Title: An Italian affair

Author: Gail

Pairing: Admiral Chegwidden/Clayton Webb

Rating: NC-17

Summary: After Admiral Chegwidden and Clayton Webb rescue Tim Fawkes from the terrorists who are holding him, Clayton needs some help to deal with what he had to do.

Archive: yes to Jagslash, allslash, RareSlash, Complete Kingdom of Slash, WWOMB. All others please ask, but I'll probably say yes.

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I'm very clear that I shouldn't be interfering, but really, who does it hurt? The admiral doesn't get to have enough fun, and Webb has to be bored with the blondes by now...I mean, really. The man has a brain.

Spoilers: Gypsy Eyes and Soul Searching.

Notes: This takes place right after Soul Searching. Again, no AIDS in this universe.

Dearest thanks to Mareen, the most marvelous beta in the world, who's had to read and talk about and think about this story, and she hasn't even had the pleasure of seeing the episode in question. And I owe a great deal to Tinnean, who waited for this, with a certain degree of patience, read it, and loved it, and to Laura, who heard about it and did a happy dance with me and thus helped me know that I was doing the right thing by writing it.

The title was Greg's idea, and Mareen seconded it.

AN ITALIAN AFFAIR

By Gail

Admiral A. J. Chegwidden looked up from the magazine he was flipping through as Clayton Webb came into the room. The other man's face was tired and drawn, making the bruises and cuts on his face stand out even more.

"How's Tim?" They had brought the rescued man to the CIA branch office, and hadn't seen him since. The admiral had been shown to this room and politely asked to wait, which he'd done with as much grace and patience as he could manage, while waiting to find out more. When nothing had happened, he'd seriously considered going in and finding Webb, but reasoned that the other man would come back and tell him what was going on. He trusted him, and it was good to find out that his trust was warranted.

Webb sighed. "He's fine, considering. If you want to see him, it should be now, before the sedatives kick in."

A. J. thought about it, then shook his head. "We talked. The morning will be soon enough for anything more."

A faint smile crept over his face. To have been able to rescue Tim from those damned terrorists, to *do* something for a change, had been wonderful. And Tim had caught on, recognized the game, known it was his old friend there. He didn't need anything more now, except some good food and a decent bottle of wine, and then some sleep.

Webb nodded, then opened his mouth. He was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Webb, we need you back in here," a man called through the open door.

Webb's shoulders slumped, and A. J. took a closer look at Webb, realizing that he wasn't the only one who'd been through a lot that day. The man was clearly holding himself together with force of will. Time to get both of them the hell out of there.

"Damn them," Webb muttered. "Go, A. J. I'll be busy here for a while."

A. J.'s hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "No." His voice was flat. "The terrorists are all dead. There's no need for this." He didn't wait for Webb's answer, instead getting around him, keeping the other man in place with the strength of his grip, then striding into the room and shutting the door behind him. He heard it lock with a satisfying click. That should keep Webb out for a little while, long enough for him to get his point across.

"Mr. Webb is coming with me," he announced.

The men sitting around the table looked up in surprise. "Mr. Webb is needed here," the man who'd called for him said evenly.

The admiral's eyes hardened. He was not interested in being contradicted, and he wasn't going to put up with it, especially not now. "This was a hard day for both Mr. Webb and myself."

"We realize that, Admiral, but it is important to get his account while it's still fresh in his mind."

The man was persistent, A. J. would give him that, but he wasn't interested in hearing this crap. Webb had really shown himself to be a good man. He was not going to let this bunch of suits give him any grief. Right now Webb felt like one of his own people, and he always protected his own.

"The terrorists are dead and Tim Fawkes is safe. There's no urgency that I can see."

"It's important to follow procedure."

A. J. just gave him a look at that. Procedure did not come before people. "If you people won't look out for your own, then I will. Is that clear?"

Webb was there now, coming to stand beside him. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I'm here now." He shot A. J. a glare, which the other man ignored. "The admiral means well, but he does not speak for me."

"No, Mr. Webb, the admiral's correct. There's no need for this now. You're too tired to be coherent." This new man was quiet and calm, and his eyes had a clear authority in them. Good. Someone with a brain. "Go and rest, Mr. Webb. The admiral is right. This can wait until morning. Would that be convenient for you as well, Admiral?"

"Sorry, Webb, but this has to be done," A. J. muttered to Webb quickly, then spoke up. "I have my flight booked." He spoke calmly and steadily. "And I'm sure that Mr. Webb needs to get back to D. C. as well. So we will not be available for very long." He hoped Webb wouldn't contradict him, and even though he heard him take a sharp breath, the other man kept quiet.

The man who'd been speaking took that calmly as well, only glancing at Webb for a moment before answering. "Of course, Admiral. You can speak to our people in Washington." Webb made a noise, and the man turned his attention to him again. "That goes for you as well, Mr. Webb. You do have duties. The admiral is correct about that. No need for either of you to come here, unless you'd like to see Mr. Fawkes before you leave."

"Dammit, there are matters that need..." the first man started heatedly, but the man raised his hand and the voice stopped.

"Thank you for your patience."

A. J. still spoke only to the last man. "Certainly. Glad to help. Come on, Webb." When Webb didn't move, he took him by the arm and tugged. "Come on," he repeated.

That seemed to break the agent out of his spell, as he nodded and moved. A. J. made sure to stay with him, sensing that Webb was near his breaking point. It wouldn't look good for him to lose it there. He needed food, and a good night's sleep, and more than likely, a talk to help sort himself out. Of course, it was going to be interesting trying to find the right way to help Webb relax. He grinned to himself. Well, the tried-and-true way was alcohol, and a good meal would keep either of them from getting too drunk. He knew a good place not too far from here.

********************

Webb was actually looking relaxed by the time they got back to the hotel. "That was great. How did you know where to go?"

A. J. chuckled at the surprise in his voice. "I do visit my daughter as often as I can, and Francesca doesn't cook that well."

Webb smiled. "Beautiful women don't need to know how to cook." A.J. glanced at him, but there was nothing more than mild interest in his face, a relief to the admiral. Then Webb changed the subject. "You ordered half the menu. How did you know I was that hungry?"

A.J. chuckled. "Because I was. You had to be."

Webb laughed. "Trust a SEAL to come up with circular logic like that." And then his face tightened when A. J. gave him a curious look.

"You have something against SEALs, Webb?"

"Of course not. Never mind."

His face was even tighter now, and drawn, and A. J. frowned when he saw that. Webb was withdrawing into himself, clearly upset again. Not on his watch.

He didn't say anything until they were on their floor. "I've got some scotch," he said very casually, prepared to push if he had to. "Want some?"

Webb's laugh was short. "Sure, why not?" he muttered and headed toward the other man's room.

A. J. followed, his eyes narrowing in thought. He got in front of Webb and swiped the card through the lock, then pushed the door open. "I'll pour," he offered, still casual. "You make yourself comfortable."

Webb took a small device out of his pocket and went around the room with it. A. J. knew he was checking for bugs. He'd been doing this every time they came back to the hotel. When it did nothing but purr at him, he sat on the bed and took off his light jacket, dropping it on the bed beside him, then watched as A. J. found the bottle and poured them each generous shots.

"If this is your way of finding out if I'm breaking my heart over killing that woman," Webb's voice wasn't as even as he would like, A. J. thought as he saw the other man's mouth tense, "no need to waste your liquor, A. J. I was the one who got you to come along on this adventure. I didn't know that it would end up this way, but I don't regret it." A. J. put a glass in his hand, and Webb drained it in a gulp, making the admiral's eyebrows rise. "She took Tim and she would have killed him without a moment's regret, just like she killed any other people who got in her way. Teresa Marcello deserved to die." He met A. J.'s eyes. "I do believe that."

"So why are you drinking my scotch like it's water?"

Webb laughed again, a hard and angry bark. "Because there's a difference between knowing something and feeling it, Admiral."

"Why the title now, Clayton?" He sat down by the other man, on the bed. There was nowhere else to sit, he realized belatedly. Maybe it would have been better to have this conversation in the hotel bar, but he'd been sure that the agent would need some privacy to get his feelings out.

"Why the first name now, A. J.?" Webb's eyes were still on his, hard and challenging. "Trying to soften me up?"

"Clayton, just tell me what the hell's on your mind. You obviously want to."

Webb laughed. "Does this work on Rabb? Bet it does. Sorry, but I'm a little smarter than he is. Not much, though." The last was in a low voice, and A. J. wasn't sure he'd heard right. "Sure, I want to talk about it. But not with you."

He closed his eyes briefly, and A. J. reached for the bottle and refilled both of their glasses. He'd sipped his, but it was time for more. "What if I'm worried about you, Clayton?"

Webb shook his head. "Please, A. J. It's been a hard day. I don't want to get stupid now."

"Then drink your scotch and shut up." A. J. adopted a casual attitude. Maybe if Webb thought he'd given up, he'd relax and talk about it. He was clearly upset, and A. J. was feeling just stubborn enough to want to know what was upsetting him, although he was pretty sure it was fallout from the shooting. He made sure Webb's glass was full to the brim. "Sip it this time. It's worth the effort."

Webb grinned suddenly, and A. J. noticed with surprise how much younger it made him look, especially in the casual clothes he had on. "Trying to get me drunk, A. J.? Better men than you have tried," he teased.

A. J. gave him a look. "There are no better men than me," he said very dryly back, and Webb laughed.

"You SEALs. Not conceited at all, right?"

"Not at all conceited, Clayton. Just," he paused, raising his glass, "the best."

"I'm not arguing." Clayton was taking nips of the scotch, and was obviously relaxing. A. J. felt a warmth toward the other man. No matter what he'd thought of him before, Clayton Webb was a good shot, and even more important, a good man. "So who's running things while you're gone?" he asked after a time of quiet, steady drinking.

A. J. took another careful sip, enjoying the bite of the smoky liquor. "Rabb. And don't worry," he added as Clayton moaned, "I've got Roberts keeping an eye on him."

"I'm glad I don't have to go back and clean up whatever mess Rabb gets you into," Clayton retorted, with another grin.

A. J. laughed. "Well, I'm not looking forward to it, either," he admitted. "It would be nice to stay a few more days, see Marcella, keep an eye on Francesca, but I know my duty." And that a man was going to be looking for him tomorrow to avenge his family's honor, but he didn't feel like thinking about that now. He'd be gone before that would be an issue.

"Yes." Clayton's face was suddenly quiet. "So do I." He looked down into the glass. "Thank you for getting me out of there tonight. I appreciate it."

A. J. was struck by the sudden solemnity. "No need to thank me, Clay." The shortened version of the other man's name slipped out, but it felt right to call him that, A. J. realized.

Clayton's eyes were wry as they met his. "Well, I think there is. You going to argue that one?"

A. J. shook his head and sipped some more scotch, thinking. In another minute he had what he thought needed to be said. "You need to talk." His voice was quiet now. "Maybe you'd rather wait and talk to Tim," he figured that was the problem, "but I'm here. And willing to listen."

"Tim's not going to be in any shape to talk for a while."

"He seemed fine today..." A. J.'s voice faded out as Clayton shook his head. "He's not?"

"No one can really know what it was like with those bastards. He might be fine in a few days, or it could take a year or even longer. We won't know until later."

A. J. stared at Clayton's face as he took a larger nip of the liquor. "You're upset because you waited so long to try a rescue," he said suddenly. "You want Tim to tell you it was all right, that he understood. He does, you know."

Tim Fawkes' face had lit up when A. J. came over to him at that fountain, and even more when Clayton joined them. He'd given them both rough, hard hugs, told them how glad he was to see them, thanked them, but Clayton probably had been in some kind of shock then. The words might not have made it into his memory.

"I know, Clayton," A. J. continued, wanting to be sure Webb heard this time, and believed it. "I talked to him. He knows you cared enough to go after him, and I'll make sure he knows just who came up with the idea. He's probably already figured that out."

Clayton's laugh was bitter. "You're