Like Timmy
by Page (pageburns@yahoo.com) and Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Clayton Webb/Mic Brumby
Rating: adult
Mic Brumby finds qualities of an old friend in someone else.
Disclaimer: The characters herein portrayed belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS, not us.
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. It's more than likely that I'll agree, but I want to know where my stories are.
Warning: might be mushier than either of us usually write, and there's no one to blame for that, unless we blame Mic... *g*
Spoilers: Boomerang, Surface Warfare, general ones for some of the 2000-2001 season.
This is an AU, since we diverge from canon somewhere before the episode "Lifeline". Also, neither of us know that much about how Australians speak; we're going from what we've heard on JAG, and we mean no offense if we're wrong.
Notes (Page): Thanks to Isilzha and Tinnean and Scarlet for saying they wanted this, and huge thanks to Gail for rescuing it from the scrap heap.
Notes (Gail): Page sent me this story, almost finished, and insisted she couldn't write any more, so I made some changes, then wrote the ending. I still think she could have done it without me, but I'm honored that she let me help. More of Page's work can be found at her site.
Many thanks to Elizabeth for betaing and to Tinnean for her encouragement and support.
*****
Mic Brumby was on his third shot and thinking about nothing at all as much as he could, especially not his best friend Timmy back in Oz, when he saw someone sit down next to him. He didn't look. He didn't want to know who else needed to get drunk on a Wednesday night. Then the other person spoke.
"What are you doing here?"
That Webb. What the hell was he doing here himself? "Bugger off, mate."
He lifted his shot, but it was taken away from him before he could drink it. He turned his head to stare at Webb. Taking a man's drink, that would lead to a fight back home.
Webb stared back. "Brumby, you don't want to get drunk. Go home. Enjoy having someone to go home to."
"Don't wanna go home to her. She's mad at me." What was wrong with his voice?
Webb laughed shortly. "How things change. You seemed happy together in Australia."
"Why were you watching us there?" That was better.
"I'm a spy. I spy on people. Isn't that what Mac's told you?"
Webb lifted the shot glass to his lips and drank, and Mic watched. Nice lips. Been a while since he'd let himself look, but why not? Wouldn't hurt anything.
"You want Sarah?"
"What?" Webb set down the empty shot glass with more force than was needed and stared at him again. "Is this a trick?"
"D'you want Sarah? You keep coming around like you do."
"For god's sake, Brumby, that was work. Haven't you gotten that by now?"
"So you don't want her. Got a girl of your own?"
"No, I don't have a girl of my own. Come on, Brumby, let's get you out of here. You're too pissed to drive."
Pissed. He was pissed, but not pissed enough. "No." Webb's hand was on his arm, tugging, and it felt nice and warm, but he wasn't going anywhere. "Staying here until I fall off the stool."
Then there was one hard tug, and he was on the floor. "Looks like you just did."
Webb's eyes were laughing, and he should have been up and going at his face with a right, but instead he just laughed. Nice to spend some time with a bloke. Timmy back home would have done something like that. But if Timmy was here, he wouldn't have been drinking alone, wouldn't have been drinking in some bar, either. They'd be at Timmy's place, drinking Foster's, no hard stuff, laughing, then maybe more. More would be nice, he thought wistfully as Webb took his arm and pulled him up. More would be bloody nice.
"So I did, mate." He grinned at Webb, who was still holding on to his arm. "Y'like Clayton or Clay? Tired of calling you Webb."
"Either is fine."
"Well then, Clay, let's hit the road."
He'd go back to Sarah, apologize, hope she didn't have too much steam going, sleep on the couch. Timmy was back in Oz, and he was here. That was the way of the world. Still didn't want to go back to Sarah, but what choice did he have? Clay was right, he was lucky to have her to go home to. Still, Timmy would have been more fun. Sarah was always so damned busy, not that he wasn't, but then she kept thinking about JAG, couldn't seem to stop even when they were together, and sometimes he wondered if she wasn't thinking about Harm when they were in bed together. She had a thing for the bloke; he knew that, hoped she'd get over it now that she was wearing his ring for real.
Webb looked surprised, then nodded. "You're not driving."
"Fine with me." Mic didn't feel like arguing now. Let Clay take care of him, like Timmy would have.
Webb looked even more surprised, then the two of them were heading out of the bar. Mic leaned on the other man. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. He hadn't had any dinner. That was part of what he and Sarah had fought about: going out for burgers or making something there. Seemed stupid now. Why not give in and make her a salad like she wanted? It was just food. He needed some food.
"Hungry, Clay."
Clay leaned him against the side of a little red sports car. Couldn't be his car, too sporty. Timmy would drive something like this, playing loud music and laughing. Timmy. Damn, why the hell had he come to this place? He missed home. Tears started in his eyes, and he tried to raise his arm to wipe them away, but there was already someone doing that for him.
"I'll get you some food." Webb's voice was soft as he took what Mic could see was a handkerchief away. "You'll be all right, mate. I'll see to it."
He had to be drunk. Webb sounded just like Timmy, but then Clay had spent some time down in Oz. Seems he'd picked up enough to sound normal. "Nice of you."
"Then I'll take you home to Mac."
"No way. Don't want to go there." He didn't. Not tonight. He wanted to go home. To Oz. Not what passed for home here.
There was a moment of quiet. "You don't have to. Get in the car. I'll take you to some food."
"Where?" He was in the seat now, the seat belt being drawn over him, and it was so like Timmy that it made him smile. Strange to think that Clayton Webb could be like his best friend, but nice.
"You'll find out." The door was shut firmly, but gently, and Mic closed his eyes. He was tired. Just a minute or two wouldn't hurt him.
*****
When he opened them, the car was still, and Clayton Webb was taking his hand away.
"Slept, did I?"
Clay's smile was brief. "Yes. And snored, too."
Mic laughed at that. Of course he snored. Who didn't? "Hope I didn't get too loud."
"I managed." But Clay was smiling again, and it looked good on him.
"Where are we?"
Clay hesitated. "My place. I hope you don't mind."
Why would he mind? "Fine with me, mate." He reached for the seat belt and couldn't seem to find it. Then Clay was reaching over to get it, brushing against him. "Just like Timmy," he muttered.
"Timmy?"
"My best friend back home. He always took care of me when I got sloshed. 'Course, he made sure I got sloshed when we didn't have to worry about driving."
"Smart man." There was a pause. "Thank you for comparing me to him."
"You're a lot like him."
Clay just stared for a moment, then turned and got out of the car. Mic was too tired and drunk to do anything but drift. When Clay opened his door, Mic blinked and got his eyes open again. Nice to have someone there.
"Come on, Mic. Food's inside."
Clay's hands were on his arms, and he felt himself being pulled up and out of the car, then leaned against the car again. He stared at Clay. Good-looking man in a quiet way. Better than he'd thought.
"You always wear a suit?"
"Not always."
"Want to see you in real clothes. Change when we get in."
Clay was looking at him with something strange in his eyes, then it was gone. "You're definitely drunk, my friend."
That sounded nice, too, and he smiled. Nice to have a friend.
He blinked, then Clay's hands were on his arms again, moving him. He tried to help, but ended up falling into the other man's body instead. When Clay finally got him steadied, he was right up against him. He stared at the other man's lips again and thought about how they'd feel under his. Just one move and he could do that. But Clay wasn't really his friend. Wasn't Timmy. He felt the tears spring to his eyes again and tried to get his arm up to wipe them away, but then Clay's hand was there again with the handkerchief.
"You can tell me what's wrong, Mic. I won't tell anyone." Serious eyes meeting his, and somehow he knew Clayton Webb meant it.
"'S nothing, mate." It was good to have Clay take care of him, but he couldn't go spilling his guts to some guy Sarah would be working with again. Probably as bad to tell him as it would be to tell Harm.
He must have said this out loud, because Clay said, "Rabb never knows when to shut up." Clay had his arm around his waist and was helping him up to the door. "I do. I'm good at keeping secrets. Just don't tell me you're here to assassinate the President."
"No need to worry about that, mate; the Queen wouldn't like that."
He heard Clay's chuckle in his ear. "Yes, wouldn't want Her Majesty to be upset."
He knew Clay was teasing him, but even that was like Timmy. "You sure you're not Timmy?"
"I'm beginning to think I'd like to be," the low answer came, and Mic remembered that Clay had been in that bar, too.
He waited until they were into the apartment before asking. "Why were you there, Clay?"
Clay sighed. "To have a drink. But then I saw you already doing it, and I knew Mac would be worried. Mac's a good person. I'm going to call her to tell her you're all right."
Mic thought about objecting, but he really didn't want to talk to Sarah, so he nodded.
"I do need to get changed to cook. Let's get you in on the couch, and I'll be right back."
"No." Mic frowned back. Timmy wouldn't leave him on some couch, and he didn't want to be by himself. It was fun being with Clay. "Going with you."
Clay sighed and helped him into a bedroom, then sat him down on the bed. "First I call Mac and tell her I'm taking care of you tonight. Then I'll change, and then I'll make you something to eat." Mic just smiled. So much like Timmy. Practical, smart, and good.
Clay sat down next to him and took out a cell phone, then turned it on and punched in the number. His face grew more tense, and a frown appeared. Mic knew what was happening. Sarah had gone out, probably to walk Jingo, something she did when she was upset, and the machine was picking up.
"Colonel MacKenzie. This is Clayton Webb. Your Mic's fine and with me." Mic expected something more, but apparently that was all Clay was going to say, because he hit the button and put the phone away. "I think she has my number, but I'm sure she can get it if she doesn't. She'll probably call later."
"Won't call," Mic asserted. "Got to work in the morning. Long as I'm home tomorrow night," he yawned, "she won't worry."
"You call her tomorrow to be sure."
"All right." He gave Clay a smile. "Go change. 'M still hungry."
Clay's serious face faded, and he smiled, too. "You order Mac around like this?"
"No." She wouldn't like that. Not his Sarah. Stubborn and sweet. But stubborn first. He shook his head, then winced.
"You need some water, and some aspirin wouldn't hurt. I'll get them for you." Clay stood and went out of the room, but came back in a few moments to hand him a glass. "Here." He opened his palm to show Mic two white tablets. "Take these."
"All right, Clay." He opened his mouth, and it was a moment before he realized that Clay probably had wanted him to take the pills out of his hand, but before he could do anything Clay was putting them on his tongue with a careful gentleness.
"Drink some water," Clay said quietly when he took his hand away, and Mic raised the glass to his lips. "Good. Now sit there and drink more water. It'll help."
"You are like Timmy." Clay gave him a look he couldn't read, and Mic shut his eyes. Didn't he know when to let something go? "Sorry."
"No need." Clay stood and went over to the closet, taking off his suit jacket as he walked. Mic watched him hang it up, then undo his tie. "Want to tell me more about him?" He turned to face Mic again and started undoing his shirt. "I'd like to hear."
Mic thought. Did he want to tell Clayton Webb about his best friend? Hell, yes. But he wanted to find out more about this man who was a lot different than he'd thought. "Timmy was... Timmy." He laughed helplessly. "Can't do any better than that."
Clay smiled and threw his shirt in the hamper, then pulled off his undershirt. "All right. I think I understand."
"What about you? You got a friend like that?"
Clay stopped. "No." His voice was distant. "That's something I've never had. You're lucky, Mic."
"Never too late, mate." Mic blinked. Too much alcohol. He was talking too much, like he always did when he got drunk. "Sorry."
"It's all right."
Clay turned away and got out of the pants, then hung them up as well before getting into some other pants and a shirt that he pulled over his head. Mic stared at his chest while the shirt was over Clay's head. Very nice. Clay's ass in the boxers had looked good, too. Looked like he kept himself in good shape, not all muscles, but enough of them to be interesting.
He was still staring when Clay's head emerged, and Clay looked back at him.
"Food, Clay."
Clay smiled. "I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs."
"You're not making them from scratch?" That would take a while and be a lot of trouble. He didn't want to be trouble for Clay.
"No, I've got some frozen. I'll thaw them in the microwave. It's no problem." He slipped into a pair of loafers, then came over to Mic. "Good, you finished the water." He took the glass out of Mic's hand, then held out his free hand. "If you need the help."
"I need it, mate."
Mic took the proffered hand willingly. When Clay pulled him up, he was already trying to stand, so he careened into Clay's body, and he couldn't help what he did next, since it was so much like Timmy doing the same thing for him so many times back home. He reached up with his free hand and dragged Clay's head over and kissed him. Clay's mouth stayed closed for a moment, then Mic's tongue pushed more insistently and was inside.
He didn't care if Clay thought he was nuts, he decided. This felt too good, and Clay wasn't stopping him. Hell, Clay was kissing him back.
Then Clay had broken the kiss and was staring at him. "I'd better feed you."
Mic gave him a slow smile, at least he hoped it was. "Liked that. Food can wait." He ran his fingers over the back of Clay's neck, then Clay's hand was there, removing Mic's hand.
"Indeed." Clay was breathing a little faster. "Food, Mic. I won't," he stopped and shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them, "take that as a serious offer. You're still drunk."
"Not that drunk," Mic insisted.
Clay was still staring at him. "Your Timmy. What would he do now?"
Mic grinned. "Feed me, then take me to bed."
"I will feed you."
"You think I'm too drunk to make up my own mind."
"We'll talk if you like after food. Come on." Clay got him standing on his own again, then shook his head. "You are a caution, Mic Brumby," he said softly and smiled. "I'm glad I went out for that drink."
"Some coincidence, us both being at the same bar," Mic offered, trying to sound casual. It was hard to with Clay smiling at him like that. Like he was happy. Hadn't seen Clay look that happy before. He wondered who the last person before him had been to see him like that, hoped the person had appreciated it, hoped this wouldn't be the only time he saw Clay's face with that smile on it for him. Clay should smile more, smile all the time.
"A good one." Clay was still smiling. "Be careful walking."
"All right, mate. But if you'd help me, I'd like that."
Clay's eyebrows arched. "Try it on your own."
Mic grinned. Clay was on to him. Yeah, he was a hell of a lot like Timmy. Never could put anything past him, either. "Sure."
They made it to the kitchen without any problems, and Mic saw how Clay kept close to him. It made him feel safe. He sat down at the table.
"Drink this." Clay put a glass of water in front of him.
Mic thought about asking for a beer or another drink, then decided against it. He was going to talk with Clay after dinner, and he didn't want Clay to think he was drunk.
Clay quickly and efficiently started water boiling, heated sauce, thawed meatballs in the microwave, and put them in the sauce, as Mic sat and drank his water. "Want some bread?"
"Sure, if you've got it."
Clay chuckled. "You are hungry, aren't you?"
"Fine with me to skip the food, Clay, told you that before. I haven't changed my mind."
Clay threw him a quick smile. "I heard you before. But you told me what your Timmy would do, and I think I'll go with that. The first part, that is," he added in a dry voice before Mic could say anything.
"Too bad. Thought I'd convinced you."
There was silence for a few minutes. "Does Mac know about Timmy? Your relationship with him?"
"No." He'd tried to talk about his friends in Oz with her, and she'd listened for a while, but then she'd changed the subject. He supposed he couldn't blame her. What fun was it to hear stories about people you might never meet?
"I doubt she'd be too happy if she found out you were coming on to me."
"You going to tell her?"
Clay sighed. "No, of course not, Mic. I'm trying to get you to think about this before you do something you might regret."
Mic stood and went over to Clay. "I'm not going to regret anything, mate," he whispered, then bent his head to kiss Clay. Clay's mouth opened under his, and Mic took full advantage of it, pushing his tongue in. Then Clay had him at arms' length.
"You don't give up."
"Never, mate," Mic retorted with a grin. Clay looked good all flushed. "'M not drunk any more."
Clay smiled. "All right, mate. Dinner. Then," he paused, a twinkle in his eyes, "I'll put you to bed."
"Your bed?"
"My bed."
Mic's grin broadened, and he sat back down. "Good."
*****
Mic sat down on the bed and felt the bed shift as Clay sat down beside him. "We can just sleep," Clay offered, his voice quiet. "It's late."
Mic reached for Clay as his answer. No way he was going to sleep when he was finally getting what he wanted.
Clay laughed. "All right, so we won't sleep."
"You got that right, mate."
Mic started kissing Clay's neck, and Clay reached for him in return. Soon they were lying down, hands busy on each other's bodies, desperate and hungry and hot. Mic got Clay's cock out, and Clay had Mic's out in almost the same moment. Mic knew that he wanted more than this, but it had been so long, and Clay's fingers were so sure and right on his cock that he knew he wouldn't last long at this rate.
"Wait, Clay," he got out, and Clay's strokes slowed. "Want to taste you." He moved his head and saw Clay's face, which was flushed again. "Let me."
Clay nodded, and his tongue made a quick pass over his lips. "I want to taste you, too."
Mic grinned. "We can do that, mate."
He shifted so that his head was down by Clay's crotch and his crotch up by Clay's head, and moaned as Clay's mouth took him in right away, sucking strong and hard. It felt like Clay had done this before. He got his own mouth open and sucked in Clay's cock and tried to give as good as he got, and he thought he was, from the way Clay kept sucking harder and harder, as though he was holding on to himself with Mic's cock. Mic felt the same way with Clay's.
Clay came first, his mouth clenching around Mic's cock, then sucking again so fiercely that Mic couldn't try to hold back his orgasm, and didn't want to.
When he'd recovered, he moved back up to the pillow, to find Clay's eyes on him with a look he thought he should be able to read, but couldn't. He kissed Clay and let himself fall into sleep. Clay would be there in the morning. He was sure of that.
*****
When Mic woke up, Clay was on his side, staring at him.
"Clay." Mic knew he had to say something, didn't know what.
Clay sat up. "Coffee?" Clay's voice was distant, as if he expected Mic to turn on him, Mic thought. That wasn't going to happen.
"Sure, coffee's great. I'll make it for us. But we don't have to get out of bed yet, do we?" Mic sat up and reached for Clay to kiss him, and, after a moment, Clay let him, but he pulled away sooner than Mic would have liked.
"I have to get to work, and so do you."
Clay didn't sound any better, and Mic frowned. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"It's something. Tell me."
Clay shook his head. "Go home to your Sarah. Be happy. Or go back to Oz and your Timmy."
"What if I don't want to go back to her?" He couldn't talk about Timmy yet.
Clay blinked. "What?"
"You're Clay. I want to see more of what that means." He took a breath. "Want to find out what it's like to come home to someone who gives a damn. I know, Sarah does, but Clay, I'm not enough for her. She's not enough for me. I think you could be. I want to be there for you."
Clay stared at him for a long time, and Mic waited to find out what he was going to say next. He thought he had a chance. Clay was lonely, he was lonely, they needed each other. Mac didn't need him.
"Why not go back to Timmy?"
Mic knew his smile was strained. "Forgot to tell you something about Timmy. He's dead."
Clay covered his hand with his. "I'm sorry. How?"
"Car crash." Mic shook his head. "But that's over and done."
"What are you going to tell Sarah?"
That made Mic smile. "That I've found someone else," he said simply. Clay's hand wasn't covering his any more; it was holding his, and that was better. "That the someone else is a guy. She'll let me go."
"You're not going to tell her it's me?" Clay grinned suddenly. "Hate to think you're ashamed of me already."
Mic grinned back. "I'll tell her if you like, mate. Thought you'd want to keep that spy thing going."
Clay laughed out loud at that, and Mic laughed, too, and thought of Timmy. He knew he'd approve of Clay.
The End
Posted 2/6/02
