one to vent and rage to about losing David. When A.J. seemed willing to listen, it all crashed down on Clay. Everything from the past week, and the past months, had completely overwhelmed him and he had lost it.

It had been cathartic, but it was still embarrassing.

He wiped the mirror clear of fog, and stared unblinkingly at the drawn features, dark circles, and bloodshot eyes on his reflection. He needed a shave. Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, he knew there was nothing he could do about it, about any of it. He'd shave when he got home, and worry about the consequences of his loose tongue when they arose. He couldn't find a blow dryer so he used a towel on his hair, and then let it air dry. Dressing in the clothes he'd worn yesterday, since he had no others there, and, cradling David's leather jacket like it was his security blanket, he left the bedroom to find A.J. He would say his goodbyes, thank him for his hospitality, and get the hell out of there. Maybe he could go home to change and still get to work on time.

The delicious smell of fresh perked coffee lead him to the kitchen.

The Admiral was in command of the stove, checking on the eggs while reaching over to pluck four slices of browned bread out of the toaster for buttering. Clayton watched him a moment before announcing his presence.

"Are you a good cook?" he asked quietly.

Turning, A.J. smiled when he saw him. "Damn right. Sit down. It's almost ready."

"I should go. I need to get into the office." Clayton didn't argue too strenuously, finding he was reluctant to leave now after all. His stomach rumbling warningly, he turned away from the sight and smell of the eggs in the pan.

"You should call in sick today. You look a little green around the gills."

"Can't do that. There are too many things I've neglected this week."

"All right. Do what you like, but first you will eat a filling breakfast and take your time doing it."

Smiling crookedly, Clayton said, "I'm not arguing with a two star Admiral."

Straight-faced, A.J. replied, "Always knew you were a smart man. Now, sit down."

"You got any aspirin?"

A.J. glanced at him. Clay got the distinct impression he was mentally measuring how much bigger Webb's head had gotten overnight. Lord knew it felt twice as large as normal. Understandable really, since it was filled with drums all being beaten wildly out-of-sync with each other. "Cupboard over the sink. Help yourself."

Clayton found the aspirin, shook out two and washed them down with water before he went over to the table, and gingerly sat on a chair.

A.J. brought plates with the eggs and toast to the table, pulled two kinds of jam and some English marmalade out of the refrigerator, and sat opposite Clayton. They spent a few moments eating their breakfast in silence. A.J. had a healthy appetite and attacked his meal with gusto.

Limiting himself to toast and coffee, unable to even think of eating eggs with his queasy stomach, Webb surprised himself with how hungry he actually was. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd last eaten a decent meal. The past week was a blur as to the small, everyday things. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't clearly recall much of anything, which was strangely at odds with his all too vivid memories of the night before. How had he gotten through it all, the news about David, identifying his body, and the funeral? How much of it had he actually been aware of at the time? He remembered some things; others were indistinct at best.

"You thinking about David?"

Clayton raised his eyes to A.J.'s face. He hadn't expected him to bring up the subject.

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have said anything. I also want to apologize for showing up drunk last night."

"You were near the end of your rope last night. I'm just glad you came to me. I was happy to help you. As for what you said, about you and David," he took a deep breath and went on, "it was a surprise. A big one. I had no idea..." He shook his head and stabbed a piece of slightly runny egg with his fork. Webb averted his eyes. "But I'm not going to judge you. I know what kind of man you are. You're honest, loyal, a patriot, a pain in the butt most of the time," he smiled to take the sting out of his words. "All in all, you're a good man. What you do in your private life is your business."

"Thank you, A.J. I appreciate your candour. Not that I ever expect anything less from you."

Nodding, A.J. said, "If you want to talk about David, I'll listen. I might not have much to say, but I will listen."

Clayton sipped at his coffee, biding his time. He wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about David in the stone cold sober light of day. It wasn't his style, anyway. He kept his own counsel with few exceptions. It was how he'd survived this long in the spy game.

"What you say goes no farther than this room." A.J. checked his watch. "I'm sorry to put a time limit on it, but I have 35 minutes before I have to leave for work. Until then I'm here, with you. It's up to you what you do with that time."

Clasping the coffee cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms, Webb stared into it. Then again, hadn't he just been lamenting the lack of anyone in his life to talk to? A.J. was open to it, so he might as well take advantage of it.

He began to speak. "We'd been together nearly three years this time."

"This time?"

"We became involved at Harvard. After graduation, David didn't want to jeopardize his career, especially so early on, so we agreed to end it. We stayed friends, though. His wife didn't like me. She thought I was a threat to her marriage."

"David told her about his history with you?"

"Yes. He was the most honest man I've ever met. Not a deceptive bone in his body. Considering my line of work, it's something I clung to, something I needed to keep sane. I loved him, of course, but it went so much deeper than that. He was my lifeline when things got bad." He shrugged out of his memories. "Patty didn't want me around as a reminder of her husband's former lifestyle. David said she gave him an ultimatum, her or me. Eventually he chose me."

A.J. cleared his throat. "So you've been interested in men for quite some time?"

Clayton was touched. The Admiral was trying hard to comprehend what was outside his realm of knowledge.

"Yeah. A long time."

"But I saw the look you gave Mac when she wore that gown you bought for her the night the Sudanese embassy was taken over. You were pole axed."

This was getting deeper and deeper into his personal comfort zone. His natural inclination was to end the conversation, but he wanted A.J. to understand. Carefully considering his words, Clayton replied, "I can appreciate feminine beauty. I like women, A.J. It's just that primarily I'm attracted to men. Although, an exceptional woman like Mac deserves a second look."

"Yes. Yes, she does." Then Chegwidden looked embarrassed at what he had said.

Clayton started to file that information away to be looked at later. Then he realized that was unfair. A.J. was helping him. He couldn't repay him by using what might be an attraction towards a subordinate against him. He ruthlessly shoved aside the thought that he wished A.J. were attracted to him. He couldn't think about that. Not now, not the day after he'd buried David. Not ever.

Noticing that A.J. was avoiding looking at him, Clayton reached across the table and touched his fingertips to the Admiral's sleeve as it rested alongside his plate.

"Like I said, Mac is exceptional." He raised his eyebrows and smiled. After a moment, A.J. returned the smile, the strained look leaving his face. He gave Clayton's hand a friendly pat.

Clay was suddenly aware of warmth flooding through him. Recognizing it for the sexual electricity that it was, he removed his hand from A.J.'s arm. It appeared that his anxiety went unnoticed. While A.J. drank deeply from his coffee mug, Clayton busied himself by finishing his breakfast. It wasn't until he was done that he realized he hadn't tasted a bit of the last of it.

"I really should get going." He stood up and carried his dishes into the kitchen. Placing them in the sink, he rinsed them off.

"Just leave those," A.J. called. "I'll put them in the dishwasher before I go."

"I can do it." He opened the door and put the plate and cup on a rack, and the fork and knife in their place. When he returned to the table, he had to force himself to look at A.J. when he spoke to him.

"Thank you, for everything. It means a lot that you put up with me last night. I want you to know I don't often get drunk. I," he paused, "I just couldn't face staying home alone. Not so soon after..."

"I understand, Clayton." The older man stood up, and they walked towards the door. Clay grabbed the jacket on the way and shrugged into it. The scent of David's cologne still clung faintly to the leather. It was why he wore it. Also, having the warm leather and the silk lining surrounding his body helped him to imagine he was in David's arms again.

He opened the door and was halfway across the threshold when A.J., following him, reached out to clasp his arm around the bicep.

"Take care of yourself, will you? Let me know how you're doing."

Very conscious of the strong hand on his upper arm, Clayton replied, "Sure. I'll call you soon."

"Good."

"Goodbye, A.J."

"Goodbye, Clayton." Smiling, A.J. released him.

After getting in his car, Webb braced his elbow against the steering wheel and ground the heel of his hand into his forehead.

It was all too obvious. A.J. wanted nothing more than a friendly, working relationship with him. God help him, but Clay wanted more than that, much more.

"Idiot. You are so messed up." He spoke out loud, all the guilt he'd tried to hide from David the past few months coming to bear on him.

Then he straightened up, started the car, and drove down the driveway heading for home.


A.J. turned back and went inside the house. He had a few minutes before he had to leave. Clayton was still on his mind, and he gave in to the need to focus on him.

God. Clayton Webb was gay? He'd had no suspicion of it, but then, Webb was very good at disinformation and hiding things from people.

He was still worried about him, but at least the biggest part of the crisis seemed to be past. The look on the man's face this morning while he talked about his deceased lover had been damned near heartbreaking. A.J. prided himself on how tough he was; after all, he was a former SEAL and the JAG. Yet he wasn't without a heart. He felt great compassion for Clayton losing this David with whom he'd been in love.

Those expressive hazel eyes of his had held such sadness. A.J. hoped that it would pass quickly. He knew it wouldn't, but he could hope.

On a completely different note, he was now privy to another facet of Clayton Webb. He had a more casual side than his normal manner of dress and action suggested. The fitted jeans looked good on him, and the leather jacket plus the day's growth of dark stubble gave him a somewhat dangerous air. It was totally at odds with how comical he'd looked last night wearing his socks to bed. On the other hand, Clay kept himself in great shape. He had a firm, fit body with definition and muscle tone that was usually hidden under those three-piece suits of his.

Then A.J. realized that he was actually thinking about how attractive another man looked, and stopped cold in the middle of the living room, his breath virtually stolen from him.

What the hell was he thinking?

~ end ~


E-mail the author with comments: bcunningham@sk.sympatico.ca
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