Photograph
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
JAG
Neville Webb/Harmon Rabb, Sr. and Clayton Webb/Harmon Rabb, Jr.
Rating: adult
Harmon Rabb receives a photograph of his father and another man and needs to know the truth. As he searches for it, he finds out there's happiness waiting for him, if he'll only go after it, or so a ghost assures him.
Disclaimer: We all know to whom these characters belong, and it's not me; it's Belisarius Productions and CBS.
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.
Warnings: no real sex and a ghost or two.
Spoilers: Mixed Messages, To Russia With Love, Webb of Lies, general ones for the series.
This is a Halloween story and a resolution to Mixed Messages, which ended with Rabb pissed as hell at Webb. Can't have that. So I fixed it. It was inspired by Elizabeth's call on the CaptainsCabin list to write something spooky or slashy for Halloween, but of course I had to take it out of Horatio Hornblower and put it in JAG. She forgave me. :-)
For Isilzha, whose most sadly unfinished history of Harmon Rabb, Sr. and Neville Webb I draw on, since I was lucky enough to get to read it. She's one of my ghosts, and always welcome.
Beta'd by Elizabeth and Scarlet more quickly than any writer could dream. :-)
*****
Harmon Rabb stared at the large black and white picture. There was his father, in a torn and dirty uniform, standing in front of a plane that had been shot up pretty bad, but smiling, with his arm around another man in an equally torn and dirty suit, also smiling. Who was this other man? Where had this picture come from?
He picked up the manila envelope. His name was printed on the front in neat black letters, no postage, no return address. It had been with his mail when he picked it up and probably hand delivered. No clues there.
He sighed, put down the envelope, and returned his attention to the picture. There was something familiar about the man in the suit. Something about those eyes, that smile... He shook his head and looked again at his father. Such joy in his eyes and smile. His eyes moved to the man with his father. He'd known his father had friends on the Tico, but this man looked... looked... Shit. He stared at the face. He knew it now. It had been a few years since he'd stood in Porter Webb's house and listened to her tell him about the Webb tradition of espionage, and show him a picture of her husband, long dead, but he'd finally made the connection. This was Neville Webb. What the hell was his father doing with his arm around Neville Webb?
He slid the picture back in the envelope and stood. There was one person he could ask, and it sure as hell wasn't Clayton Webb. He wanted nothing to do with Webb after that stunt he'd pulled, smearing Rick Stechler's good name. If Webb vanished into some CIA hole, that would be fine with him. But Mrs. Webb was a good person. She might help him.
*****
"Yes, Commander, I sent you the photograph, or rather, had Markov deliver it. I wanted to be sure you got it, and the mail isn't always reliable. More tea?"
Porter Webb smiled at him over the china cup she held, then set it down and reached for the teapot.
Rabb shook his head to decline the tea. "Why did you send it, Mrs. Webb?"
"Porter, please." Her correction was gentle, but definite, and Harm nodded.
"Porter. Why?"
"My son has told me how much you want to know about your father." She nodded to the picture on the low table in front of them. "I found that in one of Neville's files. It only recently became available to me. His instructions for his files were explicit. They were to be sealed until the twentieth century was over."
"A CIA file?"
She nodded. "A CIA file. Your father and Clayton's father knew each other in Vietnam, and I suspect went on a mission together. Before you ask, I don't know anything more."
Clayton's father? Now why had she referred to her husband that way? Harm stared at her, and she met his stare with calm eyes. He couldn't ask, and he wasn't sure why he couldn't. "Porter, my father never worked for the CIA."
"I don't know about that, but this picture was taken when Neville was section chief in Saigon." She smiled. "Perhaps Clayton could tell you more."
"I'm sure he has much better things to do than talk to me." He heard the bitterness in his voice and winced. He had no right to inflict that on Porter Webb, no matter what he thought of her son. "He's a busy guy." There. That was better.
"If you like, I can ask him to assist you. I don't ask my son favors often, but when I do, he listens."
Harm swallowed. He wanted to know about this mission, but he didn't want to see Clayton Webb again. Webb was a bastard who didn't give a damn about anyone, just his damned spook operations. Rabb could still see his cold face as he admitted lying, planting false information, and helping a guilty man stay free so that man could be turned and feed more false information to the Chinese. Webb had no sense of honor, no values. He was despicable. And he'd thought that Webb was different. Maybe that was what hurt the most: finding out that Webb was just like everybody else in Washington. He didn't want Webb to be like everybody else.
"My son is like his father. He does his job, but he has no joy of it. It's a matter of honor. People think he's cold and needs no one, but, Harm, he does need people." She put his hand on his larger one.
"He's your son. You can see him like none of us can."
"You mean, I see something that isn't there." Her eyes were still gentle. "Clayton has his masks to keep him safe, but they keep him lonely. I don't know what is wrong between you, but I know there's something."
"What did he tell you?" Rabb pounced on the opening.
Porter shook her head. "It's what he didn't tell me. We go riding every Sunday, and always, at some point, he talks about you. Never much, but there's always some mention, for years now. This Sunday, he said nothing, so I asked. Clayton was almost rude." She sighed. "He smoothed it over, of course, and said he'd been too busy and nothing had come to him about you, but I know my son. He was lying. Harm, I don't like seeing my son hurt."
Harm waited for more, but no more came, and he realized that was the closest Porter Webb would get to pleading with him to forgive her son. "I'm sure you don't," he said softly. "I'll... I'll go talk to him about the picture." He couldn't promise any more than that.
"Thank you, Harm." She breathed out and smiled again.
Harm smiled back while he tried to tell himself it wouldn't be that bad seeing Webb again. It didn't help.
*****
"Rabb." Webb didn't stand, just stared at him from behind his desk. "So now you've got my mother helping you? You have no shame."
Rabb slammed the door shut behind him and strode in to stand in front of the desk. "She offered. I didn't ask. Hell, she sent me this." He pulled the envelope out and threw it down, and Webb calmly picked it up and took out the photo.
"I thought about sending you this, but I knew you'd never understand," was all he said.
"You knew your father got my father to work for the CIA, and you didn't tell me?"
Webb flicked a cool look at him. "Sit down, Harm. I assume you want to know more. I'll tell you. Mother wants you to know."
So Porter had been right. Webb would do what she asked. Harm put his cover on the desk and sat. Damned chair was impossible to sit in comfortably, and he had to look up at Webb. That had to be intentional, a CIA trick.
Webb steepled his fingers below his face and sighed. "My father was set up as section chief in Saigon."
Harm bit back his first reply, which was to ask why Webb thought he'd care, and listened.
"He had enemies in the Company who wanted him to screw up. That's how the Company is. You do well, someone's out to get you. Not everyone is that petty, of course. But my father had his share of enemies, especially since he tended to go his own way." There was a faint smile on Webb's face now, and Harm felt a smile tugging at his mouth. Webb could be talking about himself. "So he realized that he needed to be very careful and make sure of all his information. That meant having secret meetings with foreign agents. He couldn't trust anyone in the Company, so he found someone not of the Company to fly him to one of these meetings, your father. He was very helpful. My father writes: 'I could not have done this without the assistance of Lieutenant Rabb.' That's high praise from him. They were shot down over enemy territory on their return from the meeting and managed to get back to Saigon."
His father was shot down, but got to safety. That time. "How did your father get my father to help him?"
Webb frowned. "The report simply says that your father agreed to fly him while he was on leave. Probably some favor or other."
"My father did not need favors from anyone, Webb."
"Then he was better than his son," Webb shot back.
Rabb felt anger flow through him at that, but he stuffed it down. He wasn't here to argue with Webb. "Probably."
Webb blinked. "Well." He flipped through the file, then closed it, resting his hands again in a steeple. "This happened a year before your father's plane went down. There really isn't that much information. It's mostly about my father's meeting, and you're not cleared for that."
He didn't care about the meeting. "Why would my father help yours?"
"Mother says they were friends." Webb shrugged at Rabb's look of disbelief. "I asked her. I can't believe it, either, but I don't think she'd lie to me."
"They look like friends in the picture."
"Yes, they do." Webb wasn't looking at Rabb, and Rabb remembered what Porter had told him about Webb's masks. He didn't seem to be using one now. He was as open and vulnerable as Rabb had ever seen him.
"Your mother's worried about you, Clay." Me, too, he wanted to add, but didn't.
"I'm fine." Webb stood. "I have no more information for you, Commander Rabb."
Rabb stood as well. "I hope Pagano is a good double agent for you." It was hard for him to say, but he found that he meant it.
He saw surprise in Webb's eyes. "He's working out well."
"I still hate what you did."
He thought Webb wasn't going to reply, but after a long moment and a hard stare, he did. "Sometimes I hate what I do. I still do it. Someone has to."
He didn't want to talk about that. Someone didn't have to, as far as he was concerned. "Aren't you curious about our fathers being friends?"
Webb looked away, toward the fish tank. "Maybe. But I'm used to not knowing."
"It's not something to get used to."
"They were friends. We'll never know more. That's how it is, Harm. Are you going to quit the Navy and JAG and go over to Vietnam to try to find people who can give you answers? I assure you, there aren't any."
Harm shook his head. He knew that he couldn't do that, that it wouldn't get him anything if he did. "I want the truth."
"We can't always have what we want."
He knew that, but he never liked hearing it. "Right. Thank you."
Webb stared at Harm. "Did I just hear you right?"
"I said 'thank you'. If that's what you heard, you heard right." He thought he should tell Webb he owed him, but he didn't want to.
"You're welcome."
Harm nodded and left. Webb wasn't going to tell him anything more, and didn't want to know anything more. That was his prerogative. But Harm did, and he was going to the one person he thought could tell him.
*****
"Harm. I thought you'd be back."
"I wanted to thank you for talking to Clayton."
Porter Webb smiled. "And you wanted to ask me more about Neville, now that you know how little Clayton can tell you."
Did she read minds?
"Come in."
She led the way to the couch he remembered from his previous two visits, and he glanced at the picture of Neville Webb before sitting beside her. She glanced at it, too, and smiled.
"My husband, Neville, was a complex man. I loved him dearly, but I knew him, too. I accepted him. He came back from Vietnam, and he was happy to be back, of course, but he had lost something over there. Someone. A few times, he called out for 'Harm' in his sleep. I never asked him about that, of course. If he wanted me to know, he would have told me. I suspect that he and your father were very close. Close enough that Neville would dream of your father."
"What aren't you telling me, ma'am?"
She didn't correct his address this time. "I need your word that you will not tell this to another soul. Not even my son. I suspect he knows, but if not, I do not want him hurt."
"I give you my word."
"My husband loved me, but desired men, too. All the time we were married, he slept with men. I knew this. I loved him. I wanted him to be happy."
Harm stared. "My father would never do that."
"It's not an accusation." A gentle voice, and he hated himself for being so quick to jump, but he hadn't been able to help himself. "War causes people to do things they'd never do at home in peace. If your father did sleep with Neville, it had nothing to do with his love for your mother and you."
Harm stood. He couldn't take this. "He would never do that," he repeated. "I have to go."
The blood in his ears was pounding so hard that he didn't know if she said anything more as he went out of the room, then the front door. His father having sex with someone other than his mother. He couldn't even think of his father having sex with his mother, let alone anyone else, and certainly not a man. Not Clayton Webb's father.
He shuddered and leaned against the side of his SUV. He was going to have to get this out of his head before he went back to JAG. The admiral had given him a few hours to pursue his 'personal business', but he knew his duty.
*****
Harm got home that night, changed into comfortable clothes, and sat down on the couch. He knew he should think about dinner, about getting out the candy for the trick-or-treaters, but he kept his lights off and just sat in the growing gloom.
"Son."
The voice was familiar, and the man it came from even more familiar. His father. A ghost. Here. Harm blinked and shook his head. He couldn't be seeing this.
"Son, you're not dreaming."
Harm reached out, but his hands went through his father's form, sending a strange frisson of energy through him. He shook his head and pulled back his hands, getting another wave of energy. "Why are you here?"
"To tell you about Neville." His father's smile had that same joy in it for a moment, then it dimmed. "To help you see that life is too short to be angry with his son."
"Now you're on Webb's side?"
His father didn't answer that, just sighed. "I had my doubts about Neville when he approached me. I knew he wanted something. He stood out in that Saigon bar like a sore thumb, watching me, listening to me. He was trying to fit in, but there was something about him. Something that made me want to know more. So I asked him to take a walk with me. He did. That was how it started."
Harm listened. This had to be a dream, but he didn't want to wake up.
"It's a long story," his father grinned, "and I'm sure Neville wouldn't want anyone to know everything, any more than I do, especially how I couldn't keep our plane in the air long enough to land somewhere safe, but it was an important mission, and I was proud to help Neville accomplish it. Proud to know him at all."
"Why, Dad?"
"Why did I help Neville? Because I wanted to get to know him. Because under that prickly exterior, I saw a good man, doing what he thought was best. Wish I'd known that before I broke his nose."
"You broke his nose?"
His father smiled wistfully. "He wanted to take a man in for questioning who tried to rob us. I believed the man was a simple thief. Neville knew better. I felt very strongly about it, so I knocked Neville out and let the man escape. Luckily, Neville's people were able to pick him up later. It turned out that the man had been hired, but he hadn't gotten to report. Lucky."
Harm smiled, too. "Webb got his nose broken, too. By Admiral Chegwidden, not me." Not that he hadn't thought about breaking Webb's nose often. But he'd never gotten around to throwing the punch.
"When you went to Russia to find out what happened to me. I'm proud of you, son."
"I'm proud of you, Dad." He swallowed. He had to ask, but he wasn't sure he could ask his next question. "Were you and Neville Webb...?" He couldn't say it after all, but his father seemed to know what he was asking.
"Harm, I never stopped missing Trish, but Neville was someone special. I loved him. He made me happy, and I made him happy. We didn't have much time together, but I know that."
"You and Neville Webb had sex." Saying it didn't make it any easier to believe. He rubbed his eyes, but his father was still there, smiling gently, when he opened them again.
"It never would have happened if we hadn't been away from our families, Harm. But it did happen, and I don't regret it. I'm sure he didn't, either." His voice softened. "Things happen in wartime, Harm. I'm glad Neville happened to me. You know, Neville's son is very like Neville, and you're not happy. Neither of you are. Go to him, Harm. Give him a chance to show you who he really is. Give him a chance to make you happy. He'll do it if you let him."
"Clayton Webb? Dad, the Navy -"
"The Navy's regs are its problem. Your life and happiness are yours. Are you going to waste your life in unhappiness when you don't have to? I know it's not an easy choice, but you're brave. You can face the hard ones." His smile was tender, and Harm drank it in. "You always have. Good luck, son. I love you."
Harm blinked as his father's image faded away. "Dad..." But his father was gone. All he had was the memory of their talk. His father and Neville Webb. Lovers. And his father's last words: **Go to him, Harm. Give him a chance to show you who he really is. Give him a chance to make you happy. He'll do it if you let him.**
Harm swallowed and stared at the picture. They looked so happy, even though it had to have been hell getting back. Where had they been shot down? Why had they gone? What had his father seen in Neville Webb? For that matter, why didn't he just put this out of his head and go on with his life? He'd lost Renee, but he had Mac. They'd talk at some point, when she got back from wherever she'd gone now. Sooner or later they'd get things settled. But right now, that seemed stale and profitless to him.
He'd never thought of having sex with another man. But no other man had ever gotten under his skin like Clayton Webb had from their first meeting.
He slid the photo into the envelope, then locked the envelope in his desk. He knew where he was going, and he even had his excuse ready.
******
Clayton Webb opened the door. "Harm?"
"Trick or treat," Harm said, swallowing a laugh at Webb's expression of dismay, quickly replaced by his usual blank face. He held out a paper bag and waited.
"You're a little old to be trick-or-treating." Webb dropped a small candy bar into the bag, then frowned at the clink. "What do you have in there?"
"I brought you a treat. You like scotch?"
"Very much."
"Going to invite me in?" He knew he couldn't tell Clay about his father's ghost, couldn't tell Clay anything but that he wanted a chance, and maybe he wouldn't get that far tonight, but it was a start, and a start was better than being alone. Especially if that start was with Clayton Webb.
Thanks, Dad, he thought, and for a moment he thought he felt his father's hand on his head. Then Webb held open the door, and Harm walked in.
*****
"Your son is as stubborn as mine." The ghost in the fighter pilot's uniform smiled at the ghost in the three-piece suit. "And that's saying something."
"He's a good man. They'll be fine." The ghost in the three-piece suit smiled back. "Let's hope they stay on the ground."
The two ghosts laughed. Maybe their sons would find some happiness at last.
The End
Posted 10/31/01
