A/N: Alack and alas, I have become that which I despise; authors who start a story and never post. My excuses all seem weak, so accept my sincerest apologies.

Detective Mac Taylor scrubbed his hand down the front of his face, rubbing his eyes and then the back of his neck. He had been working overtime on the soccer coach's murder, trying to tie down so many loose ends. And Mac hated loose ends. Especially as many as this case had.

The missing athletic trainer had finally resurfaced, a slew of unpaid parking tickets being the reason for his reluctance to talk to the police. He was also the cause of the mystery track spike, working in several sporting venues across the city. He had seen nothing unusual, had confirmed Jordan's account, and was accounted for during the approximate time of death.

The missing player files had turned up. Mac's suspicion had been correct; shortly after discovering the files were missing, the coach's house was broken into and ransacked as well. The files from his office were left conveniently piled with personal files the coach had at his home; there was no hard proof that he had not taken them home himself. And the search of the house turned up one major loose end that churned away in Mac's gut; they discovered a moderate cache of cocaine, barely concealed in his desk. Nothing to suggest more than recreational use, but the whole situation was much too convenient for Mac. Nothing else about the coach's work, office, or home suggested drug use, and both the stadium standard test and the autopsy came up negative for the presence of any drugs in his system. Although the timing was definitely suspicious, they could not confirm or disprove whether the drugs were planted during the break-in or if they had been there before.

At least they had a suspect in custody. Carter Giles was identified out of a photo array by Jordan as the man who had blown past her on her way in that day. After some questioning by Mac, she could recall two more instances where she had seen him at the stadium, arguing with the coach. She had never been close enough to hear exactly what they discussed, but their conversations had definitely been heated.

Giles himself was a mystery. He had a few minor drug priors and no criminal affiliation that Mac could find. He did, however, have a certain lawyer who had gotten him off on probation a few years earlier. Dorian Gray had taken Giles last case, turning a felony narcotics charge into a misdemeanor. After that, Giles had no more arrests. They had picked him up at his job, a loader for a trucking company. He had been in custody ever since, pleading his innocence. He gave no explanation as to why he was at the stadium, choosing not to answer rather than outright denial. Mac found it interesting that he accepted the court appointed lawyer; Gray had not been seen since his run-in with Mac and Don at the precinct.

As much as the loose ends in the case frustrated Mac, they were nothing compared to the dead end he had hit with Jordan. After Jason had left his office, Mac had sat down with her to talk about her father. She had recognized the name Minnetti as one of her father's business associates but her knowledge ended there. She admitted that her father often used her to drop off files to a house in Manhattan that he wouldn't trust to his paralegals; however, the files were always sealed and she had never seen what was inside them. Jordan was eager to talk about anything incriminating she could think of regarding Minnetti, fully admitting to Mac that she found him disturbing. Any connection to her father, however, made her quiet. She no longer had the shuttered attitude that had slammed into place the first time Mac brought up the subject; in fact, he could sense hesitation in her demeanor, as if she was on the verge of trusting him and opening up. But every time, a pinched look came across her face and she remained silent. The first night he sent her home and she returned the next day with a long-sleeved shirt and the tendency to hug her ribs when she made quick movements. After that, Mac made sure she was only in the office during business hours and that she left well before the time that the plainclothes officers had told him Gray came home.

Mac leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. He found his thoughts returning, as they were quickly forming a habit of doing, to a conversation he had with Jordan when he informed her that the case was going to trial. He had been preparing her statement in accordance with the evidence to hand over to the District Attorney and had unintentionally kept her in the office late into the evening. He would later blame fatigue for the reason he once again broached the subject that Jason had brought to his attention.

They had gone over the file on the Coach's hard drive. It was inadmissible for the trial, but Mac wanted to make one last attempt to get her to open up to him. He noted that the Coach had put a lot of effort into trying to keep her safe. When he brought it up, she had turned large, tired eyes to meet his with a sadness that chilled him.

"You know, Coach once asked me why I was letting the bad guy win. He actually said that, 'the bad guy'. He thought that there was only one side to it, that it was up to me to stop something bad from happening. All I had to do was talk to him."

Her gaze dropped to Mac's desk. "He didn't get it. That's not what I wanted."

Mac relaxed back into his chair, keeping the atmosphere as passive as he could. "What do you want, Jordan?"

She paused, still not meeting his eyes. "I don't know. I mean, I've thought about it. Before, I just wanted… it… everything, to get better. And then I had soccer, and I just wanted to play. To be the best, so that… it would all just… yeah. But with Jason, it wasn't so important anymore. With him I was just… me. That's all, just me. I didn't have to be the fastest or strongest or the best."

She finally glanced up to look Mac in the face. "Jason asked what I wanted, but Coach never did. He thought he could… I don't know, give me what he thought I wanted. But there was nothing he could do. I knew that. I tried to tell him that, but he didn't listen. And now…" she trailed off, looking past Mac out the window.

Mac leaned forward in his chair, ready to play his final card. "I'm sorry that this happened, Jordan. I truly believe your coach meant the best for you. He just went about it in the wrong way, tried to take on something that was too big for him. But Jordan, I want you to understand something…" He tapped his desk until she made eye contact. "I can help. I am in a position where I can help you. If you will trust me, I can get you what you truly deserve."

She gave a weary smile, staring at him with a look in her eyes that was far too old for her years. "And what do I deserve, Mac?"

"Peace."

His answer startled her, causing her to blink back sudden tears. She slumped down in her seat, curling up into his jacket that she had commandeered earlier. As she retreated into herself, Mac could see that he had finally reached her. After a long moment, she slowly nodded.

"Okay. When all this" she waved a hand to indicate the file he was working on "is over… okay. I'll tell you."

He nodded, taking the victory without pushing it. As he turned back to the file, her voice pulled him up short.

"Mac? I do trust you."

Those words had echoed in his head over the past week. The DA had pushed for more definitive evidence, wanting a slam-dunk win rather than a lengthy trial. Mac had candidly told her that presenting the evidence and convincing the jury was her job and they had parted on less than amicable terms. Since then, Mac had been working overtime on the aspects of the case that kept bugging him, hoping to make some connection that would make sense to him. So far, he had only succeeded in beating the issues into the ground and driving Stella crazy. He couldn't shake the feeling that this case was far from being closed.

Jordan sighed, sinking down on the coach with a barely suppressed groan. She had taken to upping her workouts to deal with the stress of waiting for the trial; however, if she were honest with herself, she was chiefly using them as an excuse to keep out of the house. Interacting with her father had become increasingly tense since she had agreed to help Mac. He knew what she had done before she even got home that night; he had been waiting for her. Despite making his displeasure clear, he had surprised her by not keeping her from returning. In fact, he had told her that she was stuck with it now. In a conversation that had led to an aching wrist and difficulty drawing deep breaths, he had informed her that she was past his legal "protection."

Since then, she had been keeping a low profile, spending time in the stadium gym and running whenever she was at home. Her only source of relief was her "study breaks" with Jason, which they had kept infrequent as possible to avoid suspicion. Her talks with him proved to be the only time she came to terms with everything that had happened; he was deeply interested in the case - strangely regarding anything to do with Mac - and they spent most of their time going back and forth over the clues. It was during one of their conversations that Jordan had hinted at telling Mac about her situation. Jason had gone silent, not pushing the issue, to her relief. His only comment had been that Mac had the pull where Coach had not, and that she needed to decide whom she trusted. Then he had instigated an activity that definitely changed the subject.

Jordan was recalling a recent conversation with Mac, when the garage door powering up sent an all-too-familiar jolt of panic through her stomach. Her father was home early, hours too early. While not unheard of, Dorian Gray in the house before six p.m. was never a good sign. She tensed reflexively, jolting up from the couch before she could get her reactions under control. She mentally cursed as she realized she didn't have time to get upstairs; previous experience had taught her that if she tried to wrap around the living room and bolt up the stairs, she would be caught on the open staircase before she reached the top. She didn't have enough time to get out of sight and she was too sore to pretend to be working out, which would be the next best option. After a few jittery moments, she skirted into the kitchen, pretending to be occupied in making a sandwich. She had enough ingredients out to be believable by the time Dorian Gray walked in the door from the garage. She didn't bother to conceal her surprise at his presence; it was a strange occurrence for him to be there. She didn't, however, engage him. After acknowledging him, knowing better than to try and ignore him, she resumed her preoccupation in her task, hoping that his unexpected visit was for some other reason. Her heart sank when he turned to face her, setting his briefcase to rest on the kitchen island.

"Well," he gave her a cold smile, one that never meant anything good "how was your day?"

Off put by the odd question, she shrugged.

His smile got wider and colder. "Jordan…"

She hated when he said her name like that, sliding it out with extra syllables. It always made her feel like he was talking to a three-year-old. She lifted her head but didn't make eye contact.

"It was fine. School, practice, workout."

He nodded. "How is that assistant coach handling the team?"

Horribly, according to Jordan's opinion, but there was no way she would tell him that she was having trouble with the team.

"She's alright."

He scoffed. "You mean she's fouling everything up, as usual. That woman couldn't organize a defensive strategy to save her life. She moving your positions around?"

Jordan winced. She had hoped he wouldn't ask about that. "She's, uh… trying to find peoples strengths."

His smile fell for the first time. "Great, is that what we're calling destroying any hopes of offense now? She's too insecure, wants to keep from using any existing plays no matter how successful they are, just to say she designed the strategy. Idiot."

She wanted to drop this subject. Soccer was typically a safe topic with her father but she never felt comfortable discussing it with him. Usually, it would devolve into a lecture on ways she was failing or needing to improve. But even the normally benign subject was treacherous footing on a day when Dorian was home before six. She had finished the sandwich and took a bite, nodding in response to his comments as she shifted out towards the door. But before she could get close enough to try and leave, he slid into her path, towering over her slightly. She felt the atmosphere of the room shift and knew what was coming wouldn't be good.

"So I heard you're going to testify. The case is going to trial."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. She set the sandwich down, any appetite she had now obliterated. He took another step toward her. She kept her focus somewhere around his Cavalli tie and hated herself for shrinking back. He slid around the island, moving to stand counterpoint to her position with the counter in between them. He seemed to be preoccupied with things on the countertop, appearing for all the world to be relaxed and unaffected by anything. She knew better and she didn't like his attitude; he was too calm, too in control. He continued in his easy manner, not directly focusing on her.

"It's a shame, really. The whole thing, it's such a mess." He tsk'd, ruefully shaking his head. "I mean, it was bad enough when Silas was killed, that must have been shocking. But now that we've learned there were drugs involved…" his voice trailed off.

She couldn't help but speak up to that. "That's not true."

His eyes slid up to meet hers and she knew that was a mistake. "Isn't it? I mean, he had been erratic in the past; absent-minded, forgetful, mood swings. Plus, I've represented Carter Giles before. In the past, he was known for being a supplier to a… specific clientele. I'm sure now that he has gotten his life together he must have many former clients that are upset he no longer provides their product for them. I'm sure that has lead to many… heated arguments."

Jordan was getting nervous. This was the way he spoke in court when he was swaying the opinion of the jury. She had been to enough of his trials to recognize it but he had never spoken to her this way before; he had never needed to.

"Let me tell you how this is going to play out. The DA will present her case, focusing on the physical evident like every other brilliant state-educated prosecutor that has seen the inside of a courtroom. She will point her finger at Giles, bringing up past indiscretions like they were as unique as fingerprints, while conveniently overlooking the lack of actual fingerprints. As well as DNA, fibers, trace, or motive. She will try to hold on to the sterling reputation of our poor departed Silas, while trying to keep attention away from why he was seen arguing with a known drug dealer at his job" his eyes flicked up to her again "as corroborated by a reputable witness."

She was backed against the counter, staring in horror across the island at him. He casually brushed remnants of salt from the countertop, look completely unaffected at the raw terror he was inspiring in her.

"From there, the jury will deliberate for about five days, with a verdict split down the middle. After which, they will decide that they cannot prove murder beyond reasonable doubt, and Mr. Giles will be released on a number of conditions. All of this is assuming that he has no attorney whatsoever. Or if he goes with the court-appointed lawyer, the result is the same. If, however, he were given a competent lawyer, he would be released free-of-charge with a countersuit for wrongful arrest plus time and resource compensation."

He finished rearranging the spice rack and gave it a gentle spin.

"Of course, this is all assuming that the case actually goes to trial. That new evidence doesn't surface implicating someone else. Or that something doesn't happen while the suspect is in custody, casting doubt in his original involvement. Like I said, I knew Carter Giles… and he's not the only friend I have." His voice had hardened into the anger that she was familiar with, and he had dropped all pretense of indifference.

In a move she hadn't made in over five years, she shoved off the counter and bolted from the room. He caught her in four strides, spinning her around and slamming her back against the wall. Her breath left her in a rush as he quickly pinned her against the wall with his elbow, holding her so up so tightly she was barely touching the floor. His face was a few inches from hers as he leaned down to speak. He no longer hid his anger, but his voice was just as quiet and calm as before.

"Now, I need you to listen to me."

He tightly caught her wrist as she tried to struggle, pinning it to the wall beside her head and effectively keeping her immobile.

"No, Jordan. Listen. This is a dangerous city. I need you to understand that. Bad things happen all the time. People are hurt or robbed or killed everyday. Things happen, that's the way life works. The important thing is…" he pulled her wrist across to hold it with the arm he was using to pin her against the wall, and strongly grabbed her chin with his now free left hand. "The important thing, Jordan, is to know who your friends are. If you make smart choices, like I have, the friends you have can help you. But if you choose to go behind my back and lie and make poor decisions, sometimes the people you think are your friends… sometimes they get hurt."

She stopped struggling the instant his words sank in. Rather than relax his grip, he used the opportunity to tighten his hold, applying more pressure on his elbow until she thought her collarbones would snap and her feet lifted slightly off the ground. He still had her wrist squeezed in his hand and her jaw caught sharply between his fingers. For the first time in years, she stared at him full in the face, trying to figure out his implications. All she could see was the same calm fury that hadn't left his eyes.

"You've been making poor choices in friends, Jordan. And that makes me sad, because I know it will only end badly for you. But that's just the way life is. I mean, you're a smart girl, I'm sure you can learn your lessons on your own. And this is a rough city, for a cop." Her eyes went wide as she took in his meaning, and he leaned in closer so their faces were inches apart. "A police detective is a high risk occupation, protect and serve and all that. It would be a shame to lose one of New York's finest; tragic, really."

He leaned back slightly, but added more pressure to her jaw. She couldn't look away, taking in his words with a gut-clenching horror. Just when she thought he would break her jaw, he slowly released pressure and let go. He took her wrist back into his left hand and returned to holding it against the wall by her head. He began to slowly increase his grip as he spoke in his calm, quiet voice.

"You're a smart girl, Jordan, so I know you will make the right choice. But you still have to learn that actions have consequences…" at his words, he constricted his hand and she felt something give in her wrist. She sagged against his arm with a strangled whimper, grabbing his forearm with her good hand. Everything went roaring white for a moment. His elbow dug painfully into her shoulder and she could feel his rigid muscles under her hand. When she found the strength to look him in the eye, he was staring at her with such a sense of quiet domination that she wish she hadn't. She had never felt so completely helpless with him.

In a fit of choked despair she struck out, darting her fist inward and catching him in the throat. He loosened his hold in shock and she kneed him in the stomach, knocking him backward. He stumbled but didn't fall, but it was enough for her to shove off him and bolt out the door. She flew down the front walk and kept running for several blocks until she was sure he wasn't following. She knew that he had let her go; she was quick, but he was faster and he always caught her if he chose to. She ran without thinking until she was exhausted and completely out of breath, unconsciously ending up in the low-income neighborhood a mile from her house.

Breathing hard, she pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt, ducking her head and blending into the foot traffic. She often ran through this neighborhood, enough to be familiar with the streets but not enough to let her guard down. Reaching inside her hoodie, she tugged on her short-sleeved running shirt until the sleeve ripped off at the seam. She fumbled with it until she had torn it in two pieces, using them to tightly wrap around her throbbing wrist to hold it still. When the compression reduced the pain to a dull ache, she could feel the panic she had been holding at bay start to overwhelm her. She couldn't tell if she was still out of breath or starting to hyperventilate when her phone rang; awkwardly reaching across with her opposite hand, she yanked it out and read the id. Jason.

"Hey."

"Jordan?"

"Jason, thank God."

"Hey, what's going on? Are you ok?"

"No, not really." She was horrified to find herself welling up with tears. She sniffed and blinked her eyes several times. "Um, it's… it's Dorian. He's… Jason, I don't know what to do. He just went off. He was talking about the trial and then he was saying I have the wrong friends or something and he… I really think he's going to do something."

"Jordan, did he hurt you?" His voice was hard.

She gave a half-sobbing laugh. "Every minute he's still breathing hurts me."

He was half-started to speak then stopped, shocked by her candid answer. "Jordan, what did he do?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really. He was just… talking, making threats…"

He cut her off. "He threatened you?"

"No, not me. Just… I don't know, the case maybe? The cops? For a minute I thought he meant… but maybe he was just saying he could hurt the case. I don't know." The panic was starting to subside as she realized that his threats could have been more general than she originally thought.

"Where are you? I'll come get you."

"No, I went… I left. I'll come meet you."

"Ok. I'm headed to the park, I'll meet you there."

"Good." She cut right, ducking across the street and breaking into a light jog. She had about ten blocks to go but she couldn't bring herself to hang up. Having the shorter distance, Jason kept chatting as he walked, getting slightly winded but maintaining a constant stream of conversation. He was the only person she knew who didn't use his words as weapons to get what he wanted. Soon, she heard the ambient noise on his side change from busy street to quieter park, letting her know he had arrived. She was still about four blocks away when he suddenly stopped talking, his voice trailing off in the middle of a sentence as if he were distracted. She slowed down to a walk, calling his name several times before he responded. When he did, his voice was odd and he sounded distant.

"Jordan? I, um… this thing that happened today, it has to stop. Ok? Your da… Dorian. Dorian needs to stop. What he's doing to you, what he's done… it's not ok. I hate him. I've never hated anyone as much as I hate him. But believe me, he can be stopped. You can be free…" he trailed off as if something caught his attention.

"Just hang on, ok? I'm almost there. We can talk about this then."

There were a few moments of silence on the line. When he came back, his voice was rushed and she could hear movement in the background. "I left my ipod at your place. It's in your desk upstairs. I want you to ha…" A college student who was walking by and texting slammed into her shoulder, causing her to stumble to the side and miss what Jason said. She glared after him, then put the phone back to her ear. "…it to Mac, ok? He can take it from there."

"Wait, what? Mac? Jas…"

He cut her off. "Please, Jordan! It's important, ok? Just promise me."

" Ok, Mac. I'll… go to Mac, ok." After agreeing, she heard him sigh in relief; not wanting to cause him stress, she decided to let it go for now. She would ask him later what exactly she had promised to do.

"You know I met him?"

"What?"

"Mac. I went and saw him, a few weeks ago. He's… awesome. I mean it, Jordan. You can trust him. I know it. He promised to help you, and I believe him. He's a cool guy, Jordan. Almost as cool as me."

She was getting scared. The words were light but his tone was deeply somber; her normally reserved boyfriend who avoided deep, emotional conversations was very willingly bringing up sensitive topics. That added to his distracted attitude had her picking up the pace again. She had never heard him sound so old.

"Jason, I'm almost there, ok? Just wait for me."

Everything went deathly still for a long moment; when he spoke again, his words brought her to a crashing halt in the middle of the sidewalk.

"You know I love you, baby girl. I always have."

"Jason, what's going on?

"I love you, Jordan."

"I love you too, Jason. But why…"

He cut her off in a rush. "Go to Mac, Jordan. Tell him everything. Let him help you, go be free. Please. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

In a horrifying moment of clarity, she realized that he was crying. "Jason? Jason!"

There was a moment of scuffling, as if he were running or fumbling for his phone. She heard movement and voices, then everything went quiet. Finally, quietly, she heard him speak.

"Don't be afraid."

Before the tell-tale tone of an ended call came through, Jordan was sprinting down the street. Arms pumping, legs churning, she blew past people, yelling at those that didn't move fast enough. Even though she felt sick, felt the weight of realization crashing into her, she kept running.

She heard the screams a block away. One loud shriek, joined by others, turning from screams of fear to yells of futile purpose. Pushing for more speed, she followed the sound deep into the park, further in than Jason would have been to meet her. She came upon a growing crowd, all of them yelling; screaming in fright, calling at each other, shouting for police, pointing, waving, running, all of which told her that it was too late. She pushed through the group, ducking under flailing arms and moving past shaken bystanders to come into the center, where a single figure commanded every attention.

Jason lay on his back, arms gently stretched out as if he had merely fallen and had yet to get back up. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, and he looked for all the world as if he had simple stopped beside a park bench to take a nap; the only jarring factor to the peaceful scene was the knife handle sticking out of his chest. Jordan recognized it; it was the twin to the knife that had killed her coach six weeks earlier. She didn't have to look to know that Jason had been stabbed in the ear as well. Blood was pooling around his head, forming a halo on the ground beneath him. His skateboard lay broken in two a few feet away, blood staining the jagged end of the larger piece. A helpless looking man was hovering a foot from his body, instinct telling him to help but logic telling him it was too late.

Jordan came up beside him and kneeled down next to him, taking his hand in hers and smoothing his hair. Her posture kept anyone from approaching her and her gesture quieted the crowd. No one was yelling or screaming anymore, although people were still talking. She sat there, one hand on his serene face, the other clutching his lifeless hand. Time flew past her, the noise of the crowd became distant and roaring. Only snippets of conversation came through, first from the bystanders talking amongst themselves, then witnesses giving statements to the officers as the police arrived on scene.

"...he came out of nowhere… tall, dark hair… went right up to him… he was running… got into a fight… on his phone, then he hung up and… no, I think he saw him coming… argued for a bit, then he… no, he put something in his pocket… he swung his skateboard at the guy, broke it in half… yeah, he got a good hit in, made the guy bleed, then he pulls the knife… no, the guy put it in the kids pocket, after he was down… he took off that way, didn't see where he went… oh my god, so much blood… then I didn't see… not sure where he went… someone was screaming, and I looked… I don't know, I think the girlfriend… she came running up… just stabbed him and took off…"

The crime scene tape went up and a perimeter was established about twenty feet from Jason's body, but no one disturbed Jordan at her vigil. Reality came crashing back down at the sight of a familiar truck pulling up and Mac stepping out. He paused, one hand on the door, as he took in the scene; the crowd, the blood staining her clothes, and the body lying supine in the middle of a quiet park. Jordan looked up and locked eyes with Mac for a long moment. The initial relief at his presence let loose a stream of grief for the boy in her arms. Staring at Mac, her mind filled with red-hot, irrational rage. Her coach was dead, her father was attacking her for being involved, she was struggling with the guilt of knowing the murder was related to her, she was feeling helpless and trapped in her own home, and the only common link was Mac. Riding a wave of fury, she realized that if she had never met Mac, Jason wouldn't have died.

Stroking his hair one last time, she kissed his hand and set it back down to rest. Then she pushed herself up gently and walked over to the crime scene tape. Mac met her halfway, his face twisted as if he was in pain. He looked at her with a deep glance of sympathy, without a trace of pity. She faltered for a minute under his gaze, thinking once again that he could look right through her; a fresh wave of grief brought a stronger wave of anger. And anger was easier.

When they both made it to either side of the tape, Mac had time for one quick breath before she struck him hard across the jaw. He stumbled in surprise and she screamed through gritted teeth; she had mistakenly used her injured wrist. They both recovered at the same time, Mac with placating gestures, Jordan with pain and anger.

"Jordan…" He held out his hands in an attempt to calm her, but she cut him off with a hiss.

"How could you?! You were supposed to help him! He came to you, he trusted you!"

She took another swing at him, this time with her left hand. He blocked it gently, trying to move close to her. He waved off an advancing policeman, giving him his best superior officer glare to make sure that no one else approached them. Jordan kept swinging, using both hands in increasingly erratic and weakening attacks. Mac kept blocking and advancing, ducking under the tape and maneuvering her back to the corner of the perimeter. At a significant glare, the officers on the edge hustled their witnesses to another part of the scene, leaving the detective alone with the distraught girl. Finally, he managed to evade one punch with little weight behind it by blocking her wrist, causing her to stop and hiss in pain. He frowned, catching her arm and holding it a little lower than her elbow, drawing the sleeve up to see her makeshift brace. His eyes swept over her, taking in the darkening marks on her jaw. She was panting, worn out from her exertion, and didn't have the energy or will to pull away. He held her arm in one hand and stretched out the other to cup the back of her neck.

"What happened?"

She continued to catch her breath. "I was, walking, then, Jason, called me, said we'd, meet here, then, he…" her face crumpled.

Mac pulled her forward into his chest, wrapping his arm around her back and squeezing her neck. "It's ok, it's gonna be ok."

Her arm was throbbing, keeping her anger on the surface, but all her experience with him from the past weeks allowed her to lean into his embrace, hiding behind the lapels of his coat. They stood there for a long moment as she calmed down. He kept one hand on her neck, the other rubbing circles on her back.

"It's ok, it's fine; take your time. Why don't you tell me what happened to your arm?"

"I was at home, and…" A lightning bolt of realization came to her, so fast that she shoved off from Mac and stepped backwards. She looked around the scene, past the perimeter at the bystanders. She recognized two or three faces, random people she'd seen around her father before; then her eyes found him. Dorian Gray, standing outside the crime scene, just off to the side of Mac's truck. He had seen her explosion, but was in the wrong position to see Mac comforting her.

His words came floating back to her mind, poisoning her blood. "…you're a smart girl, I'm sure you can learn your lessons on your own." He had meant Jason. Her 'tutor'. He had known. She stumbled back a few steps, holding out a hand to stop Mac from advancing toward her. Words, memories hit her hard and fast as she recalled everything that had happened earlier that day. Every implication and veiled threat that Dorian had thrown her way suddenly made sense.

"It's a shame, really. The whole thing, it's such a mess… he's not the only friend I have… you still have to learn that actions have consequences… you've been making poor choices in friends, Jordan… it will only end badly for you."

He had told her, to her face, that he was going after Jason. She hadn't made the connection because she had been worried about Mac. With a horrified expression, she looked up at Mac, who was staring at her with worry in his eyes. The ever-present anger filled her when she remembered the last part of Dorian's threat, "It would be a shame to lose one of New York's finest…"

She looked over at her father, standing pointedly beside the vehicle of the very detective he had threatened less than two hours before. In that moment she realized, he had won. Dorian had beaten her. He had taken her coach, her boyfriend, and her chance at freedom. She couldn't, wouldn't, let him take the only person left that she cared about. There was only one way that she could think of to make sure it never would happen.

Her desperation at her situation filled her at the same time that she realized she was the reason Jason had been killed. Her guilt was too strong and in a blind moment of anguish, she landed her blame on Mac. Summoning up her grief as anger, she struck out at a stunned Mac one last time, catching him one more time across the jaw. She yanked her arm back as he reached out for her.

"That's it. I'm done. Leave me alone."

She ducked under the crime scene tape and headed for her father, noticing that he wasn't angry. In fact, this was the most content she had seen him in months. Seeing her coming, having witnessed the last part of their encounter, he stepped forward as the dutiful, caring father, arms outstretched and face a mask of sorrow.

"Jordan, I came as quickly as I could. Are you all right? Come here."

She was almost to him, with no intention of embracing him, when her arm was caught from behind. Mac stopped her a few feet from her father, holding her back and turning her to face him. Dorian's mask never fell, but a dark cloud came across his eyes.

"Jordan, you don't need to do this. I promise you, I will find Jason's killer. Just stay here, please."

She understood the unexpressed offer in his words, the plaintive tone to his voice. This was it; he was offering her last chance at freedom. All she had to do was walk away. Instead, all she could hear was the roaring pain of grief, the screaming voice in her head that mocked her that Jason was dead because of her and Mac was next. There was no safety, no freedom. No peace. And there was only one way to keep Mac safe. She turned with fire in her eyes and hissed out one last sentence.

"Go to hell."

She played her part in the charade, stepping into her father's strong hold. As his arms circled around to grip her tightly, too tightly, around the shoulders, she felt the last door of his trap slam into place. With one last strangled thought, she realized she had just lost the only two people she cared for; then she barricaded her mind from the world.