Title: A Bear and a Pear
author: Dottie B.
Classification: A Clayton Webb Vignette
Summary: Missing scene from "Promise Land"
Scene: Bud's room, Bethesda Naval Hospital
A Bear and a Pear
A Clayton Webb Vignette
By Dottie B
Scene: Bud's room, Bethesda Naval Hospital
"Oh, look at all the cards! Bud, I didn't know so many people
even knew you were here!"
Bud smiled at Harriet from the bed. "Look at the big one! It's
signed by every officer on the Seahawk!"
Harriet picked it up and smiled at Bud. She followed his glance
as it moved to the door. A man entered, holding something behind him.
"Mr. Webb!" both Robertses chorused.
"Harriet. Bud." Webb nodded to each.
"I didn't expect to see you!" Bud said. "I thought you were in
Afghanistan!"
"I was never in Afghanistan."
Bud frowned, as if he were trying to remember. "You weren't?"
Webb shook head.,
Bud's face lit up. "That's right! That's what you said when you
were there!"
Webb frowned in mild exasperation, and Harriet smiled. "May I
take your coat?"
"Oh, no, I can't stay. Just wanted to bring you something to
speed your recovery, Bud." He handed Bud a large blue teddy bear with
a sailor suit.
Bud grinned. "Hey!" He squeezed it, then laid it next to him on
the pillow.
"That was very thoughtful," Harriet said. "Would you like a
pear?"
"He doesn't want a pear," said Bud.
"Yes, thank you." Webb took the fruit from Harriet.
Bud watched in fascinating as the CIA man carefully took a bite.
"I'll have one too, honey."
Harriet smiled and gave him one.
The two men ate in silence, but with obvious enjoyment."
Clayton Webb wiped his hands on his handkerchief. "And I have
something else." He drew a paper from his inside pocket. 'That
school the Navy rebuilt?"
Harriet nodded painfully and Bud looked away.
"The village wishes. . . " He cleared his throat. "Wishes to
name it.. . the Bud Roberts, Jr., Elementary School."
Harriet's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh!"
There were tears in Bud's eyes. He couldn't speak.
Clayton Webb concentrated very hard on not needing his
handkerchief.
"There will be a dedication ceremony at your convenience. The
Navy considers it an honor and will escort you and Harriet. That is,
if you wish to go."
Harriet looked at Bud.
"I don't know if I could go back," he said. He had a sudden
vision of his last moments there. "I don't think so."
"Understood," said Webb.
"But tell them thanks. It's an honor. I didn't do much."
"You secured the funding and you risked your life for a child,"
said the CIA man. I doubt if a stranger has ever done so much for
them. For most people."
Harriet raised her chin. "We'll write and thank them," she said.
"Very good. But you don't have to decide now. There's time."
"There's time," Bud whispered.
Webb looked at him sharply. "Your recovery is on track?" he
asked.
Bud nodded. "I'm just starting therapy. Hurts like hell, but I
don't like just lying here."
Webb grimaced. "I guess not." Webb took a deep breath and
straightened. "I must go."
He nodded at Harriet and Bud.
"Thank you Mr. Webb," Harriet said.
"Don't mention it."
Once in the corridor, Clayton Webb paused and balled his fists.
Then he reached for his handkerchief.
END
And One more...
Title: "Down Time" A Clayton Webb Vignette
Author Dottie B
Clayton Webb was flooded with a feeling of relief as he entered
his apartment. He had been away too long, and had gone to see Bud
even before coming home. Usually he took his surroundings for
granted. Now he did not. The apartment was sanctuary, nomality. The
hospital visit had left him more shaken than he cared to admit. Things
like that weren't supposed to happen to people like Bud. Damn the land
mines! But wasn't that what life was - you do your best in unknown
territory, and then you step on a land mine.
He checked his fish - they were fine - and frowned in distaste
at the dust on the bookcase.
He thought about pouring a scotch, but that could wait. First
things first. He unpacked quickly, then undressed and carefully hung
his clot hes in the closet. He pulled on a clean sweatshirt and
sweatpants. He grabbed his keys, and stepped outside. Our of habit,
he looked in each direction, then turned towards old town and began a
slow jog. It felt good to use his muscles after sitting in an airplane
all those hours.
The past weeks were still with him, the mission that "didn't
exist," Bud's accident, the acrimonious Senate hearing he had read
about. His head was filled with negative judgments. Usually difficulties
were an exciting challenge that keyed him up to performing at his best,
but now the normal exhilaration was overshadowed by the image of Bud
in the hospital bed.
It always took a great deal of exercise to relax, but today was
even worse. I'm still thinking too much, he thought, and concentrated
instead on the sidewalk ahead and the rhythm of his feet. Soon
his mind was in "free fall," with thoughts appearing and
disappearing. He stretch his usual five miles to eight, then to ten.
Finally the fatigue was gone, replaced with a comfortable body tiredness.
After a long hot shower, he was finally relaxed. Now he could
have the scotch.
Glass in hand he went into his home office and turned on the
"public" computer, the one where no one knew who he was.
"You have mail." Two thousand email messages, to be exact, not
counting the ads. Webb sighed, then, sipping the scotch, read
with fascination, pausing sometimes to re-read, occasionally giving a
brusque laugh, deleting quickly.
He finished the backlog, having deleted most. Then he pulled one
up to answer.
"That would be telling too much," he typed. "Life is a mystery.
As it should be."
He sent it to the list, then took another sip of scotch and
waited. In a few minutes, the message appeared in his inbox, addressed
to the list, with his return email address: Kip35. . . .