Disclaimer: None of the JAG characters are mine, they belong to Donald Bellisario and CBS and whatnot.

Ok, finally found time to write some more. Well, more precisely, decided to write instead of doing automata homework 'cause for some reason this is much more fun than Turing Machines. :-P I can't possibly imagine why... Anywho, thanks so much for the reviews, I really appreciate it! Again, thanks to sithwitch for letting me ramble on about this even though she's quite possibly ready to kill me for it. ;) I'm thinking of switching the category of this story to Angst instead of Action 'cause well it's taking on a life of it's own and definitely going more down the angst road than anything else. Anywho, read, review and definitely enjoy!

Harm woke up at the sound of the key in the lock. Not fully conscious he didn't think twice about trying to sit up. With a soft cry of pain he jerked to full awareness, the pain blazing through his body. Dimly he heard the door open and tried to turn his head to see, prying his working eye open slowly. He'd barely managed to shift his head an inch when a steel toed boot connected solidly with his ribs.

A yelp of pain forced its way past his lips and he was certain he'd felt another rib crack at the strike. He tried to move away from the second kick but only partially succeeded. At least this time, instead of hitting his ribs, it caught his shoulder, flipping him onto his back. Harm stared up at the man looming over him, trying to clear his sight. Slowly his vision solidified, the man turning into an actual person instead of an indistinct figure.

His tormenter was tall, Harm estimated him to be probably around his own height. But without standing up he couldn't be sure, and he didn't really want to trust his legs right now. The man was broad across the shoulders; Harm figured the other guy probably out weighed him by twenty pounds easy. Cocking his head slightly Harm squinted up at the guy with his one eye, trying to regain his officer's composure. The other man didn't really seem impressed, sneering at Harm's attempt to look confident.

Harm sighed softly, well this was going well. Briefly he thought of Mac, worried that she'd been recaptured. The other man growled; his voice rumbling up from deep in his chest, "Where are the other two?"

Harm felt relief wash over him, Mac was still free. He could only hope she'd found help. He had no delusions about his own freedom or safety, he had no idea where he was and he doubted any of the American forces did either. He momentarily wondered if Mac would be able to use her psychic abilities to find him, but dismissed the thought. Even if she could actually get it to work he wasn't going to hang his hopes on that chance. For that matter, he doubted it would do any good even if she could tell people where to go. By the time they got there his captors would probably have either killed him or moved on. Well that's a cheerful thought, Hammer, came the dry thought.

Unfortunately he'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts he'd delayed answering too long. Not that he'd really planned to answer anyways. Another swift kick, this one to his stomach jarred him from his thoughts and back to his surroundings. He hissed in pain, clenching his stomach muscles instinctively, trying to curl up and move away from the man's feet. The kick was accompanied by another sharp demand, "Where are they!"

Harm glared up at the man as best he could; summoning every ounce of his varied training and naval discipline. He refused to give in without putting up the best fight he could, though he was under no impression that he'd be able to hold out forever. He could only hope he died before giving away anything that could harm his country. The man looked at him for a moment, a cruel smile curling his lips. Harm glowered, his face set into a mask of utter determination. Despite the black eye he actually managed to look vaguely intimidating. A movement in the shadows caught his eye and he noticed a man he hadn't seen before, edging backwards slightly. A grim smile appeared on his lips as he fixed his gaze on the man in the background.

This man was quite a bit younger than the other and still somewhat susceptible to the sheer strength of a prisoner's gaze. The first man glanced over his shoulder at the other, causing the younger man to suddenly stop moving, more afraid of his compatriot than of the wounded man on the floor. Harm tried to chuckle but it came out as a sharp hiss as his ribs made their pain known again. The first man glanced at him and with a sharp bark of laughter turned and left. The door closed with a heavy thud of finality, plunging the room into blackness. Harm closed his eyes in despair; he knew this was only the beginning.

Mac sat curled up on the rack, her back pressed against the bulkhead. Sighing she gazed down at her right ankle, now set and in a cast. The doctor agreed that though it appeared the ankle had been sprained before it was definitely broken now after walking on it for close to nine hours. Mac grimaced, hugging her left knee as close to her as she dared. Her ribs were also bound up, three of them were cracked, four more bruised.

She still wore Harm's jacket despite various attempts to get her to relinquish it. She'd almost ripped the head off of the last petty officer who tried to tell her she should turn over the jacket. Her lips curved in a faint smile at the memory. She felt vaguely sorry for her reaction, but at the same time, didn't. She wasn't entirely sure why she continued to cling to the jacket. Oh, who was she kidding, she knew exactly why she was still wearing it even if she wouldn't admit it.

She only half realized that she had pressed herself into the corner, as far from the door as possible though she was still facing it. She felt somewhat better than she had a few hours before. After the doctor's appointment she'd been able to shower then her and Vukovic were both debriefed by the base commander. After that they'd both been flown out to the nearest carrier, which to Mac's amusement had turned out to be the Seahawk. She briefly pondered the irony of that particular carrier always seeming to be the one around but decided to just accept the blessing as she certainly felt more comfortable on this carrier than any other.

She blinked in mild confusion as there was a knock at the door. After a brief pause the knock sounded again, this time accompanied by a concerned voice, "Colonel?"

Mac shook herself and called out quietly, subconsciously edging herself further into the corner, "Enter."

The door opened slowly and Captain Ingles poked his head cautiously around the door, looking at her for a moment before opening the door wider and slipping inside. Mac watched him silently, feeling oddly distant from her surroundings. The skipper closed the door behind him then peered at her for a moment, brow furrowed slightly in concern. "Colonel MacKenzie?"

Mac focused on him, forcibly bringing herself back to the current situation. Suddenly she registered just who had entered and promptly attempted to stand up, wincing as she managed to pull her ribs. Ingles' eyes widened slightly and he waved her back down, "As you were, Colonel." He smiled faintly, "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

Mac returned the smile with a tiny one of her own though she personally didn't see much to smile about at the moment, "I've been better."

The Captain smiled wryly, nodding, "I can imagine." He hesitated for a moment then plunged forward, "Colonel Peterson told me what happened."

Mac closed her eyes for a moment, sighing softly. She wasn't really sure what to say and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Finally she opened them again and replied, still fairly subdued, "Yes, sir."

Captain Ingles cocked his head slightly, looking at her in concern. He'd never seen the Marine Colonel so passive; it just wasn't in her nature. Even when she'd been briefly stationed aboard the Seahawk as JAG she'd always had a definite fire to her. Now she was just… quiet. It took him only a brief second more to realize that her current condition had everything to do with her missing partner. Mac was looking at him in growing concern and he realized he'd drifted for a moment. Smiling as reassuringly as he could he continued, "I agree with his assessment, you did everything you could, Colonel."

Mac replied softly, voice barely above a whisper, "I should've done more."

Ingles sighed; he should've known that was how she'd look at it. "Colonel… Mac," she blinked at him when he used her nickname. Smiling briefly he chose not to address the issue, "You did everything you could, it's not your fault."

Mac nodded slightly, outwardly accepting his words with a murmured, "Yes, sir."

Ingles knew she didn't really believe him but there wasn't much point in arguing with her about it. He paused for another moment, trying to figure out how to bring up the next topic. After a bit he decided to just plow forward, straightforwardness tended to be the best answer, especially when dealing with Colonel MacKenzie. "They're going to continue the search for Commander Rabb." Mac nodded slightly though she didn't speak. Ingles looked at her sympathetically, "I know you've requested to stay out here. Unfortunately, I have to agree with the doctors in this case. You're being sent back to the states and put on medical leave for the next two weeks."

Mac opened her mouth to protest, the first hint of emotion flashing across her face. The Captain held up a hand to forestall her, "I know you want to stay here, and I don't blame you. I promise we'll do our best to find Harm, and I promise I'll keep you posted. You'll know as soon as he's located, Colonel. It's the best I can do."

Mac thought about that for a second then sighed, nodding again, "Thank you, sir."

The skipper nodded slightly, "The COD will be here in a couple hours, you should get some rest. I'll send someone to get you when it's time."

Mac smiled slightly in appreciation then asked softly, "Could you possibly keep people from disturbing me until then, Captain?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly, he had a feeling he knew exactly why she made that request. After what the Colonel on the ground had told him he had every intention of keeping the JAG lieutenant from the colonel, he was quite clear on the fact that it was Vukovic's fault that both Rabb and MacKenzie were in their current states. Ingles didn't take too kindly to others messing with his people, and he considered both lawyers to be his people after everything they'd done for and on the Seahawk. He nodded, "Of course."

"Thank you, sir."

He half-smiled, "It's no problem, it's doctors orders after all." His eyes twinkled at her and she knew that he'd figured out exactly who she was avoiding. She smiled back, a silent thank you for his help. With a final nod Ingles left the room. Mac could hear him murmuring quietly to someone outside then it was quiet. She'd been vaguely surprised that he hadn't mentioned the jacket, but then she knew the Captain was a perceptive man and had probably long since figured out how close she was to the Commander. He also wasn't the type to make a big deal out of something that didn't merit the attention. Thankfully, she sighed to herself mentally.

Now if she could just avoid Vukovic her life would be infinitely better, though she doubted that would happen once she left the room. Wrapping the jacket tighter she slid down on the rack, curling up against the wall, determined to get at least a little bit of sleep before she had to leave for the states.