Author: Eggy Weg
Rating: PG
Classification: Webb Angst
Spoilers: All Singer and Webb episodes but not the season 8 trilogy finale
Summary: An attempt to understand Webb
Feedback: Please
Archive: Yeah
Disclaimer: Not mine
Authors note: *Warning* I don’t know where I’m taking this fic, plus I have another one in the works, so the next chapter might be a long time coming.
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Mac groaned, groggily waking up. Some evil person was knocking on her door at three forty in the morning. Looking out the window she saw a familiar three-piece suit. If he thought she would go on a mission after waking her up this early in the morning he had another thing coming. Stomping down the stairs she flung the door open.
“This better be good Webb” She growled forgetting she hadn’t seen him in over eight months.
Looking more closely at him she could tell there was something wrong. His clothes were soaking wet. It was raining with a fierce rage and he wasn’t even wearing his trench coat. His tie was loose, the top button of his shirt was unfastened and his hair was a mess. A distant cry from the impeccably dressed spy she had once known. A society man from day one the guy didn’t know the meaning of the word loose, and now here he was on her doorstep looking worse for the wear.
Did something go wrong in Suriname she thought her memory starting to work again? Maybe even something happened to his mother; she cringed at the thought. The only person he would let close was his mother, if she died well…Holding her breath she looked into his eyes too find a lost soul looking back.
“I’m sorry..…I’ll..… I’ll leave.” He said in a quiet and strained voice turning to go. Not really knowing why he came in the first place.
Her anger disappeared as she saw the spy walking away huddled in on himself. She ran to him and grabbed his arm “Clay, wait. What’s wrong?”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, a tear escaping his control “She’s really gone isn’t she” It was more of a statement than a question.
Having just arrived back from his exile in Suriname Agent Scott, the DDCI took great delight in informing him of Singers death. It’s seems the company had neglected to notify him for the fear it would distract him from the operation he was running. Now he had missed the funeral.
He spent the rest of the day walking around feeling numb not daring to believe it was real. He awoke on a park bench an empty bottle of scotch at his side having lost control enough to pass out drunk. She couldn’t be dead, she was finally happy.
“Who?” She asked dragging him into the house and back to reality.
“Lori” He answered unable to control the cracking of his voice.
“Who?” He closed his eyes hung his head unable to repeat the name, it was too painful.
“Clay come inside is freezing” She dragged him in. He didn’t bother to put up a fight; he wasn’t really paying attention. As he sat down on the couch she ran and grabbed a towel from the kitchen. Looking from her to the towel he frowned.
“Clay you’re soaking, dry yourself off before you catch pneumonia”
Looking down at himself he cringed. He was soaking wet, when did that happen. Suddenly he stood up and looked at the couch.
“Shit, Mac I’m sorry” He said noticing the how wet it was. Had it really been raining?
“It’s OK” She insisted trying to get his jacket off him.
“You won’t be able to sit on it for weeks” He sighed putting his head in his hand.
“It’s OK, really. Now dry yourself off and I’ll go and see if I can find something for you too change into” She said pointing to the bathroom while running to her bedroom. Quickly rummaging through the closet she finally found something that would fit. Uncle Mat’s Uniform. He had given it to her when he was sent to Leavenworth, so ‘a little bit of him would be around even if he couldn’t be in person.’
She walked back into the room to find him exactly how she had left him. He looked so lost just staring at the bathroom door.
“Clay” His head snapped up, shocked; he hadn’t heard her enter. “Clay you need to dry yourself off, you’ll get ill”
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes then he mumbled. “Don’t try and bond with me I’ll get sick” His standard line for whenever anyone tried to get close. He should have sent her away too but damn it she broke through; and look were it got him.
“Clay?” He was starting to scare her she had never seen him so….. undone.
“Sorry lost in thought” he shrugged it off and dried his face.
“The only thing I could find for you to change into was a uniform”
“I’m not your size Mac” He tried to joke, pushing away the jealousy that she had someone else clothes in her house. The last thing he wanted was to be dressed in a reminder she kept of Brumby.
“It’s Uncle Mat’s”
He stopped towelling his hair and laughed bitterly “Are you sure he would be OK with that?”
She smiled reassuringly at him and put her hand on his “You don’t feel guilty about that do you?” She tried to look him in the eye but he looked away. She was seeing a whole new Clayton Webb tonight, one that seemed to need reassuring. Suriname had certainly changed him. “Clay he is a grown man he is responsible for his own actions. He knows you were only doing your job, he expected someone to do it….. You fight for this country too. He won’t mind if you wear his uniform….. Well as long as it’s indoors” She joked holding it out to him, but he just stared at it.
“I’m sorry Mac” That sounded sincere but it wasn’t necessary
“You have nothing to apologise for” he grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye
“Yes I do. I used you, I used all of you..…I always have done..…I had too. I just wanted you to know…..” He trailed off not knowing what to say. There was a difference between wanting too and having too but he could find the words to explain it. To let her know he hated doing it but he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. But she just stared at him. Sighing he dropped her hand and walked to the bathroom.
As he walked by she smelt the alcohol on him and she finally understood “Webb, you’re drunk”
“Guilty as charged” He shouted through the door. It was pointless lying about it; it wasn’t like he could hide it. That was another friendship ruined. He should have known better than to go to an ex alcoholic’s house drunk, she would really hate him now. Two friends in one day, how could he have been so stupid. Realising he was now crying he turned on the tap hoping it would cover any noise he made? The tears still hadn’t stopped by the time he had changed so he sat down and desperately tried to stop their flow.
“Webb if you’ve passed out drunk in my bathroom” She warned. Damn Webb. She wasn’t going to sit up all night worrying about him. She’d done enough worrying about drunks for five lifetimes. She gave up and went back to bed.
Neither of them slept.
Clay sat crying and when that stopped he gave himself a stern telling off. He should never have came, what was he thinking? That was easy to answer, he wasn’t thinking. He hadn’t even known he was coming here; it was just where he ended up.
Mac tried to sleep but all she saw when she closed her eyes was Webb with that lost look in his eyes. The questions ran through her head all night long. Why was he here? What was wrong with him? Had she been too hard on him shouting like that? Realising she wasn’t going to be able to rest with a drunken Webb in her bathroom she loudly stood up and stomped out of the room.
“Clay” She knocked on the door “I’m sorry for shouting. Can you just come out so I know you’re OK?”
He sat stunned he hadn’t expected that. The door being kicked in and his ass being kicked out, that’s what he expected. Maybe it was a trap so she wouldn’t have to damage the door. She didn’t have a reason to be nice to him, no one did.
“Clay” She knocked again “Please”
Sighing he stood up and opened the door “Mac I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know I was coming here when I got drunk. I, I just sort of ended up here.” It was the best apology he could come up with it was the truth.
She just stood there stunned at how good Webb looked in uniform. Forcing herself to look up, she saw the redness that rimmed his eyes.
“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s wrong”
“It’s Lori” She could hear desperation in his voice as he fought the tears.
“Who”
“Loren” He painfully whispered.
“Singer?” She let her confusion show.
“She is… isn’t she?” He couldn’t say the word. It was stupid he was CIA; he had chased terrorists, been shot at, stabbed, even tortured, but it was that word which hurt the most.
“Dead” She finished for him. Hearing the sob he tried to stop escaping his mouth she pulled him into a hug, and he hung on for dear life.
~To be continued, I just don’t know when ~