Part Two
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: Who would claim it?
Summary: Webb is in a hospital in Uruguay, while Mac is recalling their first night in Paraguay
Author�s Note: Okay, I sorta salvaged & continued it
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May 24, 2003
ICU of MUSA Medical Center
Port City of Montevideo, Uruguay
All three heads turned towards the waiting room door. Now that Delia had their attention, she shared the latest news of their friend.
�Mrs. Williams, your husband is breathing on his own---it is quite amazing, really.� And it was. It was totally unexpected. Delia elaborated for the sake of Sarah Williams and her companions.
�A team of specialists spent three hours repairing his lung on the day he arrived. At the time it was the most life-threatening of Mr. Williams� injuries.� At their questioning looks, Delia carefully detailed Clay�s medical profile. She gave them a few moments to absorb the magnitude of their friend�s endurance, and then continued to fill them in on the past four days.
�The internal trauma was massive. The body is miraculous at repairing itself, but a second surgery was required to remove his spleen, repair his kidney and large intestine, and rebuild his ribcage. We feared, at this point, that his system could not sustain the shock of so many hours of surgery, but we had no choice. Luckily this is a teaching hospital and the specialists were readily available.�
All three nodded slightly in agreement and thanks, but Delia had not yet finished her litany of medical revelations. She looked directly at Mac and revealed the worst.
�Yesterday, he began to bleed out. His eardrum had imploded---we had feared this---and it necessitated a third surgery. The repair was successful but the trauma of yet another surgery pushed him into what you would call a coma.�
At this point Mac broke in. �But people come out of comas, don�t they? It�s like you said, the body is healing itself, right?� Mac tried to sound hopeful.
�Mrs. Williams, I should get Dr. Morayati out here to explain��
�No! No, you�d just have to translate and---just tell us what the doctor told you,� Mac pleaded.
Delia looked at each one of them. All three could use a shower and some sleep. �Well, the doctors, they have not said much. They are cautious. Dr. Morayati has just ordered us to ease Mr. Williams off the respirator tonight. This is good news---one less tube. He has also removed the chest tube draining the lung. Trust me, this is most excellent. As to the coma? We cannot predict its duration. As you said, it is the body�s way of dealing with the shock and trauma he has endured.�
Delia could tell them no more but did urge them to get food and rest for the night. When they looked as though they might balk at this suggestion, Delia informed them of the ICU visiting hours and gently steered them towards the door. �Give us a number at which we may contact you, yes? We must put our patients first, you understand. You may visit again tomorrow morning---and fill out some necessary paperwork. You may trust your Clay in our care.�
After leaving Harm�s cell phone number with the ICU desk, they made their way across the street to Montevideo�s opulent version of the Hilton. As promised, Kershaw had reserved a room in Harm�s name. Without compunction, Harm charmed the susceptible desk clerk into switching their original reservation to a larger suite of rooms. Gunny was amazed at Harm�s careless performance. Mac just wished the poor girl would hand over the keycard; she was still wearing the hospital scrubs and only wanted the night to be over so that she could return to Clay�s side.
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May 24, 2003
Mac�s Hotel Bedroom
Port City of Montevideo, Uruguay
Though physically and mentally exhausted, Mac�s sleep was fitful. She should have called Mrs. Webb. She should have called the Admiral. She should have had that talk with Harm. All of that could wait, however---at least until after she saw Clay in the morning.
Clay was Mac�s top priority right now. Clay was her responsibility. She�d promised not to leave him behind. She�d begged him not to die for her. They needed each other. They had sealed their promises to one another with a kiss. Clay had been so understanding when she�d left with Harm: national security had been at stake. She�d even managed to answer Harm�s question about Clay�s well-being in a nonchalant manner even though it was killing her inside. She remembered it now: �If Gunny can get him to a hospital in time.� Was the pretense for Harm even necessary? She didn�t care anymore. Harm was her partner and friend, but Clay was her soul mate. They were both so tired of being alone.
�Saraaaah!� Every night since Harm had crashed the plane, she kept hearing Clay�s tortured voice as he�d yelled out her name, just as he had done when Sadik Faad had led her toward his �torture chamber.� Oh, Clay, you were right. I need someone who can stand up to me. I need *you* to stand up to me.
Sarah finally drifted off remembering their first night in Paraguay together. The lights had been off when she had finally emerged from the bathroom�
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�Clay, *darling,* where are you?� Sarah called out in irritation.
�Over here, *sweetheart,*� Clay responded from the couch.
Sarah walked over to the couch and looked down. Sure enough, Clayton Webb was blanketed on the couch. She squinted down into the darkness and swallowed a grin. The striped pajamas were kind of cute, in an Ozzie & Harriet sort of dimension. �You over here pouting?�
Clay hugged the blanket to his chest and studied her shadowed outline. �No.�
�Then why�re you over here like the proverbial husband-in-the-doghouse?� Sarah demanded.
Clay took his time in responding. He sat up, still clutching the blanket. Once he had re-situated himself, he was surprisingly sincere. �I thought you�d be more comfortable sleeping alone.� Then his imp emerged, �Besides, you probably hog the covers and kick in your sleep. I�m too tired to fight you off tonight.�
Before he could guess her intention, she reached down and slammed one of the throw pillows into his face. Clay went down with a �whoof!� and rolled off the couch---still clutching his blanket.
Sarah strolled over and looked down at Clay as he knelt in front of the coffee table, tangled in the blanket. He was grinning at her, so she didn�t expect a retaliation. He looked so lovable at this moment, his hair in disarray and those soulful eyes staring up at her. Slowly, she leaned down to snap on one of the lamps and managed to snatch his blanket in the process. Clay fell forward onto the carpet from the momentum of Sarah�s pull.
He groaned as he lay there, but from what Sarah was seeing, it wasn�t from pain. It had to be from humiliation. There, emblazoned on that---wow, absolutely perfect---butt of his, were the words �HOT STUFF.� As she stared in amazement, Clay turned over, and she saw what was written on each leg of his pajama bottoms. Written vertically, on the right leg, was �FRANKIE SAYS�---on the left leg, �I AM��
Sarah herself had owned a couple of the �Frankie Says� t-shirts from the mid-80s, but she�d never have guessed that Clayton Webb was a �Frankie Goes to Hollywood� fan---it just didn�t fit. �You were a---?�
Before she could finish her question, Clay was shaking his head �no.� She was laughing too hard to care. Then she remembered the old Donna Summer tune and laughed even harder. Clay just stared at the couch, resigned to the ridicule.
By the time she had started singing �Gotta have some Hot Stuff, baby, this evening. Gotta have some Hot Stuff, baby, tonight,� Clay had turned bright red and had pulled the blanket back over his legs. Sarah knew he wanted to laugh, too, and finally he did. Sarah couldn�t figure him out. For years, Clay had been an enigma, but ever since the tribunal she�d felt closer to him. She gave her head a shake and gathered her resolve. This Marine was getting this particular story out of him, come hell or high water.
�Okay, Clay, give.�
�No, it�s classified.� Clay had no intention of revealing the source of his PJ bottoms.
�Claaay�!� Sarah was good at wheedling, but a lifetime of subterfuge was difficult to overcome.
�C�mon, Clay,� she plopped down beside of him and they both leaned back against the seat of the couch. Gradually, Sarah pulled part of his blanket over her own bare legs.
Clay looked down at Sarah and admired her Pooh-Bear sleep set before responding, �Nuh-uh.�
�Clay, it sooo simple. For instance, this gorgeous purple and pink ensemble is from Wal-Mart�s Winnie-the-Pooh collection circa 1998. Chloe and I got matching sets one summer while she was visiting. See, it�s not so hard. Your turn---.� Sarah truly expected Clay to play along.
�I don�t remember. That�s my story and I�m sticking to it.� Damn, the man could be stubborn.
�I�m a Marine, Clay. I can force you to tell me.� She could tell that Clay didn�t know quite how to take that statement. She hoped he saw the playfulness she was exuding; otherwise, she might regret her next plan of action. Make no mistake about it; the spook was going tell her about those pajamas.
Lowering her voice to a throaty drawl, Mac began her attack. �C�mon Hot Stuff, I�m dying to know the story *behind* the pants. And you know me well enough to know that I�ll get to the *bottom* of it.� As she was talking, Mac had slowly drawn the blanket completely away from Clay. When he still refused to tell her, she began the same attack that always worked on Chloe.
It was so sudden that Clay was unprepared. He jerked and squirmed, trying to avoid Mac�s fingers, but she was really good at this. Who knew he was so ticklish? The laughter bubbled forth from his throat as they rolled all over the carpet. Clay was out of breath and still laughing when he conceded to Mac�s attack. She was sitting on his chest with her fingers still curved into his ribs, when he broke.
�Younger sister! Birthday gift! Don�t---don�t wear pajamas! C�mon, gimme a break Sarah! Sa-ra-ha-ha-ha-hahhh!� Aha! She had found a major tickle-spot.
�Then why did you bring �em if you don�t wear �em? Hmmm? Answer that, why don�tcha?� At this point, Sarah was having too much fun to care about the rest of his answer, but it was the principle of the thing.
�O-kay, okay. Geez, get offa me, you�re squeezing the breath outta me. Stop---stop! I�m not kiddin� here! Ah, hell.� Clay had rolled her over had held her frisky fingers to the carpet. He wasn�t a lightweight himself. Clay got his breathing under control and finally answered her question: �Cause I knew we�d be sharing a room and I didn�t want you---or me---to be uncomfortable around one another. I keep pajamas in the highboy at home and must�ve grabbed some unmatched ones without checking.�
They were both still breathing hard and grinning at one another. �See, Clay? That wasn�t so hard.�
�That�s your take. You assault me, get what you want from me, and I�m supposed to be all grateful?� Clay was trying for a huffy attitude, but the grin was destroying its impact.
They slowly got to their feet, picking up the scattered couch pillows, when something occurred to Mac. Ever observant, Clay saw her look of realization, and forestalled the interrogation with his own question. �Sarah, where exactly am I allowed to sleep? Just tell me, cause I�m ready to just sack out anywhere, I�m that tired.�
�You idiot! Of course, we�ll share the bed. I�m tired, too. We�ve known each other too long for that �It Happened One Night� crap. Case closed on that issue.� Mac watched Clay trudge toward the bed, unable to pull her eyes away from the �HOT STUFF� insignia. �And Clay, get comfortable so you can sleep, uh how do you sleep?�
Pulling back the covers and plumping up the pillow on the right side of the bed, Clay told her, �I sleep pretty well in nothing at all, but I usually just wear flannel drawstring bottoms.� With that, Clay removed his pajama top, refolded it, and placed it in his leather carryall. By the time Mac had cut off the light, Clay was in bed and laying on his right side.
Climbing into the other side, Mac lay on her back and gently touched Clay�s left shoulder. He tensed, but didn�t ignore her. �Yes, *sweetheart*?� By this time, the weariness in his tone was unmistakable.
�I thought your Mother and me were the only females in your life. Tell me about this younger sister.�
�Not much to tell. She was my little sister. She was beautiful, intelligent, gracious, caring---the best sister an obnoxious older brother could ever have. It was a rare honor to be her brother.� If Clay weren�t so tired, Mac was certain he�d never reveal so much. It was obvious by his words and tone that he no longer had that little sister.
Placing her right hand on his shoulder in commiseration, She asked, �How long ago, Clay?� He was quiet for so long Mac did not really expect an answer.
�December 13, 1995. My 35th birthday. She was flying in for a �surprise� celebration Mother had planned. Her plane went down. Surprise, Clay.�
Mac squeezed his shoulder and wanted to give him a hug, but she held back out of respect. It would make her feel better about her probing, but wouldn�t ease his remembered loss. She took a breath, ready to change the subject, but Clay cut her off with a gentle, �Night, Sarah.�
Mac eased her hand back to her side. �Night, Clay.�
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May 25, 2003
Mac�s Hotel Bedroom
Port City of Montevideo, Uruguay
Mac was disoriented when she awoke. The strange bed was soft and clean. Smiling, she rolled over expecting to encounter Clay�s sleepy eyes.
The empty pillow was a testament to her current reality. Reluctant to face the present, Mac closed her eyes and recalled waking up with Clay that first time.