The Challenge

by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)

JAG

Clark Palmer/Harmon Rabb

Rating: adult

Clark Palmer gets out of prison and comes for Harmon Rabb and a very personal revenge.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters (except for John at the end, since I made him up). They belong to Belisarius Productions and CBS. I am making no money from this story, and I will make sure that they all go back to work and behave for the producers, directors, and actors who portray them. The lyrics that Clark Palmer sings are from "Autobiography of a Pistol" by Ellis Paul on the CD Stories, copyright held by Ellis Paul Publishing, 1994. It's a great disc.

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: This story has m/m sex, minor m/f sex, rape, beatings, physical and mental torture, and explicit abuse. It is not a happy story. If any or all of these offend you, please don't read it. It should be taken as my own personal flight of fancy after having watched all the Clark Palmer episodes in a row too many times. No disrespect to the actors or the characters is intended.

Spoilers: Impact, Imposter, Webb of Lies, Wilderness of Mirrors, Contemptuous Words. This takes place some time after Contemptuous Words and disregards many of the developments of the fifth season.

For Palmer's side of this story, read Through a glass, darkly.

My thanks to Mareen and Katja, who heard about my half-finished story and urged me to get it done and posted, and worked with me. And to Greg, who was there from the beginning.

*****

"Are you sure you're feeling O.K., Commander?" The question came from Mac, Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, USMC, who was standing in the doorway. She gave Harm a wry smile when he looked up from the folder he had open on his desk.

"I'm fine. No need to worry about me." He flashed her one of his more charming smiles, but she persisted.

"You've been going through a lot lately. It's beginning to show."

Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr.'s smile faded. He knew what she was referring to, and it had been difficult: a full load of cases, as well as almost constant problems with his personal life, namely Jordan, his once-girlfriend. He was trying to get her back in his life, but she couldn't seem to forgive him for having hidden his decision to go back to flying from her, even now that he was back in Washington. Every time he thought that they'd found the way back to some kind of real relationship, he said something, did something, that made her give him the distant look that told him she was on the verge of walking away from him for good. If it hadn't been for his persistence, he might just have lost her, but he found ways to hold on. If he could just have a few weeks with only the usual problems...which reminded him of one right now.

"I know." He glanced down at the folder again. "If you want to help, Colonel, you could take this deposition. I'd appreciate it." He rubbed his eyes with a closed fist. "It would be good to get out of here."

"When is it?"

"This afternoon." He picked up the folder. "It's all here."

"I'll fit it in, Commander." Mac reached out to take it from him. "Seeing Jordan?"

"Hoping to." He stood. "I thought I'd surprise her at work, take her out to dinner. Think she'd like that?"

"Why not just cook for her at your place? It is Friday night."

"And be alone? Not until I'm sure we won't fight." Harm hadn't meant that to slip out, but it was too late. He tried a wry smile of his own, grateful that she didn't offer any comment. "Her work's hard. We need some time."

"We'll find out who's pulling all these stunts, Harm," Mac said softly, going to the heart of the matter.

Harm's shoulders slumped. Every week, it seemed, although it wasn't that often, the Inspector General's investigators had been coming in to question him about matters he'd never heard of, matters that somehow had his name attached, a Swiss bank account and an anonymous editorial criticizing the President the worst yet. He had been cleared of all of them, but dealing with the pressure took time and energy.

A thought crossed his mind again, and he straightened, his eyes growing hard. "I know it's Palmer." Special agent Clark Palmer, a sociopath with secret-agent training. The thought of that was enough to make him want to go back to active duty. Living on a crowded ship was a whole lot easier to handle than Palmer, and then he'd be flying. Getting up in a plane always helped him feel free, in control.

"It can't be, Harm. We've checked him out. He's locked up in Leavenworth, and his computer can't make the connections, not any more. And there's no way he can change that." His expression showed that he wasn't convinced. "It's not Clark Palmer."

"I know it's him." Harm folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "Who else has the mind set, and connections, to make this kind of trouble?"

"More people than you seem to think," Mac retorted. "And we'll find out which one it is, if you'll just get over your paranoia. I'm telling you, Palmer would be thrilled to see you now." Her face showed her own concern as Harm's changed from stubborn anger to almost fear.

"Don't you think I know that? The wilderness of mirrors, the paranoia of spies, Webb called it, and he was right." They both thought of the night that Palmer had almost tricked Harm into shooting Jordan with the careful placement of a mirror. "I don't even know if I'm right to keep seeing Jordan. He might go after her, too." He gave her a haunted look. "Or you. No one who knows me is safe, Mac. Better keep your distance."

"I can take care of myself, Harm."

He smiled with a little more animation. "That's something I count on."

"Well, I'd better get to that deposition," Mac said with a briskness that broke the mood, to Harm's relief. He did want to get out of the office. "Have a good evening. And weekend."

"I hope to." Harm swung out of the office, returning salutes as he did.

*****

It was a short drive to Jordan's office, and Harm went up the stairs instead of the elevator. The drive, and the exercise, helped work off some of his frustration and fear, so when he neared her office he was whistling, a smile on his face. He was lucky enough to find her sitting at her desk, bent over a file.

"Hi there, Jordy." He bent to kiss her hair. She didn't pull away, and that heartened him even more. "How about I take you out for dinner?"

She looked up at that, and he saw with dismay that her eyes were tired. "That's a really nice offer, Harm, but I've got so much to do."

"We can make it a quick dinner, and I'll deliver you right back here as soon as it's over, pilot's honor," he bargained. For some reason, he really wanted to be with her tonight. He felt as though it might be the right beginning, finally, and for a moment he thought he saw yielding, and even love again, in her eyes, but then she smiled and shook her head.

"Not tonight, Harm." Her smile brightened. "But it's sweet of you. Can I have a rain check?"

"Only if you don't wait too long to cash it." He felt good, even though she'd turned him down. The promise was there, and this time, he vowed, he wouldn't let anything ruin it.

"I won't." She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, cementing her words. "Now go." She released him, and Harm straightened, a smile on the lips she had just kissed.

"I'll never stand between an officer and her duty."

He saw that she was already deep in the file again, and closed the door quietly behind him. It was still a victory. She hadn't let him that close since he'd kept his struggle between law and flying from her.

*****

He decided to pick up some takeout and go home, play his guitar, take it easy. Mac was right, he thought when he caught a glimpse of himself in a storefront window. He was looking worn. A good night's sleep might be just what he needed.

He picked up a salad and milk for the morning, then headed home. His energy from before was gone, and he took the stairs to his place with a slow heavy stride. He fit the key into the lock and turned, then opened the door. He felt air move. Before he could turn his head to see more than a shadow, there was a sting in his left arm, then...nothing.

*****

"Wake up, Harm."

The amused voice was familiar, but not instantly recognizable as anything but male. Bud? he thought and struggled to open his eyes, but the lids were heavy, and so was everything else about him. Bud wouldn't call him by his first name, either, he realized as he woke up more.

"Wake up, I said." The voice was a little harsher, and that was what did it.

"Palmer," he gasped and opened his eyes. The lean, intent face of Clark Palmer smiled down at him. "You're in jail."

"No, Commander, I'm not." Palmer cocked his head, silhouetting his ears against the wall behind him. "But you are. The new boy in the cellblock, and all mine."

Harm pulled at his arms and legs, trying to sit up, but nothing moved. After a moment, with Palmer still smiling down at him, he realized that his arms and legs were spread apart and bound. He lifted his head as much as he could, and saw that he was naked. Palmer had on a tight t-shirt and worn jeans. He remembered seeing the other man in suits and a delivery man's brown uniform, as well as a POW uniform when Palmer impersonated Harm's father, but not in this kind of casual clothing, except maybe on the Kamiko Maru, and then he'd been too fixed on what Palmer was threatening to Jordan to give a damn about what the other man was wearing. Those looked good on him, he thought, then pushed the irrelevancy away. He had more important things to deal with than Palmer's new look.

"Where am I?" he demanded as harshly as he could, from his prone position on his back.

Palmer's hand touched his cheek, and the unexpected intimacy made Harm shudder. There was something about being stripped while the other man was dressed that was different from the other time Palmer had him tied. And that was to a chair, not a bed. He didn't like this at all. Palmer wanted something, had something planned. And Harm was sure that, whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

Palmer's fingers stroked up to his hairline as Harm waited for some kind of answer. "You're in my jail now, Commander." The light irony in his voice made Harm try to jerk away from Palmer, but the other man kept his hand pressed against Harm's forehead. Harm was dismayed to find that it was actually comforting. "And you've been a bad boy, so the warden put you under my care, so that I can teach you a lesson." He laughed low in his throat, his eyes bright and glittering. "I've learned so much in prison, Harm, you can't imagine. But you will."

Palmer took his hand away from Harm's face and busied himself with something out of Harm's field of vision. When he brought it up, Harm saw that he was holding a needle, the chamber full of a liquid, clear, unknown, and terrifying.

"What's this about, Palmer?" Harm tried to keep him talking, anything to keep whatever drug he had away. Palmer had connections to get the newest stuff, he knew, and a taste for experimentation. "Are you going to take my face again? Time to use me to kill another person who's gone against your precious DSD? I don't know about any case you might be interested in." Even as he spoke, he knew that wasn't it. Palmer didn't repeat himself. That wasn't his style.

Palmer lowered the needle and smiled. "This isn't a job, Harm." He held Harm's eyes with his. "It's personal." Before Harm could respond at all to that statement, he felt a jab in his upper arm and jerked. "You are a bad boy." Palmer's hand came into view again and Harm saw that the chamber was empty. "But this will help you be better. And then," he laughed again, "I'll do the rest."

"What is this about?" Harm tried again. Whatever the drug was, it was working quickly. His limbs were feeling heavy again, but it was different. He felt more warm and relaxed than he ought to, considering the situation. "And where am I?" His eyes darted around the room. It was small, with the bed he was bound to, a wooden chair, a toilet in one corner, and bars making up one wall, cutting off any chance at the door. A cell, he realized. Palmer had created a cell to imprison him in. This had to be revenge for sending him to Leavenworth.

"Actually? Oh, come on, Harm, I'm not going to tell you that. And I think you're smart enough to recognize what I'm trying to do here." Harm swallowed and wished his head would clear. He had to get away from Palmer. "But no need to worry, your buddies at JAG won't be looking for you. It's the weekend, you know."

Harm felt sick to his stomach at the thought. There was a lot of time in a weekend for Palmer to do whatever he wanted to him. And there was no one but Jordan to check up on him, and it wasn't that likely she'd come over on a whim, and when he wasn't there, which he was certain he wasn't, she'd just think he'd gone away. And he had.

Palmer was still speaking. "And when that's done, you're going to be one very sick boy. I'll make sure they know that their precious commander is safely under a doctor's care." He laughed. "Mine, that is. I always liked playing doctor when I was a kid. Didn't you?"

"They'll want to see me." Harm was grabbing at any straw he could find, but he knew from the smile on Palmer's face that he'd thought of that point already.

"But you're going to be unavailable. It's all been taken care of, don't worry. Not even Webb will think anything but what I want him to."

Harm didn't understand the look of amusement that passed over Palmer's face, but assumed that it was because of some kind of trick he'd pulled on the rival agent. And he had more important things to worry about, like what the hell Palmer had planned and how he was going to get out of it.

Palmer bent his head until his face was directly over Harm's. "How are you feeling, Commander?"

Harm didn't want to tell him that or anything else. He was feeling even more relaxed than before, in a way that he had always associated with a woman and getting close to getting lucky. This wasn't anything that should be happening.

When he didn't say anything, Palmer slapped him. "I want an answer, Rabb." The sting on Harm's face convinced him that the other man was serious.

"Heavy," he managed, and Palmer laughed. His face was still above Harm's, the breath warm and insistent, and Harm wished that he could get a hand free and push it away. Palmer being so close wasn't helping him feel any better.

"You should be a little more comfortable than that." Harm couldn't believe it. Palmer's voice was almost a purr, but at least he took his face away. "Let me see what I can do for you."

The next thing Harm felt was a stroking at his crotch. He raised his head, but all he saw was what he expected, Palmer's hands on him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Don't ever get yourself put in jail, Rabb. With that attitude, you'd be eating teeth. And," a grimace crossed Palmer's face, "whatever else anyone wanted to feed you. Believe me, I know." His fingers were around Harm's organ now, stroking the shaft. "From that note of panic I'm hearing, I'd have to guess you've never done this before, Commander." His tone was mocking, the moment of revelation over. "All that time on carriers, and no friendly jerking-off in the bunks? I can't believe it."

Harm felt himself getting hard. What the hell was happening?

"Good, the drug is working," Palmer observed pleasantly, and Harm knew that was at least part of the answer. Palmer's fingers tightened around Harm's cock, then released, and Harm bit back a moan. It felt so damned good. "Want to know what kind of drug it is, Commander?" He was back to stroking now.

Harm tried to get control of himself, but it was hard. His body was becoming more important than his mind, and it was certain that whatever was happening was just fine. He finally managed to push away the feathery sensations Palmer's fingers were bringing out. "Some kind of experimental thing, I'd say."

"Well, that was obvious. But guess what? It's a drug that's designed to bring to the surface all the desires a person's suppressed, or at least the strongest ones." He glanced down at Harm's erection. "Now, I wonder what yours will be. Want to tell me, Rabb? Maybe I'll go easier on you if you tell me the truth."

"I don't have any suppressed desires, except to get out of here," Harm said harshly, or at least he hoped his tone was harsh. "You can't get away with this, Palmer. Let me go."

"You really think you're in any condition to make demands, baby?"

Suddenly Palmer's tone was intimate, and his fingers strayed down to Harm's balls, cupping them in a warm grasp. Just as suddenly, his fingers tightened around them, and Harm cried out in pain. Palmer released him.

"Oh, Harm, you just don't get it. You're not going anywhere. I'm going to show you just what you've been missing. When I'm through with you, even the beautiful Lt. Colonel MacKenzie won't have to worry about you getting out of line, and your pretty Jordan?" He laughed. "Maybe I'll console her myself. I was tempted when I had her sweet weight in my arms. It would be amusing to take that revenge on the psychiatrist who tried so, so hard to help poor deluded Lieutenant Mago. And I'd like to see your face when you saw her crying out with me buried deep in her, helpless and desperate. Maybe even begging for you to rescue her. Not that you'd be able to."

Harm couldn't stand the images that Palmer was raising in his mind. He and Jordan were having their problems, but he'd never want anything like this to happen to her. Never.

"I've read that all women are really masochists underneath, and she's dating you. She must love getting hurt."

"You leave Jordan out of this." Harm's voice came out more desperate than he wanted, and Palmer chuckled.

"Don't worry. I don't have time for her now. You're what I'm here for."

The thought of what that was beginning to mean made Harm jerk at the bonds. He didn't know what they were made of, but there was no give in them at all. Palmer watched his struggles with the same cool smile.

"And call me Clark, Harm. After all, we're going to be very, very close."

Harm shook his head. Palmer was crazy, he told himself. He certainly didn't want what the man was doing. His body disagreed, but he tried to ignore it.

"We are, Harm," Palmer insisted. He was back to stroking Harm's shaft, tight and hard, the way Harm did when alone. Harm felt himself getting closer than he would have ever thought possible to coming. "Want to come, Commander?" His voice was very soft. "Just ask, and I'll do it. This once, to show you what I can do for you."

Harm clenched his teeth. He wasn't going to say anything more, he decided. So his body responded to a man's touch. That wasn't anything to be ashamed of. It was just biology. And whatever this drug was, it was screwing him up. He'd just have to wait it out. Then he'd have a chance.

Palmer sighed and took his hand away. "Oh, baby, you're just going to make it hard on yourself, I can tell." Harm breathed a sigh of both relief and frustration. He'd been very close. Palmer reached down and undid himself, bringing out a penis that was partly hard. Harm told himself to look away, but his eyes wouldn't obey him.

"You don't want to get off, fine. This time, at least. But I'm not going to let you stop me. This is what you do in prison if you don't have anyone to do it for you." Palmer settled himself comfortably on the chair and spread his legs. "Watch and learn, Rabb."

Palmer's cock swelled as he stroked it with both hands, using an even rougher grip than Harm liked, as far as he could tell. Soon the other man was moaning, sounds rippling through his clenched teeth. "Fuck this," he said harshly and stood. He reached to the wall and pressed something, and Harm's legs rose in the air. Harm was too dazed to do more than wonder. "You're here, and I've got you, and you're going to find out," he was between Harm's legs now, kneeling, "just what you've got in store from now on."

Harm felt something cool and thick being spread around his asshole, then a finger penetrated him. He couldn't take that. He tensed, then a hard slap stung his thigh.

"You want it rougher than you're going to get it, baby?" Palmer's eyes were glittering again. "I didn't think you were the type of guy who liked getting slapped around and beaten up. But then even boy scouts change."

Harm swallowed, then shook his head. Palmer was in control here, he reminded himself, and he had to endure whatever the other man gave him. The bad part was that it wasn't feeling like enduring was what he was doing. It was almost like he was anticipating it, worse yet, wanting it. The stroking between his legs felt good, the opening beginning to relax and even want something in it. He'd never felt like this before, never.

"Oh, yeah," Palmer breathed as Harm felt thick and hot pressure where the fingers had been. His own erection had flagged a little, but was still standing as Palmer wrapped his oily fingers around it. "You're going to like this, Rabb. I saw guys like you in prison," the condom-covered head was easing in, stretching Harm more than any examination ever had, and he gasped for air and a control he was beginning to realize he'd lost, "all wrapped in their uniforms," he laughed and pumped Harm's cock, then let go, "until they got a taste of how a guy could strip them down to bare skin and barer hunger, and then you couldn't keep them away. Yeah," he answered the question in Harm's eyes, "I know what I'm talking about. I got taken a few times, and then I caught a guy in the showers and shoved this," he did the same to Harm, who gasped, "right where he wanted it. That was when they all saw what I could do. And started begging me for it."

Palmer held steady as Harm breathed in short gasps. The penetration burned, his back hurt from the pressure and the strain that was being put on it, and there wasn't anything he could do about any of it.

"You're no different from any of them. You want it, too."

The soft insinuation, along with the undeniable presence in his ass, made Harm squeeze his eyes shut. Make it go away, he thought to God, his father, anyone. Please.

"Get them open," Palmer ordered, with a slap to his face that made his skin burn. "I want you to know who's got you. This isn't a dream, baby. You're getting fucked by me, a guy," he started to stroke in and out, "and you're loving it."

"I hate it." Harm's voice was as weak as the rest of him. This drug was doing something terrible to him, and he couldn't fight it, or Palmer. "I hate you."

Palmer laughed. "Yeah, sure you do, baby. Sure you do." He thrust into Harm even harder, and Harm screamed at the shock of pleasure. "And even if you do, what do I care? You'll learn to like it. I know how to make that happen."

He punctuated every few words with a thrust in and out, and Harm began to believe that he wasn't going to survive this. The pleasure he'd felt was gone. He thought of his father. Had he ever been used like this during the time he was being held by the Vietnamese, or the Soviets? He hoped not.

When the pain got to the point where Harm's face was screwed up to an almost unrecognizable mask, Palmer reached over to grab his limp shaft and pump it, as the pleasure from before came in bursts that matched Palmer's thrusts into him. It took only a few strokes to get it hard again, and soon Harm couldn't tell if he was in absolute pain or ecstasy. His signals were too confused.

"Come on, son," he heard Palmer croon. "Come for daddy."

Hearing that, Harm definitely didn't want to, but just then Palmer pulled out. The relief, along with the knowledge in Palmer's motion, made him spurt all over himself. "Let me go," he demanded as soon as he could. The effort was almost too much for him.

Palmer climbed off the bed and reached down, coming up with a handful of tissues. "Right. Tell me, why in hell would I do that?"

Harm was breathing in short gasps, and couldn't answer for a while. Palmer wiped Harm's chest clean while waiting, as unconcerned as if he did all the time, then pushed the button again and Harm's legs lowered.

"Because you got what you wanted." He hoped that was true. Palmer had raped him. What more, or worse, could he have in mind?

"You think that's all I wanted, Commander? On the contrary. That's just the beginning." Palmer bent over. He came back up with a blanket, which he shook out and tucked around Harm. It was rough against his skin, but the warmth was welcome. "Get some sleep. You'll need it."

"Palmer..." Harm didn't know what he was going to say to convince the man to let him go, but he had to try.

The other man reached down to press his hand over Harm's mouth before any more came out. "Such a bad boy." The tone in his voice was almost caressing. "I'm going to have to punish you later. Sleep now." Palmer shut off the dim light and left the room, closing both the cell door and the room's wooden one behind him.

Harm lay awake for what seemed like a long time. All right, he thought. It wasn't over. He was Palmer's captive, and Palmer had some kind of idea that he was going to show Harm what prison was like. Or was that it at all? Some of his phrases didn't sound like prison talk, like calling himself 'daddy' and talking about Harm being a 'bad boy'. But what did he know about prison? And this was Palmer. Trying to figure him out was as impossible as flying at night used to be.

He frowned and tried to pull against the bonds again, but all that got him were aching wrists. As soon as he stopped, he found himself falling into sleep. Whatever tomorrow held, was going to come whether he liked it or not, and that thought gave him uneasy dreams.

*****

Harm woke, on his front now, on hands and knees, his ankles and wrists cuffed, this time with metal. It was an awkward position, especially with his legs spread so wide and his hands jammed down by the metal frame of the bed, and Harm struggled to stay in it. There wasn't anything else he could do. Any other position would put him in an even more vulnerable and uncomfortable position. He suspected that he hadn't been asleep too long, from the sandiness of his eyes.

"My boy's awake now. That's good." It was Palmer's voice, coming from beside him, his right side. Harm tensed and almost lost his balance.

"Palmer, what is this all about?" There was always a chance that Palmer would get diverted by talking. The man loved to go on about how brilliant he was, how well he'd fooled everyone. And right now, Harm would settle for anything that put off whatever Palmer had in mind now, anything that would give him a chance.

"Call me Clark, baby." Palmer laughed, and Harm wished he could get his head around to see him, have a chance of figuring out what he was thinking, but when he tried, the man's face was out of his sight. He felt a pat on the top of his head. "Unless you want to call me daddy. That's fine, too."

"My father is dead," Harm said fiercely. His head ached, along with the rest of his body, and his asshole was throbbing with dull pain. "And whatever this sick game is you're into, I'm not."

"What a speech." Palmer's voice was mocking. "Still dress whites and moral conviction." His hand slipped down to stroke Harm's ass with an intimacy that made Harm grit his teeth. "It's going to be fun showing you just how wrong you are, Harm. You want a daddy to take care of you, teach you about the world, even punish you when you're bad...that's what was behind that long, long search for him, wasn't it? You're still obsessed with him. But you're right, he is dead and rotting in a grave you can't even find." Harm felt tears sting his eyes, and was glad the other man couldn't see them. The mocking voice continued. "But you're a lucky boy. Here I am, ready to step in and give you what you really need."

Harm struggled in earnest now. The man had gone truly crazy if he thought that. "Palmer, let me go! Whatever you want, I can't give it to you. I can't."

"All right, baby." The voice was a purr again. "I'll make you a deal. You take this, and if you don't get hard, I'll set you loose and disappear. I hate to give up my game, but hell, it's no fun if you're not going to play along, too. Deal, Commander?"

"Deal," Harm gasped. It was the only chance he had. He knew there wasn't much chance of Palmer keeping his word, but the man was just unpredictable enough that he might. He was sure he was too thirsty, and tired, to find much pleasure in anything Palmer would do to him. To his dismay, the next thing he felt was the sting of a needle in his butt. He'd forgotten about the drug.

"And now we've got us a game. You didn't really think I was going to play fair, did you, Harm?"

Harm swallowed an answer. If this drug was the same as the last one, and he had no reason to believe it wasn't, he was going to need every bit of his resistance. Even while the thought was passing through his head, he felt Palmer's fingers grope between his legs for his shaft.

"No. You know me much, much better than that, baby." Palmer's tone was as intimate as his fingers, which were stroking and coaxing him into hardness.

Harm, exposed and vulnerable, wanted to rage, but instead found himself softening, warming, into arousal. How could he want this? he wondered. Was this drug of Palmer's really that good, to change him from a straight man into one who liked guys? No. It had to be a temporary thing. He knew who he was, what he wanted.

"Palmer. Clark," he corrected himself, "please stop. Please." Maybe begging would help. Fighting certainly wasn't doing anything, and Palmer liked having power over him. That much was clear. So he'd play along, until he found a way out.

"Please," Palmer repeated. "Oh, that's nice, baby. Very nice. And you remembered to use my name this time." He squeezed Harm's shaft harder than he had before, and Harm couldn't stop the moan this time. "But you remember our deal. And you're hard."

"You're insane," Harm hissed.

Palmer chuckled, his fingers still tight. "Life's hard, boy. Just like you. How does it matter how I get what I want, as long as I do?" Harm gasped as Palmer's other hand slapped his ass. "And the more you talk like a bad boy, the more I'm going to treat you like one."

He let go, and Harm heard a soft noise. He frowned. It was familiar, but he couldn't identify it. He gasped when he felt something crack across his ass. It was Palmer's belt, he realized, stunned. The man was beating him.

"You'll learn to like this, too," he heard Palmer's voice assure him. "Every little boy does. Especially," he chuckled again, "when his daddy tells him to."

"I'm not your son," Harm choked out.

"That just doubled your beating," Palmer informed casually and smacked him again. Harm cried out this time. "Lucky this place is deserted, aren't we, baby? I get the feeling," his laugh was rich with expectation, "you're going to be making a hell of a lot of noise."

Before Harm could reply, the belt fell on him again. "Please!" he gasped.

"That sounds nice. Too bad you didn't think of it sooner."

The belt kept coming, each time hitting a place it hadn't before, and Harm's whole awareness descended into his butt, which was burning and swollen. He began to shake, his whole body convulsing. When Palmer laid his hand on the reddened skin, he moaned, and when the other man dug his nails into it, he screamed.

"Poor baby," Palmer crooned, releasing his grip, then snaked his other hand between his legs to find Harm's cock. "Here, let me make it better."

Harm was sure he couldn't get hard if his life depended on it, but Palmer seemed to have an infallible knowledge of what would work, and soon he was gasping with more than pain.

"Good boy." The pleasure in Palmer's voice was obvious, and his strokes got rougher, rough enough that Harm was sure he was going to come soon. "You want it?"

Harm didn't want to say the words, but they came out anyway. "Yes. Please."

"Please who, Harm-baby?" Palmer asked very softly. "I want to be clear about this. Tell me who you want to get you off."

"You." Harm swallowed, the heat in his ass and in his cock driving him past his limits. "You, Clark." This was dreamland, had to be.

"Oh, you're going to be a good boy for me now, I can tell." The caressing note was back in Palmer's voice. "All right, baby, I'll get you off."

Harm squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the other man would be quiet now. If he could just get his mind focused on Jordan when he came, he'd feel better about all that had gone before. But Palmer was ahead of him, his hand coming to turn Harm's head and hold it for a clear view of Palmer's face as he crouched down by the bed.

"Look at me, baby. Yeah, right at me." Palmer's eyes were glittering with a passion that terrified Harm, dark and intense and insane. "I'm what you want, me. It's all about me now, and it's going to stay that way. You and me, Harm, no matter what."

Harm opened his mouth to deny that, but Palmer's other hand let go of his cock and grabbed his balls with a roughness that made him cry out instead.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to. Didn't your mother teach you anything? I should have made sure those tapes stressed manners a hell of a lot more. Oh, right," Palmer's voice was mocking and his eyes even more bright, his hand slipping back up to Harm's shaft, "I didn't make those tapes. That was your real father, the one who went off so he could fly missions and save other people, the one who left you. Nice guy, huh?" His strokes became harder and more sure, a counterpoint to the cruelty of his words, until Harm convulsed and spurted over Palmer's hand.

Harm was panting, the heat and pain in his ass much more devastating now without the arousal to offset them, when he saw the hand with the come on it move up to his face. He tried to pull away, but Palmer's other hand was still holding his chin.

"Clean me off." The intensity was still in Palmer's eyes, the passion, the darkness. "I'm not going to do it. It's your come. Better practice," he added cruelly, and Harm shuddered. "Although any man who's smoked cigars for years should like a thick one between his lips, if you ask me."

Harm knew what Palmer was telling him, that he intended to make him take Palmer's organ into his mouth. He'd bite it off, he vowed, then tore his attention back to the present. He felt Palmer smear the fluid on his lips, then push his fingers against them. After a long, helpless moment, Harm opened his mouth and began to suck on the other man's fingers. His neck was beginning to ache from the strain of being twisted, but he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but what Palmer was making him, and he hated it.

Palmer was quiet until he pulled his fingers out and let go of Harm's chin. "Taste good?"

The taunting note was more than he could bear, and Harm found himself sobbing. He had a moment of clarity. Palmer wanted to break him, turn him into what he was now and keep him that way. He had to resist, he told himself. Then the moment was gone, and he was back in his beaten and aching body, his cheeks wet with his own tears.

"Oh, get off it. Here."

Palmer shoved a straw into his mouth, and Harm sucked on it. It was water, plain, cool water, and at that moment he was so grateful for it that he would have done anything to make sure it wouldn't be taken away. That happened much too soon.

"Please, more," Harm begged, and Palmer laughed.

"So you're learning what you need to do to get something? Good." He let him have the straw for another sip, then took it out of Harm's sight. When he came back, he was standing at the head of the bed. "Like my clothes?"

Harm's eyes traveled up Palmer's body. He was wearing some kind of uniform, but he couldn't tell what it was.

"I got it when I left Leavenworth." Palmer laughed as the thought of what the other man had done to get it made Harm cringe. "A souvenir, from a guard who just wasn't fast enough." He pointed to his crotch. "And there's a souvenir for you, Harm. Are you going to be a good boy and give me what I want, or am I going to have to beat you again? I made sure to pick up some things," he nodded to a dim corner, "so that I could if I had to. You'd look great in stripes, especially with some blood to give you even more color."

Harm was shaking. He didn't want Palmer to beat him again, and he certainly didn't want to find out what Palmer had that was worse than that belt. But he didn't want to have that shaft anywhere near his mouth.

Palmer was right in front of his face now, the bulge in his pants close enough to kiss. He reached down and unzipped himself slowly, talking the whole time. "You break your ass in that courtroom and out of it, being everybody's favorite boy scout, Mr. Honorable, Mr. Perfect Officer, when what you really want is for someone to take charge and make you behave. You certainly snap to when that admiral of yours gives you orders. If he were here, you wouldn't think twice about taking him into your mouth."

Harm shook his head violently at that thought. The admiral would never ask or require that of an officer under his command. He stilled his motion as the head of Palmer's organ poked out of the cloth, coming close to grazing Harm's lips.

"And I'm the one in charge of you now. Open your mouth, baby. Get a taste of the new life."

Harm spoke through gritted teeth. "Never, Palmer. I'll never do that."

"O.K., if that's the way you're going to be," Palmer said agreeably, surprising Harm. Suddenly he felt something loop around his neck, then tighten, and fingers pinch shut his nose. "Then I'll make you."

The thick leather kept tightening until Harm had to open his mouth to get air. It was then that Palmer shoved his shaft into Harm's mouth, releasing his nose at the same moment. Harm sucked in air and struggled, fighting the warming and weakening effects of the drug. No matter what he did, he still couldn't shake them off.

"No teeth, baby," Palmer warned, the belt still wrapped around Harm's neck. "I can kill you right now. Just one good jerk and you get a broken neck." He chuckled. "And before you get any Navy ideas about death before dishonor, I'd make sure that your body was found in the worst possible way, right here. Everyone would think that you'd had this secret in your life all along, that you'd been sneaking away to get beaten and screwed by some guy you hired. And I'd plant enough evidence to make it stick, Rabb. Wouldn't that be an interesting memorial. Takes the concept of 'don't ask, don't tell' right out the window."

Harm tuned Palmer out as best he could. The reality of the shaft in his mouth was consuming him. It had a thick, musky taste that made him keep swallowing to try and get it out of his mouth. It was all he could do to keep from biting down, anything to get it out, but he knew Palmer. He'd keep his word. And he didn't want to die, not like this. He tried to relax his mouth. If Palmer would just take it out, let him get used to it...and then, as though Palmer had read his mind, only the head was in.

"I'll give you a little time, since you're new at this," Palmer's voice came, amused and certain. "But you definitely need to put some effort into what you're doing. You have to know something about giving head, baby. I'm sure you've been on the receiving end once or twice. Give me what you like to get. It'll do for a start."

Harm felt the trembling go from a maybe to a certainty, taking over his whole body. The idea of being active in this was more than he could handle. He felt the belt tighten around his throat again, and knew that Palmer wasn't going to give up. He swallowed, then let his tongue lick the tip.

"More," Palmer's cruel voice came. "Make your daddy feel good. And don't try and tell me again I'm not your daddy, Harm. Reality is what I say it is. Get used to it."

Harm screwed his eyes shut, as if to block out everything, and took in some more of the shaft, licking it at the same time. Palmer was going to keep going until he was satisfied. Now what Harm had to do was get through it.

*****

Harm was prone, trying to find a reason to force his eyes open. He didn't find one. He knew what he would see, the same thing he'd seen for what seemed like days and days now, the cell. His sense of time was gone. He shifted his body and caught his breath. The hard bed with its rough sheets scraped his back and ass, which were striped and sore from Palmer's beatings.

He knew Palmer wasn't there. His smell wasn't there, or his breathing, or that sense of his presence Harm had developed. And he'd thought he'd known the ex-DSD agent before. Mac had been right about Palmer's mind, but it was too late now. He'd had to go there, to survive, get a knowledge of the man enough to find out just what pleased Palmer, what to do even before being told. It had just happened, he thought, the helplessness of the thought stirring him briefly to anger before that, too, faded. Palmer knew him, and now he knew Palmer. It wasn't a place he wanted to be.

Palmer didn't even have him bound any longer, somehow knowing that it wasn't necessary, and that knowledge shamed him, too. He wasn't a threat, couldn't be. Little water, and even less food, had him too weak to attack, and Palmer still used the drug just often enough for Harm to dread it, even though it made the sessions easier in a way. Had it been this way for his father when he was captured? He hoped not. The thought drove through his head that he wasn't even as strong as his father had been. His father had given the Russians false information, played with them, escaped to die in freedom, defending a woman from rape, and what was his son doing under similar circumstances? Just waiting for the bastard who had imprisoned, beaten and raped him more times than he could count, hoping that this time his jailor would be in a good mood. Some hero. His father would be ashamed.

A shudder from that thought wracked his weakened body, waking the pain in his aching muscles, as flashes of Palmer's torture passed through his mind. Palmer holding out a bottle of water, making him beg and sometimes cry before giving him a sip, then spilling the rest over his body or on the floor even when he begged for more. Palmer smearing dog food on his cock, making sure Harm saw the can, and laughing as he strained to lick it off, then eating a hamburger or microwaved meal slowly and deliberately in front of him, swigging a beer, sometimes pouring it over him and watching him squirm and cry out as the alcohol got into and stung the cuts the beatings had left. Clark Palmer dealt in calculated and cruel humiliation, and loved every minute of it. All Harm had to do was look in his eyes to know that.

And then there was the sex. It was easier to deal with everything else than that. The drug, and Palmer's intimate and horrifying knowledge of what his body responded to, were too much for his resistance. It was all brainwashing, he knew, but that didn't stop his body craving what Palmer did. He moaned as memories took over his thoughts. Palmer's thick shaft in his mouth, his ass, fucking him, the pain melting into pleasure, and when the other man decided he'd been good enough, Palmer's fingers wrapped roughly around his organ to get him off. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

A breath of air warned him, and he stiffened, then forced his eyes open. Palmer was standing there, in the pilot's uniform. This was going to be one of the hard ones, hard because Palmer was going to pull on every string that tied him to his father again, pull and twist and pervert them into something else again. Harm was beginning to dream about his father in the way that Palmer portrayed him, a development that made him feel very, very scared and alone. He was losing his father, and getting in his place Palmer's image of him. And he didn't know if he could survive that transformation.

"Missing me, son?" Palmer asked lazily and brought his attention back to the moment. He eyed Harm's erection with amusement. "I don't know whether to punish you for that or show you how I deal with it." He undid his pants and pulled out his organ. "Maybe a little of both."

"Please don't, Clark." Harm hated the way his voice sounded, weak and begging.

Palmer slapped him, hard enough to draw blood from his lip. "Wrong answer." He watched as Harm pulled himself up with difficulty. "You know what to call me, Harm. Do it."

"Please don't, sir." This time he was careful to use the tag. He knew Palmer wanted him to say 'daddy', but he couldn't, not now. Some times the formal address would get him by, as long as he was still asking. Begging, he thought distantly. "I'll do whatever you want, just not this again." His lip was throbbing, and he could taste the blood, metallic and strange.

"Anything?" Palmer's voice was suddenly light. "Now there's an offer I like." He stepped closer to Harm. "Get on the floor, and show me how good you're getting at sucking me off. Then I'll see what I feel like doing."

Harm slid off the bed and onto his knees, biting back a gasp at how the hardness of the floor jarred his body. He opened his mouth to take Palmer's shaft in, and pushed away any thoughts about it. It was easier that way, just to do. Soon he was lost in the simple and not-so-simple actions, remembering how Palmer liked it, working to get him off.

The other man pulled out without coming. "Since you're in such an obliging mood, get back up on the bed." His smile was thin and taunting. "I know you like this part."

Harm didn't say anything, but the flush on his face and the hardness of his cock spoke for him. He pulled himself up and positioned himself on hands and knees, hoping that was how Palmer wanted him.

"Come on, Harm," Palmer continued, walking all around him, "tell the truth. You like what I do to you. You want it."

Harm swallowed and shook his head. That much he wasn't going to say. "Do what you want, please."

"That's not what I want to hear." The words were cold and spaced. "You're such a liar. Do you know that, Commander?"

Harm braced himself. When Palmer started using his rank, it was a bad sign. "Yes, sir, I know, sir," he managed and hoped that his answer was respectful enough to placate the other man. Sometimes that worked.

It seemed to. Palmer laughed. "You don't even know what you've turned into."

You're right, Harm thought. And I don't want to. I want this over with, if that's possible. But he didn't say anything more, keeping his eyes focused on the sheet.

"A little boy who knows how to make his daddy happy," Palmer answered himself. "Not always a good boy, but you're learning. There are places men would pay for what you do, Rabb, places you'd never be found. If I really wanted to hurt you, I'd take you to one of them. But that wouldn't give you what you need, and what I want."

Palmer's voice was soft, and Harm tensed. That was another bad sign. Maybe the belt, or he'd shove it in without any kind of preliminary. Instead, he felt Palmer's hand resting on his ass.

"Well, if you won't admit you want it," the voice was light again, "I don't care. You're the one who's going to have to live with the dreams in the night, baby, not me. I know what I want. And right now, I want you to get those hands back and spread your cheeks for me. Or I'll turn them nice and red again. Your choice."

He sounded pleasant, but Harm knew he meant it. With a swallowed sob, he lowered his head and shoulders to the mattress, then braced himself so that he could put his hands on his asscheeks and pull them apart. Palmer laughed and pushed into the exposed hole. It closed around his fingertip.

"Still nice and tight, just the way I like it."

With that, Harm felt the cool lubricant being spread, and sighed. At least he was getting that much. When he felt the head of Palmer's cock pressed against his anus, he pushed back to impale himself on it, and Palmer laughed again.

"Doesn't matter what you say, Harm, it's what you do I care about." The other man pushed the rest of the way in, and Harm groaned. "And you like what I do." Before Harm could try and answer, Palmer had his fingers wrapped around Harm's cock and was jerking him off.

*****

When Harm woke up next, he yawned and rolled over on the soft sheets. There was something nagging at his head, something about a horrible, horrible dream...and then it hit him. Palmer. The cell, the torture, the mind games. And the sex.

He snapped open his eyes to find that he was back in his own bed, in his apartment, alone. Had he imagined it all?

He got out of bed and found that he felt a little weak. The paper told him it was Monday, a week and two days since Palmer had taken him. He'd missed a whole week of work, but he hadn't had any pressing cases.

As he showered, thoughts kept going through his head, like the flight checklist he had to complete before he went up, but less familiar. Why had Palmer returned him? Was this some kind of trap? Or had something gone wrong in the other man's plans? But there were no marks on his body, no trace of Palmer's treatment at all. That made no sense, but then neither did being back in his apartment. He decided to wait for coffee until he got to JAG. He had to get out of there. It wasn't safe.

Nothing unusual happened on the way to work, but when he got there, he found that everyone was full of sympathy. "Bad luck you getting the flu like that, mate," Mic Brumby offered. He grinned. "But you look right enough now. Guess that doctor of yours took good care of you."

"Thanks," Harm managed, not wanting to think about Jordan right then. He escaped into his office before he had to face any more comments. Palmer had said he'd take care of it, and obviously he had. But he did feel a little weak still, and he couldn't reconcile how he felt now with how he'd felt...last night? He had no idea when he'd last been awake. He had no idea of anything, he was beginning to realize. He had to get back to reality.

"Harm," it was Mac's voice, "are you sure you should be here?"

He put on a smile for her as she came just inside his office door. "It's where I belong, Mac."

She was frowning. "You don't look that well. Did you and Jordan have a fight?"

"I haven't seen her," he said truthfully. He was sure of that, which was something.

His words didn't do anything to get rid of her frown. "Well, something's wrong."

"Maybe I am still a little under the weather," he offered. He wasn't going to go into anything about his absence until he had something more than memories. He wouldn't try a case with what he had to offer, let alone ask his friends to believe him.

"Maybe. Take it easy, O.K.? And check with me about your cases. I've been covering them."

"Yes, Colonel," he retorted, and saw her leave with relief. Then he sighed and sat down. He was keeping to Palmer's cover story, but he had to. How could he tell anyone what had happened? He realized that he didn't even know if Palmer's escape was public knowledge. No one had mentioned it to him. It was possible that Palmer had managed to cover up his absence. *Not even Webb will think anything but what I want him to,* Palmer had said at the beginning. So Palmer hadn't been worried about being an escaped prisoner, and that told him that the other man had pulled some kind of trick.

He pulled Palmer's file with one hand and dialed Leavenworth with the other. Before he did anything else, it made sense to be certain that Clark Palmer really was missing. Once he'd done that, if Palmer was missing, he could go to the admiral and ask to be involved in the investigation. That wouldn't be anything that should raise any eyes, not with his history with Palmer. Or if they told him Clark Palmer was still there, he would fly out and look in the man's eyes, put the memories to rest that way, or expose whomever the DSD had gotten in there to impersonate Palmer again. He could even get there on his own time. If anyone asked why he had started this, he'd say that he'd had a hunch, just wanted to check, anything but the truth.

It took a few minutes before he was connected to someone who could help him.

"I'm calling about a prisoner, name of Clark Palmer. I need to know if he's there. What is his status?" He waited for an answer while typing sounds came over the line. He was relieved that the person didn't give him the Leavenworth line, that no one escaped from there. He didn't want to hear it.

"Sir, that prisoner is listed as 'dead'. Two weeks ago, from a heart attack."

Harm was glad he was sitting down. Palmer...dead? For two weeks? No. "The body was positively identified?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be coming down to see for myself."

"Sir, there won't be anything to see. The body was cremated. That was what he'd requested. Is there anything else, sir?"

Damn, Harm swore to himself. Leave it to Palmer to make everything harder...and then it really hit him. "Yes, please send me the report." He gave the man his address and thanked him before getting off the line. "Dead," he murmured. He was going, no, had gone, crazy. He must have had the flu that Friday and a fever high enough to cause hallucinations for over a week. But who had taken care of him? And why had he had that kind of hallucination? It seemed so real...but it couldn't have been. He rubbed his head with a hand that trembled. And what was he going to do now?

He thought about calling Clayton Webb, but decided against it. Webb was too smart. The first words out of his mouth would be, "How do you know he's out?" and the second, probably before Harm even answered, "Tell me what happened." No. Webb was a good man, but the thought of having Webb know how Palmer had taken him without any trouble at all, how he had broken, as well as the details of his torture, was too much.

And then there was the fact of the body. This wasn't some explosion on a freighter, with a body burned beyond recognition, like the time on the Kamiko Maru that Webb got away with playing dead. This was a simple death in a prison facility, that had been thoroughly documented. Could even Clark Palmer pull off that big a scam? There were too many places where that kind of deception could blow up in either his or his accomplices' faces.

No. Clark Palmer was dead, and he couldn't tell anyone about what he thought had happened. They wouldn't believe him. Hell, he didn't even believe himself any more. He was just going to get through it on his own. All of it would fade, he told himself fiercely. It had to.

*****

By that Friday, Harm was exhausted. If anything, the hallucinations had gotten worse, or at least the memories of them had. Fighting them, and trying to get a good day's work done, and keeping Mac, Bud, and everyone else from suspecting his torment was keeping him on the verge of a breakdown, he thought. And then at night there were the dreams, nightmares, really, but they kept him waking up to rock-hard erections that got him frantically jerking off, or wet spots on the bed.

One thing he knew was that the admiral knew something was wrong. The older man had called him into the office, and hadn't even said a harsh word to him, even told him that if he needed some time off to deal with anything, he should let his superior officer know. Harm had managed a few words about getting over the flu, but the hard look he'd gotten in return had shown him quite clearly that excuse hadn't washed.

Harm sighed, remembering. If he'd only been able to tell him the truth...but he couldn't. He could tell him some of it, though. It might help. Before he could change his mind, he stood and went to ask Tiner if the admiral had a moment. He did, and Harm waited for the barked command.

"Enter!" it came, and Harm opened the door. "Well, Commander, what do you need?"

"You were right, sir. I'm not doing at all well."

"I'm glad to hear you're finally facing it. And what is the problem?"

Harm was sure from the way he said it that he knew, but he went ahead anyway. "Clark Palmer's death. I think it's..." He faltered.

The admiral's eyes were shrewd. "Too good to believe?" Harm nodded. "But it all checks out, Commander. You saw the report."

"I know, Admiral. It doesn't feel like he's dead."

The admiral's eyes had a look in them that made Harm uneasy. He didn't want his superior to think he was crazy. "Give it some time, Rabb. I suppose you'd feel better if you'd shot him yourself."

"In a way, sir, that's true." At least then he'd know that Palmer was dead.

"I'm just as glad you didn't." The admiral's tone was at its driest, and the grin that Harm had tried in an attempt to look more usual faded. "Having my officers hauled up for murder is not an acceptable result."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

The admiral studied him for another minute. "Rabb, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"Sir," his voice faltered again, and he damned it, "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Very well. I hope you find some way to deal with your problem. Dismissed," and like that, the moment of sympathy was gone.

"Aye, aye, sir." Harm had expected no less. The admiral had to be the head of JAG. It was his job. He stood at attention, then turned and left the office.

*****

"Hi, Harm." He was surprised to see Jordan waiting in his office, a smile on her face that had a tentativeness to it. He hadn't called her, hadn't dared to. "I've come for that rain check."

Maybe that was what he needed, he thought, while outwardly he smiled. "That's great."

"We could go to your place, and I could cook something for us. I heard you were sick, so I won't hold you to a dinner out. You look tired."

He could see she was making an effort, and blessed her for it. "That would be wonderful, Jordy."

She smiled for her answer, and they left together. Harm saw the smiles of the others at the sight of the two of them. His colleagues had just come to their own conclusion, and even though it was the wrong one, Harm didn't care. Just as long as they didn't suspect what was really going on.

*****

Later that night, after some dinner and wine and talk, Jordan leaned over and kissed him. Harm returned it, and held out his arms to her, but as she moved into them, he felt...nothing. No urge to go on with it, no excitement, just a heaviness that reminded him of how tired he was. He tried to relax and get past the exhaustion, but nothing worked until a memory of Palmer taunting him rose into his consciousness, and then he found himself gripping Jordan almost too tightly and kissing her with a fierceness that he hadn't felt in a long time. He heard a gasp from her, but she didn't pull away, returning his fierceness with a passion of her own.

At first he thought that he was trying to drive that memory away, but then he knew better. It was what was urging him on, making him want her, or, more accurately, someone. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to push the memory away and concentrate on Jordan. This wasn't who he wanted to be, especially with Jordan. He cared for her. But when he led her into the bedroom, and undressed, and started to make serious love to her, he kept getting flashes of Palmer in his head, that drove him to more and more frantic reaching for Jordan. He was deep in Jordan, but what was driving him was the ghostly feeling of Palmer deep in him. He moaned, an agonized, tortured sound as the conflict tore through him and made him come.

Jordan sighed happily and stretched. "You're wonderful," she whispered and kissed him, then pulled away. Harm rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling as he heard her footsteps going to the bathroom. Something was more wrong than he could handle. Was it time to trust someone with this, maybe even Jordy? She was trained to help people think through, and deal with, impossible situations. But he didn't want her to know, didn't want her to be hurt, didn't want her to think he was crazy. But who else could he trust?

Before he could answer any of the questions, he was asleep.

*****

The next morning, the whole thing seemed much less important to him. He'd get over it, he rationalized, giving Jordan a smile as they drank coffee together at the kitchen counter. The important thing was that he had managed to complete the act with her. Now he had to build on that.

"What do you want to do today?" The sunlight streaming over them told him it was nice out. "We could rent a boat and get in that sail, or go for a long ride and a picnic. Either of those sound good?"

"Both do, but Harm, I'm not ready to be a couple with you yet."

"But last night..."

"Was great. But it was just one night. Let's take things slow, Harm." She took his hand and squeezed. "Let me go at my own pace."

"And what about me?" he shot back.

"You made your choice. Now you have to give me room to make mine." The anger was back in her voice, and he cursed himself. Not again. When was he going to learn?

"OK, Jordy, I understand. I'm sorry."

She let him take her other hand, so that he was holding both. "I can't rush things. You have to understand that."

"I do." In a way it was a relief, he thought. This way there was less pressure on him to perform. He could work things out in his own way, so that when she chose him, there would be something he could give her. "And thanks for last night. I needed you."

There was an impish look in her eyes again. "When you go caveman, you certainly do it right." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I can tell you haven't been getting any."

Harm smiled for his answer and wished she'd drop the subject. "I'll be around, Jordy. Call if you want to see me."

"We'll see each other, Harm." She stood. "Thanks for understanding."

What else could he do? He was just glad that she didn't know why he was fine with letting her go this time.

*****

Harm put down his guitar halfway through a song and checked the clock. Only nine-thirty on a Saturday night. He'd eaten a meal without even tasting it, he wasn't feeling at all sleepy, and he had to find some way to get through the rest of the night, let alone the weekend. Jordan had made it clear that she wasn't going to be any help until or unless she felt like it, which he doubted would be soon, and the weather report was predicting rain for the next day, so there was no chance of flying. Work was an option, but then he might run into someone who would question his being there, like Mac.

He picked up a book and tried to read, then threw it down. Thoughts that he didn't want were chasing each other through his head and making him totally unable to do anything that required concentration. He gulped the rest of his water, then stood and strode toward the refrigerator. Did he even have any beer? He pulled open the door. Damn. That one last night really had been the last, and he wanted one. Now.

He grabbed his flying jacket and settled the worn leather over his shoulders. He was getting out of there.

*****

The bar he ended up in was smoky, but it had more than enough choices on draft, and the noise and movement were comforting. He found a small table and worked on his beer, and watched the men searching for women, and the women searching for men with a smile that got more and more relaxed. This was what he'd been missing. He didn't feel any need to go after any of the women, but the smiles and offers he did get were flattering, and comforting.

A waitress came over with a beer. "Here you go," she said cheerfully.

"I didn't order this." He kept his tone patient. He'd been through this before, but not with her. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd just let the lady know I'm not available." He reached for his wallet. "But here's for your trouble."

She gave him a puzzled look and ignored the bill he was holding out. "He said he was an old friend."

"Did he give you a name?" Harm wasn't sure if he wanted to see any old friends tonight or not. He was glad that the person had been considerate enough to send over the beer, instead of bringing it.

She shook her head. "But he said you knew him from way back. Oh, and if you weren't in the mood to talk tonight, not to worry, he'd be in touch."

"What did he look like?" The talk about being in the mood set off an alarm in him. It was so like something Palmer would say that he could almost see the other man's mocking face. "Never mind," he added almost immediately. He was being paranoid. It probably was an old friend. "Thank you." This time he got her to take the dollar bills. She smiled and left.

Palmer was supposed to be dead, was dead, he reminded himself, so it couldn't be Palmer. He had to hold on to that. Harm stared into the beer, then absently started drinking it as he thought. With Palmer out of the picture, he couldn't think of anyone he'd ever known who'd be that mysterious. Why didn't this 'friend' just come over, now that he had the beer?

He was halfway through the glass when he felt a rush of arousal hit him. A low moan escaped his lips. Palmer's drug. And that meant Palmer, alive, and here.

"Hey, baby," the other man's amused voice greeted him. Somehow he'd appeared without Harm seeing him.

"You're dead," Harm slurred.

Palmer slipped into the seat next to him. "So they say." His hand groped down to Harm's crotch and grabbed it. "What do you think?"

Harm just moaned again. Palmer's fingers massaging him were working him into a frenzy even through the thick fabric of his jeans, so much so that he didn't care that they were in public.

"I think you don't give a damn," Palmer answered himself and took his hand away. "And you're drunk, Harm. Lucky for you I got here when I did."

He eased Harm up, propping him against his body, then steered him through the crowd, none of whom seemed to find this at all unusual, and out into the cool night air.

"We'll take your car."

His hand slid into Harm's pocket, finding the keys, then leaned Harm's limp body against the side of the car while he got the door open. He stuffed Harm into the front seat and buckled him in, then got into the driver's side and started the engine.

"And when we get there, I'll see about giving you what you need."

Harm tried to speak, but he couldn't. It was like his tongue was swollen and too hard to move. This was different from the other times. He managed a noise of protest, and Palmer flicked a glance at him.

"For someone who's supposed to be smart, you sure don't take any kind of precautions. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to take a drink from someone you don't know? But maybe you were hoping it was me. I like to think you were."

Harm still couldn't talk as the car slipped down the road, around corners and through green lights. He couldn't even recognize the route they were taking.

"The drug works even quicker with alcohol, and worse. If you're a good boy, I'll give you some water."

At that, Harm managed a nod. He really needed some. Palmer pulled over to the side of the road and took out a sport bottle, holding it up for Harm, who sucked at it greedily. Palmer took it away and started up the car again.

"So you heard I was dead." His laughter was quiet, but Harm could hear the malice in it. "And you believed it." He glanced over to see Harm's nod. "Good. And now maybe you think I'm a ghost? That's good, too. Because that's what I am, the ghost of what you want. I'm the nightmare that comes alive just for you. Try and tell one of your friends about this. They'll think you're crazy, and it won't stop me. I'll get to you just the same."

Harm found himself slipping away. "Clark," he managed, "please," then passed out. His last coherent thought was that he had no idea what he was asking the other man to do.

*****

Harm woke with a head that felt like he'd drunk the whole allotment of a bar, or maybe two. When he forced his eyes open, he found himself not in the cell, as he'd expected, but in what looked like a hotel room, a good one. There was a carafe of water by the bed, and a glass already full. He rolled on to his side and sipped it.

"That will help," Palmer offered, coming into the hotel with a towel wrapped around his waist. Harm started, and Palmer laughed. "What, did I do the wrong thing? I've always wanted to take you somewhere nice."

"And what's stopping me from leaving?" Harm pushed himself up. He tried to hide the fact that it was almost too hard to do, but from the way Palmer watched him, he wasn't so sure he'd managed.

"Nothing, baby. Just the fact that you're totally wasted. But don't worry." He came over to sit on the bed, resting a casual hand on Harm's leg. Harm tried to ignore the fact that his cock was hardening with the other man's touch. "I'll take care of you."

"I'll scream," Harm threatened.

Palmer's laugh was light. "You sound like a scared girl. Protecting the virginity you don't have any more?" Harm flushed at that. "Go ahead, scream, yell, moan, anything you want. The room's got great sound insulation. That's the beauty of a really good hotel, baby." His fingers were stroking up and down Harm's thigh now. "I even got some champagne," he added softly. "And if you want roses too, they're only a phone call away."

"Why would you even think I'd care about those?" Harm's anger was taking him over. "You're a bastard."

"That's nice language for a guy who's trying to show you a good time." Palmer gave him a hurt look. "Why can't you just let yourself enjoy this?" He licked his lips. "You'll have fun, Harm. I promise."

Harm tried to make himself get off the bed, but he didn't have the strength. Palmer's hand pressing against his leg was enough to keep him there. "You beat me, kept me prisoner, used me like some kind of thing. I'm not a thing."

"Aren't you?" Palmer cocked his head. "You act like one. I pull the strings, and you dance. It's fun. But let's not fight, baby." He leaned over and kissed Harm full on the mouth, his hand still busy in the other man's crotch. "I'm not in the mood for it."

Harm found his anger abruptly switched to lust, and desperation. Palmer knew just what to do. How could he fight him? He had the drug on his side, too.

"Blame the drug," Palmer murmured, as if he knew what Harm was thinking. "Let yourself have fun. There's time later for the hard stuff. You'll need that too, but not now. Tomorrow, maybe."

And as Palmer kissed him again, Harm knew with a cold certainty that the other man was right. He needed this. He needed everything that Palmer did to him. He was hooked. Now what was he going to do?

*****

The next time he woke, he didn't even have to open his eyes to know where he was. The smell of the air told him that he was back in the cell, in that hell he knew so well. The soft time was over, if it had ever really happened. Maybe it had been a dream from the drug. It was insane to think of Clark Palmer wanting to treat him with any kind of tenderness. And him offering champagne, and roses? Total insanity.

"Bad boy," Palmer's voice purred, making his body jerk. "Out chasing guys without me. I don't think I like that."

Harm didn't answer, instead struggling to sort through the sensations before Clark started anything. He wasn't surprised to find he couldn't move. Palmer didn't take chances. He discovered that he was prone on the bed, his hands chained to a metal band around his neck, tight and rough, with Palmer's voice coming from behind him.

"But then I left you all alone," the soft, insinuating voice continued. A finger trailed up his backbone, and he moaned with the prickly rush of excitement that followed. "And I know you, baby. You're just too stubborn to go and find what you need." He laughed. "That's what you've got me for. Guess I should have arranged for some company for you, but I'm not in the mood to share. Plus, you've still got some attitude problems. We'll work on that, though. Don't worry."

"Why did you go?" Harm managed. If he could keep the man talking...

"There's always work for a dead man," the reply came. "And good money in it. You think it's cheap to keep this setup just for you? Not quite, boy. And I got some more toys. Specialty items."

Harm's fingers spasmed against the metal. He didn't even want to think about what Palmer might have dreamed up.

"But we'll get to those later. Right now, I'm enjoying the sight of my boy all stripped down and hungry for me. Isn't that right, son?"

He was picking up just where he left off. Harm steeled himself. "Please don't, Clark," he whispered.

The slash through the air warned him before the leather hit. "Wrong name, son. Try again."

It hurt too much. "Please don't," he took it a moment to choke it out, "dad."

"Better. Not good enough, but we'll work on that." There was pleasure in the cool voice. "Now let's hear some begging. You know I'm not going to stop, but tell me what you want me to do with you, son. I've missed you enough to listen to requests."

Harm had tears streaming down his cheeks. Why wasn't he fighting Palmer? Why? Saying 'no' wasn't fighting, it was begging. "No," he whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"Stupid, stupid boy." The leather slashed him again, and this time he let out a moan. "Now I'm going to have to beat you. See what you make me do?"

It took five minutes of Palmer's work to turn Harm into a wreck, and he seemed to know just when Harm broke. He stopped hitting Harm and thrust his cock into his ass, using him with a cruel tenderness that made it even worse for Harm, calling Harm 'son' while he jerked Harm off. Harm cried and wished he could stop it, even while he bucked to get more of Palmer's shaft inside him and begged Palmer for more. When Harm spewed all over the bed, he was still crying, and he fell asleep with Palmer's cock still inside him and Palmer's arms cradling him, the sensations equally needed and comforting.

*****

Continued in part 2

JAG

Fiction