Distance

by Radiorox

Part 2 of "Into Emptiness" - Read that one first. Nightmares are making Mac lose control. A chance encounter makes her cross paths with Harm again who has vowed not to let her go this time.

1. It's A Nightmare

DISTANCE

Well, I've been holding on too long

Too far gone, too hard to reach us

Turning right, turning wrong

Could've been a hundred reasons

I don't know how we got lost

I don't know how we get back

We're too far gone, don't wanna feel this

Distance between us.

"Distance" by Nicki Romero

Welcome to INTO EMPTINESS PART 2 - Distance. This too will be a little dark at first but, HM will find each other fairly quickly. Mac has a lot of things to work through.

So, I've been posting JAG fanfiction for a long time, I am always up for reviews as they are a source of amusement. Now, for all of the "experts" as to what the agency can and can't do, take this story as a trip into a James Bond or one of them equally BS espionage films - it's bullshit.

The mind control and repercussions from it sooth my love of angst. This is written for my personal enjoyment. Don't take things seriously, it's a fictional story.

And this isn't a story about the CIA. It's about Mac sacrificing herself for Harm. And someone said Harm was being a pansy, eh well... the woman he loves is kinda scary at the moment and he doesn't know what to do about it and he feels guilty.

Nuff said... on with the show... hang on through this chapter. And a promise and reminder - This story, in JAG timeline would be laaaate Sesson 10 if not season 11 - Mac and Webb were NEVER together nor will they be... got that? Good... Ugh make the hives stop.

CHAPTER 1 - It's A Nightmare

Tell Me It's a Nightmare

Tell me how we got here

I see you, but you're not there

Tried to save ya, warn ya, keep you alive

Tried to stop ya, but you paid the price

"It's A Nightmare" by Kim Petras.

Screams. Someone was screaming. A man, Mac deduced from the deeper tone of the guttural sounds that echoed in the vast expanse of the warehouse she was walking through. Carefully, she moved through the space, each move calculated as she traversed the rusty catwalk that seemed it could crumble at anytime. It led to an office at the far end of the building and when the screams sounded again along with the sounds of an electric current, Mac produced her weapon.

The catwalk swirled in front of her, vision tunneling when the office got inexplicably closer as if it were shot out at her. A haze was cast over the area that turned into a thick fog and she stepped closer to the office. It was difficult to see inside and then the fog lifted just as quickly as it had appeared.

That's where she found him hanging from the rafters by chains that were wrapped around his wrists. Only the tips of his toes touched the floor and the clothing he'd been wearing was ripped to shreds. Rivulets of blood were dripping from his bare feet to the concrete floor.

Casually leaning against a desk was Sadik Fahd holding a remote unit that he used to drop Harm's unconscious body to the ground with a sickening thud. "If you don't shoot your lover, Sarah, the torture will continue."

As if her arm had a mind of its own she raised the weapon up, training it on Harm. "I'm so sorry." And then she shot.

… … … … … … … … …

"No!" Sarah MacKenzie sprung up in bed, heart hammering so hard against her chest she was sure she was having a heart attack. Oh God, please make it stop. The nightmares were becoming an evil, unrelenting norm in her life disrupting many nights of sleep. It was always the same and so vivid it seemed real.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mac noticed she was not alone. Next to her was a man who reached out and rubbed her arm soothingly. "Harm?"

"No, not quite." She squinted when the man sat up and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. No, it wasn't Harm, she was in the bed with one Clayton Webb.

Mac looked around, her head aching as she glanced at the unfamiliar bedroom with furniture of dark wood against dark red walls. Everything reeked of opulence and expense down to the dark, heavy curtains and the paintings that hung neatly. "Clay, where am I?"

"My place." He ran a hand down her back in a seductive way that made her flinch. "My bed."

She felt her stomach clench and her mouth filled with saliva as wave of nausea crashed over her. The way Clay spoke, they way he'd touched her held an air of intimacy as if they'd… No, we couldn't have…. She couldn't have betrayed him that way. After that last night at the Ritz, she swore there wouldn't be any other. Mac swallowed down the bile that rose at her throat and gripped the bed sheets beneath her until her knuckles went white. "Oh God, did we?"

The hand at her back slowed its motion and went on to draw circles that made her skin crawl. She had never had any designs about entertaining any type of relationship with Clayton Webb and the fact that she… that they… "Did we?" She asked the question with more force.

"Yes and it was wonderful." Clay said, giving her a devious grin when her head snapped to face him. "Wonderful, earth shattering. You said things to me that would make a sailor blush." He dropped his hand from her back and sat up, leaning against the headboard. "You don't remember?"

The wave of nausea ebbed, flowed and then subsided when she noticed that his grin widened. Son of a bitch. "You're messing with me."

"Yeah, I am and you deserved it after last night."

"Last night?" A fresh wave of nausea had Mac laying down again. What had she done last night? Oh right, the team had gone to a bar near Langley. She had tried to get out of the invitation but, one of the new recruits had practically begged Mac to join. She had a drink which turned to two and then… her memory went hazy.

"Can't remember a damned thing?" Clay asked and when she shook her head, his look of concern grew. "I'm not surprised. You drank most of the men under the table." He joked although it really wasn't a laughing matter when Mac had stumbled out of the bar intent on driving home until she found her Corvette had been taken, towed because the only spot left had forced her to double park. "Your car got towed, I brought you here… You passed out."

"I did what?" Mac pressed a hand to her forehead and squeezed hoping to rid herself of the hangover that had begun to manifest itself. Her mouth was watery and yet so sticky with saliva that she tried to swallow down but seemed to catch in her dry throat. She felt like she had the flu and when her body shifted to right herself the room did as well. It spun and Mac squeezed her eyes shut to stop the revolution which only amplified once her eyes opened again.

Oh God, what have I done? It hit her full force when Mac raised her head and tried to focus on some god awful painting Webb had in his room. That's when she felt her stomach lurch. "Crap, I'm gonna hurl." She raced to the bathroom, finding it only because he had left the door open. Barely managing to make it to the toilet, her stomach violently emptied it's contents.

Webb followed, waiting until there was nothing but dry heaves as he leaned against the door frame and watched her. "Better?"

"Ugh." She leaned against the wall and brought her knees up to her chest, the movement exposing her legs from under the simple black dress she wore. Webb had taken a washcloth from under the sink and wet it, offering it to Mac. "Thank you." She said, taking the cloth to rub it over her face and drape it at the back of her neck. The cool cloth helped calm the hangover for the moment but, she knew the rest of the day would be hell.

"So do you always dream about Rabb?" The sudden question had been plaguing him since he heard Mac utter Harm's name in a dream. From her thrashing he could tell it was a nightmare of sorts and try as he might, she wouldn't wake up. It was another nail in the coffin of a relationship he would never have with her - not that Webb expected her to fall into his arms. She and Harm were disgustingly made for each other.

"Rabb?" The mention of The Commander's name made her veins run cold. Jesus, had she spoken her dream out loud? "What? What about The Commander?"

"You kept calling his name. Can't really tell what you were dreaming but, his name you said clearly." And in a tortured voice of sorts as if something was wrong. He'd never seen anyone so affected in a dream state. "What was it about? The dream?"

"Same as it always is... torture." She leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. God, she would give anything to stop the nightmares that plagued her almost every night. Mac had tried different methods to dispel them, sleeping medication, therapy but found that alcohol was the only thing that helped dull the night terrors. Drinking made them infrequent and easier for her to wake from a dreamless sleep. "He was being tortured and I was given a choice to watch or put him out of his misery."

Mac made the sign of a gun with her fingers which she pointed at Webb. "I always shoot. Always and then I wake up."

After Paraguay Webb had similiar nightmares ranging from his own torture to that of Mac's. It had taken a year for them to become a memory but, from time to time he remembered the pain and agony. "Who's doing the torturing?"

"Sadik Fahd."

He sighed. "Mac, Langley has a lead on him. Besides, I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know Harm exists."

Webb was right, somewhat. If the terrorist was after anyone it was the two of them not The Commander. But, there was a gut feeling she couldn't shake, something of a premonition that she was being watched. What if Sadik had followed her to Toronto and seen them together? In her nightmares he always called Harm her lover, a term that made her cringe although she supposed that's all they had been - lovers - for the few days she'd been with him.

Mac closed her eyes and as usual, the vision would come when she thought of him. His hands running down her skin. His kisses that could be both loving and passionate. His words, spoken when they last made love. 'I love you, Sarah.' It made her shiver and she felt that specific headache start to drum at her temple bringing her back to the present. 'There will never be an us.' It was a constant fight to keep herself in check. She was losing the battle.

"Why don't you hop in the shower? There's an extra toothbrush in the cabinet and I have a pair of sweats you can borrow." He motioned towards the living room. "I'll put on a pot of coffee and make you something to eat. You're too thin." Clay noted with a frown.

"Yeah. Thanks Clay."

…….. ……

"You should talk to him." Webb said once eggs and toast were placed in front of Mac who was wearing sweats that were entirely too big on her. She seemed to be swallowed by the garments and in the light shining from the sun that had finally risen, Webb could really notice the difference in her. There were circles under her eyes and a pallor to her skin that could have easily been blamed on her bender the night before but it wasn't the cause.

"I have nothing to say to him." Mac had pushed around her food drinking only two cups of coffee and eating a few bites of the toast. She wasn't hungry and needed to get back to the sanctuary of her home where she could try to put herself back together. Unfortunately, she was at the mercy of Clay who had been waiting for the impound lot to open in order to collect her car.

"You're miserable without him." He nearly cringed when Mac leveled him with a look that could kill. However, as he'd made himself her handler again, it left very little room for argument. He decided her missions and assignments which, as of late forced him to see just how lost she'd become.

When Mac had been ordered to kill, she'd done so without remorse, slipping into some sort of persona that had, frankly, scared him. In his years with the agency he had encountered that level of dedication with two agents, neither of which lived long enough to see them come out of the CIA branded brainwashing called EDT - Emotional Detachment Technique. With Mac, it had been almost effortless and needed to keep her alive when the assignments got a little dicey. Now, he regretted the order, the suggestion for her to see Dr. Guiterrez. "The Doc is going to put in a request to get you out of field duty, you need a break."

"I thought my sessions were confidential?"

"Not when you're a spy." And not when the spy was starting to lose their grip. He'd seen it in her last assignment that sent Mac to Madagascar. When reports came in of her beating someone nearly to death after her handgun refused to fire. She'd done it to save herself but, continued to beat the subject even when the man lay on the ground incapacitated. Since then, the woman had been something of a wreck and only he knew how badly she was hiding the parts of her that were falling apart.

Webb had been made deputy director of the CIA, a job given to him more because of his family linage than any of his past work. Truth was, he was horrible at his job with much more disastrous than successful assignments. He was good at putting things together, running the logistical side - he was good at giving the orders even when he knew someone would die as a result. At least, as the new deputy director, he could watch over Mac and become her handler again.

It was under his directive that she had assisted at the Farm for a few weeks. Her expertise on the field combined with her hand to hand combat skills and linguostics made Mac an excellent teacher.

Webb considered making her a permanent fixture until one afternoon when he found her sitting in her car just staring out into nothingness. She had been reprimanded, a black mark attached to her record for practically attacking a recruit. Mac had stated that it was a means to toughen up the prospect but, the instructors debrief on the incident was the description of someone who had checked out. She was unseeing, unhearing and her unnecessary violence resulted in the recruit spending two weeks in the infirmary.

And then there was the day they went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, an escape Clay thought that she needed and, maybe a means to become something else to her. She had dressed elegantly and looked so much like her old self until they bumped into Bobbi Latham who, of course, had to ask her about Rabb. Mac had tried to remain herself, professional, icy but she excused herself and disappeared into the bathroom for over half an hour. When she came back out, Clay noticed the running mascara, the puffy eyes of a woman that had recently been crying. He had driven her home after she claimed to come down with a touch of the flu.

Mac had been running like a finely tuned machine after her near death experience at the hands of a Russian mobster. She was perfect, flawless and executed her work professionally… until Toronto. The change had begun after Webb had made contact with Rabb in hopes of locating Mac and trying to find how the Phonebook had been stolen and by whom.

She was different after that, out of control in ways that frightened him because he could no longer reign her in, no one could. "Something happened between you and Rabb in Toronto?"

It was a statement more than a question and he had seen it in the way she looked at him as they were being attended to by the medical team in Cloutier estate. The pair had always communicated without words, something that Webb found equally frustrating and fascinating.

Their link, a bond between two people that were clearly meant for each other had been obliterated when offered Mac an unorthodox way to save Harm's career and his life. He never thought it would turn her into a monster or that her connection to Harm would be the one thing that would shake her resolve so much. It made him hurt for her. "Your control is slipping...Hell it's gone completely off the deep end, hasn't it?"

"No, it hasn't." Yet, it was and Mac knew it. The therapy sessions were no longer working and neither was her coping mechanism. She hated to admit that it was the Commander's doing but, there was no other reason for the lapses, the changes.

"Does he still come by your place?"

Mac shook her head. "He stopped over two months ago." Although she really didn't know why. For a moment it seemed he would never stop searching for her - the man was stubborn that way. "Hopefully he just gave up."

"When did you start drinking?" There was a specific scent coming off of her, the type when too much alcohol had been consumed. She had been hiding her addiction for a while now, burying the scent with expensive perfumes and that sweet smelling shampoo she liked to use.

"You drink too." She motioned to the small bar in the corner made up of heavily polished table with varying bottles of liquor and the appropriate glass for each drink. The few times Mac had come to his apartment, Webb was always drinking, always had a glass of something or other in his hand. Flor de Cana had been his drink of choice after Paraguay although Mac never understood why he wanted to associate himself with that wretched mission by ingesting something that reminded him so much about his torture.

"I'm not an alcoholic."

Alcoholic. The word stung more than Mac would care to admit although the look in her face said enough. He had hit a nerve, a raw one, a past that she'd tried to distance herself from and yet would come at her full force. She would have slapped him if she had the strength. "You bastard."

"You're spiralling out of control."

Mac took a breath. She wasn't losing it, couldn't be although deep inside she knew it was true. Something was off, more than off, it was a casom that she couldn't quite pull herself out of. Oh, but those dreams - nightmares - were preventing any restorative sleep that could right the fragments of her mind. It was always The Commander and Sadik, always her pulling the trigger to kill. Always. She scoffed at the thought knowing full well that many months prior she would have done anything to rid herself of Harmon Rabb, Junior. And now… 'I love you, Sarah.'

She gritted her teeth and brought her hands up to the sides of her head squeezing roughly. "I don't dream when I drink enough. I just pass out." What she found odd was that Harm had just vanished in a way. His calls, the visits had stopped so suddenly. "Clay, what if I've killed him?"

"Rabb?" Clay stopped her hands when Mac buried her fingers through the silky strands of her hair and pulled. "Stop that...Look, he knew what he was getting into when he went looking for you in Paraguay...You can't blame yourself for that."

"I never should have gone." She voiced what had always been fact, the mistake that she'd made for reasons that Mac couldn't quite understand. Why had she gone? Why had she left him right when he left the brig and needed her the most? What had happened to them? They were getting close, so damned close to something good and real.

Something obliterated their happiness, friendship and his time in the brig hadn't exactly helped. He'd lied to her, kept her at arms length as his emotions made him investigate Singer and then it had all blow up in their faces. She was hurt, so damned hurt that her best friend couldn't or wouldn't confide his suspicions. And then she'd been barred access to him, ordered not to visit when he needed her the most.

Mac had failed him, them but then, so had he. "Does The Commander know about Sadik?

"No."

"What? Clay, he has to know… He might be in danger." 'There will never be an us.' Wouldn't it be easier to not care anymore? To want his death? Only, Mac didn't want that anymore, not after they'd… God, why couldn't she just forget him? She ran her hands over her arms and tried to stop the feeling of Harm's touch. 'I love you, Sarah' His voice had been equally sexy and sweet. "We have to warn him, that at any moment..."

"Mac, stop." Webb pressed a hand to her forearm, stopping the manic way she was looking at him. "I promised you that the agency will handle it. And they will." He hooked a finger underneath her chin and raised her head up to look at him. "Look you need a break from the exciting stuff for a while..I can get you an easy assignment, get you out of town."

"Clay…" She didn't need the easy assignments. Mac craved the adrenaline rush, the possibility of death that loomed when an assignment went out of context.

"Mac, even I get downtime… It allows you to reset"

"I'll think about it." But, she didn't want to, not really because not being in the field with the adrenaline pumping through her veins made her uncomfortably aware of how lost she was without him. When she was in a fight or under cover, pretending to be someone she wasn't, Mac was more at ease and devastatingly lethal. She had a penchant for the brand of justice that they allowed her to dish out which is why Webb had needed her to coach some of the recruits at the Farm, the more promising ones that needed and extra edge. "Take me home?"

……...

It would be several hours later when Mac was, mercifully, in the confines of her apartment in Georgetown. She always loved the space, the warm, earth-tone colours. The fireplace that she would light even in the summer to bring out the cozy feel of her home. It had been her sanctuary for so long, a place to refresh, reboot and come back to herself. The moment she locked the door behind her, Mac began to remove Webb's sweats, leaving a trail of clothing that began in her living room and ended somewhere near the bathroom.

Completely naked she stood on the tiled bathroom floor eyeing her bathtub with longing.

Mac had always loved baths, the feel of warm, scented water coconing her skin. It eased her stress and any ache and pain over her body. She loved to lay in the tub until the water was cold and then wrap herself in a fluffy robe and just relax. It was therapeutic.

Now even that simple pleasure had been taken away and it had been her own doing...

The last time was in Montreal when she sunk into the opulent clawfoot tub before she left him. Mac had hoped the scented water would erase the memory of his skin on hers, the smell of him. It hadn't. The feel of the water on her body had only intensified her senses, stimulated her already sensitive skin. Every inch of her that he'd kissed, licked, nibbled felt more on fire than before as the memory of her consummate lover, who took more pleasure in pleasing her, kept her erotically in tune. Oh, how her body surrendered to his although she'd once fought against it, or tried to.

The last time they'd been intimate was a goodbye of sorts and she couldn't stop herself from being loved by him just one more time and then another. 'I love you, Sarah.'

"Stop it, MacKenzie!" She chastised and stepped into the tub, turning the shower as painfully hot as it would go. It burned her skin and Mac stood under the scalding water until she could feel no more. In the past, she had a whole routine after bathing, a skin care treatment that protected her body from the elements, that drying effect of Winter. Now, she merely slid into her fluffy robe and stepped into the living room plopping down on the end of her sofa next to the side table where a half-empty bottle of bourbon sat waiting.

It was never her drink, especially not this brand, his brand. Her father could never afford the good stuff so it was the bottom shelf kind of vodka that a young Sarah MacKenzie indulged in. The harsh tasting liquor left the nastiest of hangovers with headaches that seemed to stretch out for days. Joe MacKenzie was never physically abusive to his daughter save for that one night where he'd caught her filling a half empty bottle of vodka with water. He smelled the remnants of the alcohol on her and she paid with a hard slap that had Mac careening against the kitchen table and falling to the floor.

She'd curled up into a ball, making herself look small and fragile but her father loomed over, belt in hand, its leather striking over her olive skin until it had drawn blood. Only Joe hadn't punished her because she'd taken his liquor, he was afraid for her, of the woman that would likely follow her father's footsteps. Rather that speak supportive words, he dished his brand of punishment the only way he knew how, with hurtful words that would leave scars on Mac's soul. Scars that would last until the day she took her last breath.

Tramp. Whore.

And that is exactly what she had become, hadn't she? A whore for the CIA.

Worst of all, Mac enjoyed it and the carnage she was allowed to dish out. Joe MacKenzie's whore daughter. And she'd tried so damned hard to leave that past behind.

Angrily, Mac brushed away the tears she hadn't known she'd been crying. That was the other thing, another chink in her now crumbling armor - the crying. Why was she thinking about her father anyway? It had been years, at least three since she thought of Joe MacKenzie or her mother. Some things needed to be forgotten, buried and she'd managed to regin that part of her life into submission, or so she thought.

With a sigh, Mac reached over to the bottle and poured herself two fingers worth of the amber liquid into a snifter that sat just next to it. She eyed the liquor, swirled it around the glass watching as it sloshed in an undulating fashion. This was something she could control, alcoholism was just a state of mind and she'd found a balance. She didn't need to have a drink, it was just a means to relax her tumultuous thoughts.

She brought her attention away from the glass long enough to notice a flashing light on her answering machine. With a huff, she reached over, hitting the play button only to hear his voice over the line. "Mac, it's Harm...I'm not gonna…" Her balled fist came down hard on the delete button like a gavel. It took two tries but she silenced the goddamned device.

"Persistent bastard. Leave me alone!" Her voice echoed in her head. And here she thought The Commander was done trying to contact her. Hell, hours ago she was concerned that he was dead. She laughed at the thought, chuckling to herself as she raised the glass of bourbon to her lips and drank the liquid down in one gulp. 'There will never be an us.'

No, she was not a damned alcoholic, Mac surmised ruefully. She just liked the silky burn down her throat, the taste and the way it seemed to reach her bloodstream relaxing her into oblivion. Maybe Clay had a point? Maybe it was time to get away, stay out of town and find something new? With a groan, she sat up, reached for the phone and dialed his familiar number. "Okay boss, what's the assignment?"