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Episode: JAG-A-Thon

- JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, Virginia, the day before the race

Loren turned her back to the enraged Lieutenant Sims and rolled her eyes. Be less alone? Heaven's, Webb would skin her alive if she even tried to dance out of the line at the moment! No, no, she would stick safely to Singer's profile for the time being and to hell with all bruises she'd cause. An annoyed JAG staff she could deal with a thousand times, an annoyed Deputy Director Webb was something completely different.

Besides, with very few exceptions her betting pool on the race had been a great success. It looked like Sims and her high moral standards stood alone here - not really a surprise considering the natural and sometimes rather extreme competition between military officers. Well, most of them were in for a big shock. No one at JAG knew that she was a well trained runner, out on the track four sometimes five days a week. Although she appreciated the physical effects on her body it was more a way to relax, clear her head and get her world back in order whenever it was needed. And it had been needed a lot since this mission had started! So her bet on the fifth place wasn't as overreaching as everybody was thinking, even without the benefit of a three minute head start as the other females thanks to her big mouth.

Mentally shrugging Loren glanced at her watch. Two more hours and she'd be out of here for the rest of the day. Quickly she calculated how long it would take to get home, change into civvies and maybe take a shower. If she hurried it shouldn't be a problem to reach Philadelphia in time for Heather's party.

She grimaced a little. Philadelphia was a bit too close to feel comfortable but there were things she simply couldn't do - like missing Heather's big day. They had been best friends for almost all their life and although contact had faded since high school and they both knew the precious intimacy of these days was over they still kept in touch via phone or e- mail. Heather had sounded so proud as she had invited her to the celebration of the new Philadelphia-department of her company - of her new Philadelphia-department for she had been promoted to department chief.

Loren rubbed her forehead. She had a life outside this mission and she had a right to have it. No matter how painful it was sometimes. So she would go and bear another evening of lies and half-truths and then go back to Washington to catch some sleep before the race tomorrow.

- Philadelphia, the day before the race

"Excuse me?" Loren's hand with the pen froze in mid-air and she stared at the night guard in disbelief.

The man looked regretfully but repeated: "The elevators are out of order. They're doing something with the electric. I'm sorry."

Loren grimaced and finished signing in. Great, the office where the party took place was on the eighth floor and she was already horribly late. Nodding to the guard she walked to the next stairwell. The door was heavy iron and hard to pull open but she managed and tackled the first steps. She climbed steadily.

The stairwell was surprisingly empty, even considering the rather late time and until between the third and fourth floor she met not a single person. With her thoughts already upstairs she nodded shortly towards the man coming down.

"Where is my daughter?"

The harsh question startled her. Instinctively she paused and looked back over her shoulder not entirely sure she had been addressed. But yes, the man was staring up at her. Now that she was paying attention his face seemed vaguely familiar.

"You work for the Judge Advocate General Department of the Navy. I've seen you there."

And with cold shock she finally recognized him. Maat. Isabel Maat's husband and Katelyn's father. Heaven's, she had signed in with her real name. Recovering quickly she put on a blank expression but Maat's narrowed eyes indicated that some of her emotions had been visible on her face.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I've never seen you in my life." With that she boldly turned and continued upstairs. Her stomach clenched as she heard him follow.

"The guard said a blonde officer has left with them. Where are they?"

"You are mistaken. I'm not who you - ouch!" Loren yelped as she was grabbed by the arm and jerked around. Out of balance she stumbled and missed a step but his grasp prevented her from falling. Pain shot through her twisted shoulder.

"Hey! Who do you think you are?" she pressed through gritted teeth, trying to think.

Maat shook her violently, his eyes bore something scary. "Where are they?!"

"Are you crazy? Let go this instant!" Loren struggled backwards. She wished for a purse or a bag or anything else she could have used as a weapon.

"Katelyn belongs to me!"

His grip on her arm didn't loosen but due to her struggling he was forced to change his footing. Loren kicked out and the next second they fell both. The impact on the steps was breathtaking. Maat's finger opened involuntarily and she pushed and kicked wildly, sending him father down to the next floor. Somehow she scrambled to her feet, ignored the pain in her hip and elbow, leapt up the stairs. Footsteps pounded behind her but she had gained a good head start and a rush of adrenalin and fear did the rest. She flew upwards, taking two steps at a time.

The eighth floor, she had to reach the eighth floor, there were people, there would be Heather. Heather? No, impossible! Her cover! She had to find help somewhere else! But how could she explain this to anyone? She was here as herself and not as Singer! She didn't work for JAG! How much lookalike was believable? And the police! She couldn't risk that someone called the police! Mackenzie was still trying to get Maat for assault on Harriet Sims and no doubt she was going to fight for Isabel Maat to get single custody! Somehow, somewhere she'd find out! She'd ruin everything!

Loren ran. The turmoil in her head allowed no clear thought, the deafening noise of their feet, of their ragged pants added to her confusion. So she simply ran. Gasping. Fighting. Bouncing between the walls. Scared to feel his hand on her ankle any second.

Sixth floor. Seventh. Eighth. Her body was screaming. Ninth. As she passed the tenth she sensed Maat falling behind. But still he followed with manic resolve. Between the eleventh and twelfth she wasn't able to run anymore and changed to long strides, still taking two steps at a time. Her thighs were on fire. Thirteenth. Each step she braced her hands on her knees and supported her weight away from her legs. Her lungs seemed ready to explode while her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. But Maat sounded like he'd have a fit anytime soon. Fourteenth. Fifteenth. Blake clouds were veiling her vision but Maat was almost a floor behind now. Sixteenth. She got hold of the door, stormed into the corridor leading to the offices. Her legs almost gave way beneath her but stumbling forward she managed to regain her footing and even run. Around a corner, around a second one, down the next corridor and into the second stairwell. And she had believed upstairs had been hell. She had had no idea. Until Maat reached the stairwell she was passing the fourteenth floor again. A smile of grim satisfaction tugged at her lips as she heard the sound of a heavy fall and a cry of pain. She clung to the rail even tighter, stumbling and sliding too. Thirteenth. Twelfth. She took the door again, crossed the building in the other direction. Her running wasn't more than a lame jog now. But she knew she was steadily gaining ground. She turned upwards again. Barely more than crawling on hands and knees. Besides her ragged breathing, echoing in the space, was no sound in the stairwell. Stumbling and swaying she made it into the thirteenth floor. Halfway between the two stairs she stopped, fairly hidden in a turn of the corridor.

She tried to listen but the sound of her pounding heart was overwhelming. Bracing her back against the wall she fought for control, greedily sucking air into her tortured lungs. There was no sound except for her pants.

A long time passed. Finally she slid down the wall and slumped over in a still wheezing heap. The silence covered her like a heavy blanket. She shivered in her sweat-soaked clothes. Ten more minutes passed. Her breathing returned to almost normal. Twenty. Nothing. Her arm seemed to weigh a ton as she lifted it to look at her watch. She groaned and dug for her cell phone.

"Hello? Heather, is that you? Listen, I'm sorry, but there has been a delay... Yes... No... No, I'm on my way now, maybe half an hour... Oh? Sure... No, I understand. I'll stop by only a few minutes I'll have to catch the last plane back to Boston anyway... See you... No, I'm the one who has to be sorry... Bye."

She clicked the cell phone off and let her head fall back against the wall, feeling miserable.

- Carter Park, Race day

'Help me? Help me, you little bitch?!' Loren glared furiously at Harriet Sims' back. She stumbled from an unsteady jog to a halt, rested her shaking hands on her knees and tried desperately to catch a full breath. Her lungs burned. Her thighs, her legs were just one big cramp, the pain reached up in her back, her belly, her shoulders and arms. A sob escaped her as she looked up and saw Sims taking the next corner in her stupid golf cart without turning her head.

And for a second she hated her. Hated her with all her heart. Hated her as she had hated Roberts for almost passing her, as she had hated Rabb for his stinging little comments. Hated Mackenzie, Chegwidden and anybody else at JAG, any member of this closed little family, hated them for having a life-

But most of all she hated herself and those tears she couldn't stop from running down her face. Rage washed over her. She wanted to scratch them off, to scratch them out of her eyes for betraying her like that. She wanted to...

She closed her eyes and her head fell down again. How on earth had everything turned such a horrible mess? She didn't know what had been more dreadful: Heather's concerned questions because of her messed up appearance and the wild lie she had told her - or Webb's cold silence on the phone as she had confessed the events of the evening to him this morning. Not that he had needed to say much. Not really.

She ran a sleeve over her face, brushing off tears and sweat. There was no way she could go on with this race. It had been her will that had taken her so far and now it was her will that got her to take a few more steps to the side where she fell on her hands and knees. She wasn't sure if she gasped or sobbed. It wasn't fair. All right, maybe participating in this race had been crazy from the start but she hadn't felt all that bad getting out of bed. Stiff and sore and with already beautifully colored bruises but... Yes, but.

Loren slammed her fist down to the ground. Had she asked that much? Had she really asked that much?! All she had wanted was to prove them wrong just once, just once, in a way that meant no harm to her mission, to anybody. Just once she had wanted to be free of Singer, to be herself, doing what she knew she was good at ... maybe gaining at least a tiny bit of respect from these people who despised her so much. Instead she had made a fool of herself.

Sitting down she groaned as she tried to stretch out her legs, knowing that the pain now was just an introduction to what she'd have to suffer in the evening. And on top of that she felt the beginning of a sore throat, the first sign that she had managed to catch a cold sitting around in wet clothes.

She looked up at the sound of laughter and footsteps coming closer. Lieutenant Roberts jogged slowly by, surrounded by Rabb, Mackenzie and Turner who were encouraging each of his steps. No one even spared a glance in her direction.

Loren pulled her legs to her still heaving chest and buried her face in her knees. It wasn't fair. Damn it, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair!