Title: Mine
Summary: Mac has a stalker… (Harm/Mac Romance, Drama).
Part Fifteen - Mac
Monday, March 11, 2002
I feel inordinately alone as the sound of the dial tone fills the room, and my connection to someone I care about is severed. I hope Admiral Chegwidden goes to Harm. I hope he knows that something is wrong. I curse myself for not stopping before running out of JAG and telling someone – anyone – where I was going. It would have only taken a second to knock on Harm's door and say to him that I had forgotten a file and was running home for just a second. But I didn't. And now I'm in my apartment with a man who has been stalking me, and there's a very good possibility that no one will miss me for hours.
I cross my arms over my chest and try to suppress a shudder. I refuse to let him see me, afraid. "What now?"
He grins, and I have to fight back another shudder. He's not a bad-looking guy. He's kind of handsome in the way that most young men are handsome. But there's something a little too wholesome in his face. He looks like the stereotype of the boy next door, and his smile is too eager. It's creepy.
"I thought we could go someplace special."
"Absolutely not," I say. I take a step away from him and look around the room for something I could use as a weapon.
"Sarah," he says, a warning lilt to his voice.
I ignore his tone and shake my head. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
He grins, and this time I do shudder. "Oh, I think you will." His hand tightens around the gun, and I'm staring at it when the phone starts to ring. We're silent as it rings and rings, and I hold my breath as my answering machine picks up.
"Hey, it's me. Pick up. I'm-" It's Harm, and the sound of his voice makes my heart beat faster. He knows, I think. He knows that I'm in trouble. He sounds strange, strained, and I glance at my captor. His jaw is clenched, his knuckles are white, and the hand holding the gun is trembling, and I take another step away from him. "I heard about your uncle," he says, and there is a catch in his voice that makes me desperate to hold him. "Let me know if I can help, okay?" He takes a breath, and I close my eyes. "I love you, Mac."
He reaches over and deletes the message and glowers at me. "We have to go," he says.
"I've already told you; I'm not going anywhere with you."
He steps closer to me. "And I've already told you that you will." He takes another step, and I frantically scan the apartment for something – anything – I can use as a weapon. But there's nothing. A few paperbacks. A small stack of mail. Throw pillows. My gun is locked away, and there isn't anything actually useful that's accessible. I can see the knife block in the kitchen, but Harm keeps telling me my knives are so dull they can barely cut warm butter, so I doubt those would do me much good - not that I can get to them anyway.
"No," I say. I need to stall. I need to give Harm a chance to get to me. God knows what could happen to me if he takes me out of this apartment.
He closes the space between us with two large strides and grabs hold of me again. One hand closes around the lapels of my jacket, and the over digs into my waist. "Yes," he says, digging his fingers in deeper until I squirm.
"You're hurting me," I gasp.
"I don't want to do that," he says. "But I need you to listen to me and do what I say. And I say that we have to go." He lightens his grip on my waist, and I'm able to take a breath. "Let's go," he says. "Now." I don't move, and he cocks the weapon. He sighs and shakes his head. "Sarah, I'm going to give you one more chance to do what I say. Either you willingly come with me, or I will shoot you." He leans in closer and lowers his voice. I can feel his breath on my face, and I feel like I might throw up. "And then I will go back to headquarters, and I will shoot your 'Flyboy.' Only with him, I will shoot to kill." His voice drips with disdain at the old nickname, and I know I'll do whatever I must to keep Harm safe.
I swallow hard. "Okay," I say. "Please, don't do anything to him."
His jaw clenches again, but he nods. "Do as I say, and he'll be fine." He lets go of my lapels and reaches for my hand. He twines our fingers together, and the feel of another man's hand feels unnatural and wrong. "Let's go."
He drops my hand when we're outside and conceals his gun by pressing it into the small of my back. He gestures to a white security forces SUV with his chin and opens the back door. "Get in."
I blanch at the thought of being in the back, behind the grate. There will be no chance to attempt an escape or to try and take the gun from him. Getting in this car puts me at his mercy, and it's terrifying.
"Get in," he says again through gritted teeth, and I do as he says.
I'm not sure where I am when the car finally comes to a stop. We haven't been driving all that long – only 47 minutes – but being trapped in the vehicle with this psycho has made it feel much, much longer. He's pulled into a driveway of an older house. It's a brick, ranch-style home. It might have been a nice little house once, but the lawn is overgrown, there's a boarded-up window, and the fence is missing more slats than it has.
"Where are we," I ask.
"My nana's house." He turns off the car but doesn't move to get out.
"Is she here?" I'm not sure why I asked; I guess I want to delay being in that house alone with him for as long as possible.
"No." The word is clipped, and I wince. "We'll have the place to ourselves."
He gets out of his car, grabs a backpack from the passenger seat, slings it over his shoulder, and then opens the back door. My eyes immediately go to the gun that he's returned to the waistband of his pants. He notices my gaze, and his hand goes to cover the butt. "Don't even think about it," he says.
I nod, and I don't resist when he reaches in and pulls me out of the car. I have to give in a little bit, I realize. I have to make him trust me. He'll lower his guard when he trusts me, and then I can go for the gun. He keeps one hand on the gun, wraps the other around my forearm, and we walk up the overgrown path to the front door. He hesitates for a moment, then lets go of my arm, reaches into his pocket for a key ring, and unlocks the front door. He pushes me inside, and a pungent odor assaults me immediately, and I gag. He forcefully turns me to him and scowls. "Don't be so dramatic. I've been to his place. It's in a terrible neighborhood. This house just needs some TLC. You'll grow to love it."
I nearly gag again, but not at the mildew or what is likely a dead animal, but at the thought that he's been to Harm's apartment. I've always, always felt safe there, and I hate that he's sullied that.
"Sit," he orders and gestures at a couch straight out of the '70s with his gun. I take in the torn upholstery and grimace, but he waves the gun in my face, and I do what he says. Then he reaches for the backpack and unzips it while keeping an eye on me. He pulls out medical supplies, and I go cold.
"What's that," I ask, hoping I sound calmer than I feel.
"Blood draw kit." My eyes widen, and I shake my head. He sighs and waves the gun at me. "Sarah, I'm in charge here. And we're going to do this my way. Otherwise, I will go to JAG ad shoot him right between the eyes. Which will it be?" He lifts both hands, giving the pouch of medical supplies a shake, and then the gun.
"Don't do anything to Harm," I say softly. "I'll cooperate."
"Good girl," he says, his condescending words making me wince. He almost reminds me a little of Mic… I shake my head – those are thoughts I definitely don't need right now. "Now, take off your jacket."
I hesitate for just a moment, but then he gives the gun a little shake, and I undo the buttons and pull it off. I'm still fully clothed, but I have to wonder how long that will last. How long before he uses that gun and the threat of killing Harm to make me undress all the way? A wave of nausea hits me, and I drop the jacket on my lap and bend over, burying my head in my hands.
"It's going to be fine, Sarah," he says. The condescension is gone, and now he sounds kind and compassionate, and for some reason, that makes the nausea worse. "It's only going to hurt for a minute."
I look up, and he's holding the needle, and I shake my head. "Why? Why do you want to take my blood?"
His expression darkens, and he swallows. "You were recently with someone else. I need to make sure you're clean." My eyes widen, and he smiles. "Normally, I'd ask you to get tested yourself, but I don't trust you yet. So, I think this is the best way."
He sits on the sofa next to me, places the gun at his other side, reaches for my arm, and wraps the tourniquet above the vein.
"How did you learn to do this?" I ask, eyeing the gun. I need him to talk – I need him distracted.
"I was an EMT in Alaska while waiting to enlist." He tears open the little packet with the alcohol wipe and rubs it over the puncture site. He then grabs the needle and gives me another smile. "This will just pinch a little. He pushes the needle into my vein and watches it begin to fill with blood.
He's distracted enough, I think. I have to do something. I can't let this happen. The blood test will buy me a few days, but then what? I know Harm will find me; I know he will never give up until he finds me. I know that like I know my own name, but I don't know how long it'll take before he does. I'm still wearing the pumps I wore to work this morning, and I think that digging into his foot with the heel will be enough to shock him. I have to do it quickly, though, and I take a deep breath and go for it, digging my heel into the top of his foot with as much pressure as I can. He yelps out in pain, and as I reach over him for the gun, he drops my arm and tries to push me away. I reach for the weapon, but it's just out of my grasp, and we both know it. He gets to it first, lifts it, and bashes it into the side of my head.
The pain is overwhelming, and tears fill my eyes. "You shouldn't have done that, Sarah." He hits me again, and my last thought is of Harm as everything goes dark.
End Part 15