The patient tossed his head back and forth, in the throws of disturbed
dreams. The visitor waited, his timing better this visit. He had come by
earlier, but the patient was still sleeping, approaching his twelfth hour
of overdue, healing rest. The visitor heard that a sedative had been
prescribed, as the man in the hospital bed was unable to fall into a
restorative sleep on his own the previous night.
The doctor predicted that the man would sleep well into this morning, his accurate foretelling evidenced by the man now finally waking. The battering this man's body and psyche had taken over the last week had warranted at least this much rest. The visitor was sorry to see that the nightmare of yesterday's violence had gripped the resting man.
The third man entered the room, nodding in acknowledgement to his friend seated near the hospital bed.
"He's waking up?" the new arrival whispered.
"Yeah. The nurse told me he woke in a cold sweat twice last night before they gave him a sedative. Then he woke the same way a few hours ago, but he was still exhausted so he fell right back to sleep."
"Damn. I guess from what you told me, A.J., we're lucky to see him wake this soon." The two men looked with concern as their friend slowly wakened from the distressed sleep.
A.J. Chegwidden nodded, then looked over at Clayton Webb. The emotional turmoil that the man had gone through, not just in this last week but as well for the entire year leading up to it, would have crushed a lesser man. Keeping the secret of Tim Fawkes' abduction from Chegwidden and then being forced to come to him for assistance certainly hadn't helped Webb maintain the cool and calm demeanor A.J. usually associated with the CIA operative. More than once in the last few days he had heard the desperation in Clayton Webb's voice, saw it in his bearing.
Chegwidden's own feelings seemed to have taken a drastic turn over the course of the past twenty-four hours. They were no longer the adversarial feelings of a naval admiral towards an often cryptic and nearly always frustrating CIA operative. If A.J. really thought carefully about it, those feelings about Clayton Webb had been overcome some time before this week. They weren't even the same feelings as those shared by two comrades in arms, as he and Webb were yesterday, working together toward the shared goal of rescuing a cherished friend.
No, something different was now at play relating to his feelings about one Clayton Webb. He looked forward to when he finally figured out just what that difference was. And what it meant.
"Ah!" Clayton Webb gasped, his head rising abruptly from the pillow, eyes wide, clearly startled by something in his sleep. Immediately noticing Tim Fawkes and A.J. Chegwidden to his left, he lowered himself back down to the pillow and took long, calming breaths to help still his racing heartbeat.
"Hey, take it easy," Tim said as he pulled a chair over to join A.J.
"No, take this one. I've got some calls to make. Webb, good to see you."
Webb watched Chegwidden leave. He stared long and hard at the door before turning to Tim Fawkes.
"He seemed to leave in a hurry." Webb looked puzzled and pale as he sat up in bed, the combination not sitting well with the older agency man.
"He's been worried about you."
"Really?" Webb questioned, the pained frown and Webb's face blending into the white of the bedding evidence that the concussion he had suffered during the grenade attack was still causing him some pain. The gentle massaging of the left side of his head was further proof that bringing Webb to the hospital after the previous night's debriefing was the right call.
Tim looked at Webb, worried about his protégé's obvious discomfort.
"It's okay, Tim. I'll survive. How're you doing?"
"Clay," Tim said, unable to hide the exasperation he currently felt toward his friend. "You feel like talking."
"No!" the sharp retort cutting Tim off, the reply a clear indication of where Clayton Webb's head was at that moment.
Tim looked Webb in the eye, Webb giving back as good as he was getting. Long moments passed as the two men confronted each other in silence. Over a year had passed since they had seen one another, yet somehow this morning seemed too soon for them both.
Tim Fawkes lost this game of chicken, though he resolved to try again when both men were more prepared to engage in that battle. "I'm on the next transport back to D.C."
"Not without me you're not," Webb said as he started, gingerly, to get up from his hospital bed.
"Clay, sit back." Tim pushed Webb back against the pillow. "I've got a platoon of marines watching my back. I'll be fine."
"You can't make me stay here, Tim."
"Probably not. But I can," Chegwidden warned as he returned to the room. "Your nurse says you'll be discharged this afternoon after those IVs are done and the doctor likes what he sees. Then you and I are heading to the embassy to wrap things up with Decker. We're on the first flight out of here tomorrow."
Clayton Webb looked at A.J. Chegwidden and Tim Fawkes and he knew that he didn't have the energy, or the desire, to fight them both. He also trusted that the admiral had assured Tim's safety in arranging his return to the states. He'd learned a lot about trust in the last few days from this man.
His role at the CIA had, from nearly the beginning, taught Webb to trust few. He was an agency man, there was no doubt, and his training had prepared him to work alone, to keep few in his circle of trusted associates. Tim Fawkes was part of that circle; Webb had learned from the master. The fact that Tim kept Admiral A.J. Chegwidden within his own circle was the reason Webb had enlisted the JAG's assistance on this and previous missions.
Webb had come to the realization that partnering had its positive side. The admiral's role in helping Webb find that out was clear. Chegwidden might complain about Webb recruiting his people for dangerous operations, but the fact was, and Webb hadn't really made the connection until this week, that Chegwidden trusted him enough to approve of those partnerships with Rabb and Mac. Yes, the missions were always of the utmost importance and often involved extreme threats to national security, so the admiral's ability to say no was rarely an option.
But the admiral's faith and trust in Webb, though it would probably never be stated aloud, was made more clear on this mission by Chegwidden's actions than by any words he may have spoken.
"Webb." Clayton Webb looked up, realizing his private ruminations had been obvious to both Tim and A.J. He wasn't even sure who had called his name. He needed to get his head together.
Tim looked, not with a little concern, to A.J. "I gotta get rolling. See you back in D.C.?" Tim Fawkes smiled at his old friend.
"You bet," A.J. Chegwidden replied, his own smile broad. He pulled Tim into a boisterous hug. Webb turned away from the two close friends, feeling slightly guilty about his inability to provide the men with some privacy.
"Keep an eye on him?" Tim asked softly.
A.J. answered with a reassuring squeeze. Tim pulled away and walked over to Clayton Webb.
"Clay, behave yourself, will ya?"
"See you back at Langley," Webb said, more than a little subdued.
"You know, Clay, you're gonna have to get over this guilt thing. It really doesn't become you," he chided, trying to keep the tone of the comment light, despite the undercurrent of sincere warning he hoped came through. The fact was that the CIA couldn't afford this kind of reaction by its operatives, even when the feeling was warranted. It was important for Tim Fawkes to get Clayton Webb past this feeling before it could have any negative impacts on the man, his career, or the agency.
Webb averted his eyes from his friend and mentor, not sure how to respond. He had heard Tim during last night's review of events. He knew that Tim did not blame him for the abduction or for any of the time he had spent in captivity. But it seemed that no matter how much his head told him he could not have prevented it, Clayton Webb's heart kept telling him that he could have done more to keep his friend safe.
"I hear you, Tim. I'm working on it."
"Good." Tim gave Webb's shoulder an affectionate pat. "Don't fight the nurses and don't fight A.J. You can't win either fight." Tim smiled as he shook hands with Clay.
Webb laughed lightly and then nodded his assent. Tim left, leaving the two men who had saved him alone in the hospital room.
Chegwidden watched Webb's face as his gaze followed the older CIA man out the door. The admiral did not like the conflict still written on Clayton Webb's visage. He heard him say the words. He did not doubt Webb's veracity in saying that he was working on convincing himself that he was not at fault. Chegwidden decided it wouldn't hurt for him to provide a little push in that direction.
"Look, I've got some things to tie up. I'll be back to pick you up at fifteen hundred."
"Fifteen hundred! Why am I staying here that long?" Webb complained.
"Poiché il vostro medico dice, signor Webb." The pretty nurse quieted Webb briefly as he looked, frustrated, to A.J.
"She said because your doctor said so."
"I know what she said, A.J. I'm not so sure you didn't put her up to it."
"I didn't think you knew Italian, Webb."
"I understand enough."
"Capisce questo, signor Webb. Ho una mente dei miei propri. Recupera più velocemente se ascolta che cosa dico. Capisce?"
Webb raised his eyes wide to A.J., this time the fast and furious pace of the Italian too much for his still tired mind to grasp.
"I thought you knew enough?" A.J. joked.
"A.J.," Webb pleaded.
"Suffice it to say that you pissed her off a little."
"Mi dispiace, signorina." Webb was brought up well, A.J. thought, as the apology elicited a winning smile from Webb's nurse.
"Grazie, signore." The nurse disconnected one of the IVs. "Porterò la prima colazione in alcuni minuti." The nurse left, humming 'Torna a Sorriento' as she departed.
"Grazie," Webb called with a smile. The two men heard a giggle as the door closed.
A.J. smiled at the agency man.
"What?" Webb asked.
"You're funny, that's all." Webb remembered back to a time when another Navy lawyer had said that to him. And similar to that time, he didn't think he'd done anything to elicit that reaction.
Maybe the Navy had a different definition of funny.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Webb asked, not a little irritated.
The week's events and the stay in the hospital had done a number on Webb's sense of humor. Come to think of it, Chegwidden didn't really know if Webb had a sense of humor. He was surprised to find himself thinking that he'd like to find out more about Clayton Webb the man, not the spy. He looked at Webb with a more inquisitive eye, particularly after his long talk with Tim Fawkes the previous night.
"You seem to understand a lot of the language, but you don't speak much of it. I'm just curious, that's all."
"I know what I need. Besides, it usually works to my advantage to act like I don't understand."
Typical spy thinking, the admiral thought. Chegwidden recognized at that moment that Webb probably understood everything that had been said in Italian during their few days in the country. He probably spoke it better than Chegwidden. But Webb was right: few people were 'need to know' with respect to that information.
"I see what you mean. Okay. Take it easy, be nice to the nurses, and I'll see you at fifteen hundred." Chegwidden was glad to see the glimpse of a smirk on Webb's face as he left the room.
********
"You feeling okay?" Chegwidden asked as he and Webb walked to the ristorante. The spy had been more than subdued during their two hour wrap- up with Decker, only speaking when asked directly about the events of the day before.
They crossed the small piazza with the typically fanciful fountain that separated them from the strada that would lead to their destination for dinner. Webb wondered if he would ever again be able to look at a fountain in the same way. He used to love visiting Rome: the fountains and piazzas and laughter emanating from them had always provided some sense of life and hope in the midst of the difficult and dangerous aspects of his work. He often found himself seeking out such places in the other areas of the world, the calming effects of the sounds of the water and surrounding happiness evoking the spirit of Rome, of life and hope, at some of the darkest moments in his life.
But passing by this fountain in this small piazza on this evening, he felt a coldness grip his soul.
"Clay," A.J. said as he put his hand on Clayton Webb's arm. A.J. noticed, not for the first time since leaving the hospital that afternoon, that the man with whom he had partnered so successfully the previous day seemed miles away, and deeply disturbed. He recognized that reaction, remembered that feeling. A.J. hoped that Webb would allow him to help him through the torment he was feeling from the actions he was forced to take to save Tim Fawkes' life.
"I can't stop thinking about it, A.J.," Clay said as he sat on a bench near the fountain. "I don't think I'll ever forget it."
"I don't think you're supposed to forget, Clay. But you will learn to live with it."
"How? I see it like it's happening right now. I've been seeing it over and over again. I'm trying to picture some time in the future when I won't see it anymore, and I just don't. I don't envision the image going away."
This was all very familiar to Admiral A.J. Chegwidden. Or rather, former Navy SEAL A.J. Chegwidden. It always pained him to think about it, about his first kill. But he knew that his experiences recovering from his own first time killing a man could help the troubled man before him.
"Clay, why do you think you keep seeing Teresa's death?"
"It's not exactly the same each time, A.J. Teresa dies each time. I shoot her." Clay looked down at his clasped hands, only barely suppressing the shiver that overcame him. "But sometimes...sometimes the explosives go off. Tim gets blown up..." Webb let the thought hang in the silent still of the warm Roman air.
"Clay..."
"Sometimes it's not Tim who's rigged up to the bomb. It shifts from Tim, to Rabb, to Mac, even you."
"Anybody else?"
Clayton Webb looked at A.J. Chegwidden. The admiral could read the pain and the confusion in Clay's bearing. Clay looked up to the sky. It was a beautiful, clear night, the stars easily visible despite the lights of Rome, the lights that usually masked the sparkling satellites.
Clay shook his head and looked again at A.J.
"Sometimes it's my mother."
"And other times it's you." A.J. waited for Clay to continue, though it seemed that wait would be infinite. Clay was unable to go on, to explain why he was seeing these images. They were confused and disturbed and disorienting to the agency man. He was hard pressed to understand them, let alone explain how he felt about them to A.J.
"You know, Clay," A.J. said as he sat beside the operative, "your mind is trying to help you understand what happened yesterday. Seeing your mom, Mac, Rabb, people that you care for in danger...it's your own way of coping, of trying to justify your actions." Webb noted that A.J. didn't address the fact that Webb had seen his own image in the list of 'people he cared for'. He knew he would have to address that bewildering impression before he was able to live with what he had done. But he trusted A.J. - if there was something to be learned from that, he felt confident that A.J. Chegwidden would help guide him to that realization.
"Shouldn't the fact that it was Tim's life in danger be justification enough?" The furrowed brow and the still pale face tore at the Navy man. 'I've been there, Clay,' A.J. Chegwidden silently offered. 'You're doing fine,' he thought.
"It is. Of course it is. You're just getting some reinforcement from the inner you. The inner you sounds a little smarter than the outer you," A.J. joked.
Webb managed a light snicker, surprised that he was able to feel anything even remotely worthy of a laugh so soon after the devastating events of the previous day.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Webb retorted easily.
"I'm only tellin' ya because I care about you," A.J. continued.
Clay smiled at his confidant. He felt cared for in this moment. It was a moment that before this week he could only have imagined sharing with his father or Tim. That A.J. Chegwidden was the man helping him through this difficult time said so much about how far their relationship had come in such a short time.
It felt good to welcome A.J. to his circle.
Clayton Webb wasn't over the killing, Chegwidden knew that, and he knew Webb knew it, too. It would be some time before his subconscious stopped replaying the events of that day. But those visions would become less and less frequent as Webb learned and accepted the meaning of what he had done.
This killing was a voyage for Clayton Webb, 'un viaggio', and Webb was just 'un passeggero'. The journey would be painful and take him places to which he would not want to venture.
A.J. Chegwidden knew the voyage well, he felt that pain, had been where Clay was now heading. Webb would survive, the admiral knew this from having lived through it himself. But he also had been witness to any number of others who had taken the voyage before. The ones who survived were much like Clayton Webb: good men, committed men, men of strong character and conviction. Men to be proud to call friend.
A.J. Chegwidden was glad to help guide Webb on his voyage.
...the healed, older man encouraged the still healing younger one to rise. The younger man looked at his wise friend and smiled a shy smile. He had felt unexpected comfort in confiding in this man. Had his mentor known this would be? The younger man thought maybe he had, and he was grateful for the third man's hand in putting them together on this night.
The healed man put his arm around the shoulders of the healing one, encouraging him to continue to their destination. The younger man walked ahead, the confidence that had been missing during the last few days working its way back into the younger one's stride...back into the essence of the man.
'Spero che il vostro viaggio sia navigazione regolare,' the healed one wished for his friend.
L'estremità
The doctor predicted that the man would sleep well into this morning, his accurate foretelling evidenced by the man now finally waking. The battering this man's body and psyche had taken over the last week had warranted at least this much rest. The visitor was sorry to see that the nightmare of yesterday's violence had gripped the resting man.
The third man entered the room, nodding in acknowledgement to his friend seated near the hospital bed.
"He's waking up?" the new arrival whispered.
"Yeah. The nurse told me he woke in a cold sweat twice last night before they gave him a sedative. Then he woke the same way a few hours ago, but he was still exhausted so he fell right back to sleep."
"Damn. I guess from what you told me, A.J., we're lucky to see him wake this soon." The two men looked with concern as their friend slowly wakened from the distressed sleep.
A.J. Chegwidden nodded, then looked over at Clayton Webb. The emotional turmoil that the man had gone through, not just in this last week but as well for the entire year leading up to it, would have crushed a lesser man. Keeping the secret of Tim Fawkes' abduction from Chegwidden and then being forced to come to him for assistance certainly hadn't helped Webb maintain the cool and calm demeanor A.J. usually associated with the CIA operative. More than once in the last few days he had heard the desperation in Clayton Webb's voice, saw it in his bearing.
Chegwidden's own feelings seemed to have taken a drastic turn over the course of the past twenty-four hours. They were no longer the adversarial feelings of a naval admiral towards an often cryptic and nearly always frustrating CIA operative. If A.J. really thought carefully about it, those feelings about Clayton Webb had been overcome some time before this week. They weren't even the same feelings as those shared by two comrades in arms, as he and Webb were yesterday, working together toward the shared goal of rescuing a cherished friend.
No, something different was now at play relating to his feelings about one Clayton Webb. He looked forward to when he finally figured out just what that difference was. And what it meant.
"Ah!" Clayton Webb gasped, his head rising abruptly from the pillow, eyes wide, clearly startled by something in his sleep. Immediately noticing Tim Fawkes and A.J. Chegwidden to his left, he lowered himself back down to the pillow and took long, calming breaths to help still his racing heartbeat.
"Hey, take it easy," Tim said as he pulled a chair over to join A.J.
"No, take this one. I've got some calls to make. Webb, good to see you."
Webb watched Chegwidden leave. He stared long and hard at the door before turning to Tim Fawkes.
"He seemed to leave in a hurry." Webb looked puzzled and pale as he sat up in bed, the combination not sitting well with the older agency man.
"He's been worried about you."
"Really?" Webb questioned, the pained frown and Webb's face blending into the white of the bedding evidence that the concussion he had suffered during the grenade attack was still causing him some pain. The gentle massaging of the left side of his head was further proof that bringing Webb to the hospital after the previous night's debriefing was the right call.
Tim looked at Webb, worried about his protégé's obvious discomfort.
"It's okay, Tim. I'll survive. How're you doing?"
"Clay," Tim said, unable to hide the exasperation he currently felt toward his friend. "You feel like talking."
"No!" the sharp retort cutting Tim off, the reply a clear indication of where Clayton Webb's head was at that moment.
Tim looked Webb in the eye, Webb giving back as good as he was getting. Long moments passed as the two men confronted each other in silence. Over a year had passed since they had seen one another, yet somehow this morning seemed too soon for them both.
Tim Fawkes lost this game of chicken, though he resolved to try again when both men were more prepared to engage in that battle. "I'm on the next transport back to D.C."
"Not without me you're not," Webb said as he started, gingerly, to get up from his hospital bed.
"Clay, sit back." Tim pushed Webb back against the pillow. "I've got a platoon of marines watching my back. I'll be fine."
"You can't make me stay here, Tim."
"Probably not. But I can," Chegwidden warned as he returned to the room. "Your nurse says you'll be discharged this afternoon after those IVs are done and the doctor likes what he sees. Then you and I are heading to the embassy to wrap things up with Decker. We're on the first flight out of here tomorrow."
Clayton Webb looked at A.J. Chegwidden and Tim Fawkes and he knew that he didn't have the energy, or the desire, to fight them both. He also trusted that the admiral had assured Tim's safety in arranging his return to the states. He'd learned a lot about trust in the last few days from this man.
His role at the CIA had, from nearly the beginning, taught Webb to trust few. He was an agency man, there was no doubt, and his training had prepared him to work alone, to keep few in his circle of trusted associates. Tim Fawkes was part of that circle; Webb had learned from the master. The fact that Tim kept Admiral A.J. Chegwidden within his own circle was the reason Webb had enlisted the JAG's assistance on this and previous missions.
Webb had come to the realization that partnering had its positive side. The admiral's role in helping Webb find that out was clear. Chegwidden might complain about Webb recruiting his people for dangerous operations, but the fact was, and Webb hadn't really made the connection until this week, that Chegwidden trusted him enough to approve of those partnerships with Rabb and Mac. Yes, the missions were always of the utmost importance and often involved extreme threats to national security, so the admiral's ability to say no was rarely an option.
But the admiral's faith and trust in Webb, though it would probably never be stated aloud, was made more clear on this mission by Chegwidden's actions than by any words he may have spoken.
"Webb." Clayton Webb looked up, realizing his private ruminations had been obvious to both Tim and A.J. He wasn't even sure who had called his name. He needed to get his head together.
Tim looked, not with a little concern, to A.J. "I gotta get rolling. See you back in D.C.?" Tim Fawkes smiled at his old friend.
"You bet," A.J. Chegwidden replied, his own smile broad. He pulled Tim into a boisterous hug. Webb turned away from the two close friends, feeling slightly guilty about his inability to provide the men with some privacy.
"Keep an eye on him?" Tim asked softly.
A.J. answered with a reassuring squeeze. Tim pulled away and walked over to Clayton Webb.
"Clay, behave yourself, will ya?"
"See you back at Langley," Webb said, more than a little subdued.
"You know, Clay, you're gonna have to get over this guilt thing. It really doesn't become you," he chided, trying to keep the tone of the comment light, despite the undercurrent of sincere warning he hoped came through. The fact was that the CIA couldn't afford this kind of reaction by its operatives, even when the feeling was warranted. It was important for Tim Fawkes to get Clayton Webb past this feeling before it could have any negative impacts on the man, his career, or the agency.
Webb averted his eyes from his friend and mentor, not sure how to respond. He had heard Tim during last night's review of events. He knew that Tim did not blame him for the abduction or for any of the time he had spent in captivity. But it seemed that no matter how much his head told him he could not have prevented it, Clayton Webb's heart kept telling him that he could have done more to keep his friend safe.
"I hear you, Tim. I'm working on it."
"Good." Tim gave Webb's shoulder an affectionate pat. "Don't fight the nurses and don't fight A.J. You can't win either fight." Tim smiled as he shook hands with Clay.
Webb laughed lightly and then nodded his assent. Tim left, leaving the two men who had saved him alone in the hospital room.
Chegwidden watched Webb's face as his gaze followed the older CIA man out the door. The admiral did not like the conflict still written on Clayton Webb's visage. He heard him say the words. He did not doubt Webb's veracity in saying that he was working on convincing himself that he was not at fault. Chegwidden decided it wouldn't hurt for him to provide a little push in that direction.
"Look, I've got some things to tie up. I'll be back to pick you up at fifteen hundred."
"Fifteen hundred! Why am I staying here that long?" Webb complained.
"Poiché il vostro medico dice, signor Webb." The pretty nurse quieted Webb briefly as he looked, frustrated, to A.J.
"She said because your doctor said so."
"I know what she said, A.J. I'm not so sure you didn't put her up to it."
"I didn't think you knew Italian, Webb."
"I understand enough."
"Capisce questo, signor Webb. Ho una mente dei miei propri. Recupera più velocemente se ascolta che cosa dico. Capisce?"
Webb raised his eyes wide to A.J., this time the fast and furious pace of the Italian too much for his still tired mind to grasp.
"I thought you knew enough?" A.J. joked.
"A.J.," Webb pleaded.
"Suffice it to say that you pissed her off a little."
"Mi dispiace, signorina." Webb was brought up well, A.J. thought, as the apology elicited a winning smile from Webb's nurse.
"Grazie, signore." The nurse disconnected one of the IVs. "Porterò la prima colazione in alcuni minuti." The nurse left, humming 'Torna a Sorriento' as she departed.
"Grazie," Webb called with a smile. The two men heard a giggle as the door closed.
A.J. smiled at the agency man.
"What?" Webb asked.
"You're funny, that's all." Webb remembered back to a time when another Navy lawyer had said that to him. And similar to that time, he didn't think he'd done anything to elicit that reaction.
Maybe the Navy had a different definition of funny.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Webb asked, not a little irritated.
The week's events and the stay in the hospital had done a number on Webb's sense of humor. Come to think of it, Chegwidden didn't really know if Webb had a sense of humor. He was surprised to find himself thinking that he'd like to find out more about Clayton Webb the man, not the spy. He looked at Webb with a more inquisitive eye, particularly after his long talk with Tim Fawkes the previous night.
"You seem to understand a lot of the language, but you don't speak much of it. I'm just curious, that's all."
"I know what I need. Besides, it usually works to my advantage to act like I don't understand."
Typical spy thinking, the admiral thought. Chegwidden recognized at that moment that Webb probably understood everything that had been said in Italian during their few days in the country. He probably spoke it better than Chegwidden. But Webb was right: few people were 'need to know' with respect to that information.
"I see what you mean. Okay. Take it easy, be nice to the nurses, and I'll see you at fifteen hundred." Chegwidden was glad to see the glimpse of a smirk on Webb's face as he left the room.
********
"You feeling okay?" Chegwidden asked as he and Webb walked to the ristorante. The spy had been more than subdued during their two hour wrap- up with Decker, only speaking when asked directly about the events of the day before.
They crossed the small piazza with the typically fanciful fountain that separated them from the strada that would lead to their destination for dinner. Webb wondered if he would ever again be able to look at a fountain in the same way. He used to love visiting Rome: the fountains and piazzas and laughter emanating from them had always provided some sense of life and hope in the midst of the difficult and dangerous aspects of his work. He often found himself seeking out such places in the other areas of the world, the calming effects of the sounds of the water and surrounding happiness evoking the spirit of Rome, of life and hope, at some of the darkest moments in his life.
But passing by this fountain in this small piazza on this evening, he felt a coldness grip his soul.
"Clay," A.J. said as he put his hand on Clayton Webb's arm. A.J. noticed, not for the first time since leaving the hospital that afternoon, that the man with whom he had partnered so successfully the previous day seemed miles away, and deeply disturbed. He recognized that reaction, remembered that feeling. A.J. hoped that Webb would allow him to help him through the torment he was feeling from the actions he was forced to take to save Tim Fawkes' life.
"I can't stop thinking about it, A.J.," Clay said as he sat on a bench near the fountain. "I don't think I'll ever forget it."
"I don't think you're supposed to forget, Clay. But you will learn to live with it."
"How? I see it like it's happening right now. I've been seeing it over and over again. I'm trying to picture some time in the future when I won't see it anymore, and I just don't. I don't envision the image going away."
This was all very familiar to Admiral A.J. Chegwidden. Or rather, former Navy SEAL A.J. Chegwidden. It always pained him to think about it, about his first kill. But he knew that his experiences recovering from his own first time killing a man could help the troubled man before him.
"Clay, why do you think you keep seeing Teresa's death?"
"It's not exactly the same each time, A.J. Teresa dies each time. I shoot her." Clay looked down at his clasped hands, only barely suppressing the shiver that overcame him. "But sometimes...sometimes the explosives go off. Tim gets blown up..." Webb let the thought hang in the silent still of the warm Roman air.
"Clay..."
"Sometimes it's not Tim who's rigged up to the bomb. It shifts from Tim, to Rabb, to Mac, even you."
"Anybody else?"
Clayton Webb looked at A.J. Chegwidden. The admiral could read the pain and the confusion in Clay's bearing. Clay looked up to the sky. It was a beautiful, clear night, the stars easily visible despite the lights of Rome, the lights that usually masked the sparkling satellites.
Clay shook his head and looked again at A.J.
"Sometimes it's my mother."
"And other times it's you." A.J. waited for Clay to continue, though it seemed that wait would be infinite. Clay was unable to go on, to explain why he was seeing these images. They were confused and disturbed and disorienting to the agency man. He was hard pressed to understand them, let alone explain how he felt about them to A.J.
"You know, Clay," A.J. said as he sat beside the operative, "your mind is trying to help you understand what happened yesterday. Seeing your mom, Mac, Rabb, people that you care for in danger...it's your own way of coping, of trying to justify your actions." Webb noted that A.J. didn't address the fact that Webb had seen his own image in the list of 'people he cared for'. He knew he would have to address that bewildering impression before he was able to live with what he had done. But he trusted A.J. - if there was something to be learned from that, he felt confident that A.J. Chegwidden would help guide him to that realization.
"Shouldn't the fact that it was Tim's life in danger be justification enough?" The furrowed brow and the still pale face tore at the Navy man. 'I've been there, Clay,' A.J. Chegwidden silently offered. 'You're doing fine,' he thought.
"It is. Of course it is. You're just getting some reinforcement from the inner you. The inner you sounds a little smarter than the outer you," A.J. joked.
Webb managed a light snicker, surprised that he was able to feel anything even remotely worthy of a laugh so soon after the devastating events of the previous day.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Webb retorted easily.
"I'm only tellin' ya because I care about you," A.J. continued.
Clay smiled at his confidant. He felt cared for in this moment. It was a moment that before this week he could only have imagined sharing with his father or Tim. That A.J. Chegwidden was the man helping him through this difficult time said so much about how far their relationship had come in such a short time.
It felt good to welcome A.J. to his circle.
Clayton Webb wasn't over the killing, Chegwidden knew that, and he knew Webb knew it, too. It would be some time before his subconscious stopped replaying the events of that day. But those visions would become less and less frequent as Webb learned and accepted the meaning of what he had done.
This killing was a voyage for Clayton Webb, 'un viaggio', and Webb was just 'un passeggero'. The journey would be painful and take him places to which he would not want to venture.
A.J. Chegwidden knew the voyage well, he felt that pain, had been where Clay was now heading. Webb would survive, the admiral knew this from having lived through it himself. But he also had been witness to any number of others who had taken the voyage before. The ones who survived were much like Clayton Webb: good men, committed men, men of strong character and conviction. Men to be proud to call friend.
A.J. Chegwidden was glad to help guide Webb on his voyage.
...the healed, older man encouraged the still healing younger one to rise. The younger man looked at his wise friend and smiled a shy smile. He had felt unexpected comfort in confiding in this man. Had his mentor known this would be? The younger man thought maybe he had, and he was grateful for the third man's hand in putting them together on this night.
The healed man put his arm around the shoulders of the healing one, encouraging him to continue to their destination. The younger man walked ahead, the confidence that had been missing during the last few days working its way back into the younger one's stride...back into the essence of the man.
'Spero che il vostro viaggio sia navigazione regolare,' the healed one wished for his friend.
L'estremità