Author's note: This is it, my new story. My very long, very different story. It's more dark than anything you've read from me. Still, I hope you take a liking to it. I'll post some flyffy one-aprters every now and then just to shed some light.Since I've been doubting my decision to publish this for a long time, I would love to hear from you.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters of JAG. Some of the new characters are mine, though.

Spoilers:Happens shortlyafter Mic/Renée.

Rating: M. Because of mature subjects andlanguage. Read warning for details, please.

WARNING: This story deals with the major mature subject of abortion. For those of you who are firmly against it, you might not want to proceed.

As for my own POV: I'm not even sure I have one. Let's just say I'm not pro-abortion, but having never been in a situation like the one I'm trying to write about, I can't firmly say I'm against it either. I'm neither a shrink, nor a Saint. Like every other human being, I have both qualities and faults. Therefore I don't feel I'm qualified to judge anyone in any given situation as long as I'm not sure what would be my own reaction if I was facing that same choice. So I'm trying to write a fictional story without either condemning or condoning the many women around the world who, for various reasons, chose not to have their child. And I hope I'm succeeding. That said, I'll go on with the story.

Once a Marine…

CHAPTER ONE

She sat at the ill lit vanity in the corner of the sleazy club, applying layer after layer of make-up. Tonight, for no reason, she was in a melancholic mood, thinking about all the stages in her life, everything that got her here.

This was the last place she'd expected herself to be. Within her work as a Marine lawyer, she was always headed for something big, something smart. How naïve. She let out a cynical laugh. She was a lot now, but naïve wasn't one of them.

She'd had such a perfect little life build for herself. A loving family within the JAG office walls, caring people everywhere around her. And of course the perfect, caring fiancé. Until it all came apart at the wedding that would never take place, because of him. The one she really loved. The one she'd lost forever now.

She had lost all ability to communicate after that. Her coworkers, though very understanding and kind in the months after the postponing and ending of her engagement, couldn't seem to get her out of her glum mood, get her head out of the dark clouds that were slowly suffocating her.

Because she just couldn't understand herself: a perfect Marine (as everybody always claimed she was) should not even be capable of making such a mistake, turning down a steady relationship for…for what? For a dream…a possibility that had led to nothing. Always led to nothing.

With both herself and the obvious object of her affection single again, the office gossiped as it always did, the pools running high. As was her usual way of coping, she wanted to run, but didn't have a clue whereto. Not to him, never to him. So she didn't, instead chose to bury herself in the endless stream of papers and articles.

But they stopped making sense and slowly but steadily she lost her ability to communicate to others by means of the court as well.

She'd given her notice, even gave a farewell party, but didn't provide her once best friends with any reasons. She just didn't know how to explain. Without letting anybody know, she left her apartment and DC behind on a strangely chilly August night. Taking only her clothes, some money and her books with her. And her unborn child.

Yes, she got knocked up, forgetting to take the pill only once. Stupid, stupid! As much as she had vowed she wanted to get pregnant, and put a child on this world, it was always supposed to be Harm's child, going halves on a baby with him. But this baby wasn't Harm's and therefore it felt like an unwelcome intruder in her body and rapidly spiraling down life.

She had nothing to offer this baby, she never even had the ability to identify herself with it, like some people do when they're happy about a new life.

The clinic was filthy and most likely illegal, but at least it didn't cost her much and they never asked for any insurance papers. They didn't check her name and she paid in cash.

With absolutely nothing left, wallet, heart and womb empty, she headed for any big city she could disappear in, finding herself in San Diego, far enough away from headquarters not to be recognized immediately.

Not knowing where to go or what to do, she stopped at a half-decent club, where young girls were putting on a striptease for businessmen in suits, officers and enlisted men of the nearby Naval base and students on a night out, sipping whiskey and holding up dollar-bills.

Once your life is going downhill, there's no way of stopping it. 'Things can only get better' was never a true statement in the first place. 'Bottom's up' is though, she concluded while draining a tequila. Might as well fall of that wagon too while she was at it. Not that it mattered.

Her first drink turned into a second, a third, a…she lost count after that. Her first night spent at the barstool of the ratty club turned into a second, a third a…she lost count after that.

Until her limited funds were really all drained and she had nowhere to get more. The local ATM didn't give her any more cash. Apparently her friends had closed her account to be on the safe side.

Was there anybody looking for her? Did they show her face on milk-cartons or on TV? She didn't know. The only TV she watched were the football-matches shown at the club. And milk wasn't her favorite drink these days, nor coffee for that matter.

She had given a rueful look at the girls on stage and turned to the bartender to ask for the manager. The decision being made, there was no turning back. The next evening, she put on her first stage costume…

That was a year ago. A year in which, even if people were still looking for her, they didn't do a decent job. A year in which she tried a few times to find a working phone booth and call…call who?

Twelve long months in which she spent her time between the club and the loft she now shared with Clarice, Eve and Joanna, some of the other 'dancers'. They weren't friends, but they didn't ask any questions and that's what she wanted. For now anyway.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Derek, their bouncer. He was a big mean man with lots of tattoos, but for some reason he was always courteous, polite, almost fatherly concerned for the dancers, especially her. As if he knew that this had never been the life she was supposed to have.

He opened the door when she answered she was ready and gave her a small wink. He never asked her if she was okay, or wished her luck. He knew it wouldn't matter to her. He was just there in case clients got a little too carried away. How could he know Mac knew more about killing someone, either with weapons or with bare hands than he could ever teach her? Just because she wasn't a Marine any more, that didn't mean her instincts had worn off.

She got up on the small stage, dressed as a cowgirl and started her routine, shutting out every sound except for the music she was dancing to. Automatically her hips and legs and arms moved. She felt the rumpled bills being stuffed behind her strings and in her boots. She tossed the hat away and looked straight into a pair of surprised blue eyes…

He hated these kinds of clubs, even if he was here on a serious investigation. A few weeks before, some drunken midshipmen got themselves involved in a series of bar fights during their leave and subsequently ended up in the brig with severe hangovers and the usual predictable and useful short-term memory loss. Now it was up to him to dig up the truth.

He truly hated this, but lately, he hated his job period. Although lately, more like the last year… he couldn't believe it had been a year already since her total disappearance from his life, almost from this globe.

They'd searched for her for months, contacting any agency, legal or not, either Russian, Arabian, European, Australian or American to get any kind of information whatsoever, but since she wasn't a Marine anymore and therefore could not be abducted, held hostage or on some kind of undercover mission, there was little they could do. She was simply…gone. Even Webb had tried his hardest to find anything out, but when even he came up short, they'd finally given up.

Life had taken on another meaning after that for him. Or rather, no meaning at all. The pain of losing her cut as deeply within him as the loss of his father had. Or maybe, on some level, even more. For at least he'd found his father, with her help.

Now, not only hadn't he been able to find her, the thought that she might not want to be found, was so much worse. With his father safely tucked away in sweet boyhood memories, he'd needed her to be in his future dreams. He'd always assumed that she wanted to be a part of his life too.

JAG wasn't JAG without her. They'd all aged considerably after she'd vanished and even though they continued their necessary work without her, replacing her with an adequate, but not nearly as much dedicated lawyer, the sheer drive she seemed to evoke in them all had left the building with her.

The skills and supremacy of the staff at the headquarters was still unmatched, but the consideration, the compassion, none of the staff members seemed to have any feelings to spare…and Harm was worst of them all.

So many things she had missed already. Christmas, New Years Eve, several anniversaries and birthdays…and all the days in between. Days like these, where she would have laughed at him and called him a prude, just to trigger him out of his sulky mood.

A slap on his shoulder shook him out of his reverie and he had to restrain himself from attacking the staggering man in front of him who'd grabbed him to either maintain or regain his balance. He hated physical affection from any of these guys and he didn't appreciate being used as a means of leverage.

These 'officers' who were all drunk were a total disgrace to the Navy and he was momentarily embarrassed to be wearing the same uniform, even if he was outranking most of them.

As not to look conspicuous before starting his investigation, he allowed one of the almost topless waitresses (you could hardly call the small piece of fabric a bra, and if that's what it was, she should have gotten a bigger size; about three times as big) to place him at a table at the end of the little stage, where he was given his complimentary drink.

Already, the elderly sailor seated next to him had a fist full of dollar bills in his chubby hand. He looked like a drooling bloodhound and for a moment he felt sorry for the girls who did this degrading job as a means to stay alive.

A girl dressed up like a cop started her routine. She was a dirty blond girl. Her police cap landed on the head of one of his neighbors, hysteria almost breaking out. Her bra landed in his own lap, but before she could get it back and give him a lap dance at the same time, he had tossed the lace thingy back on stage. He was here; wasn't that humiliating enough?

If the girl had noticed his discomfort, she didn't show. She finished her routine like the professional she was, gathered her stuff, the bills, blew them a kiss and a sassy wink and left the stage.

Another girl was announced: Amazing Maggie, or something like that. A slim brunette entered, dressed as a cowgirl. She only wore leather boots with high heels and spurs, hot pants, a blouse tied in front, some underwear probably and a Stetson on her head. Slowly she started dancing, getting rid of the blouse first. Then she tossed her hat away…and her brown eyes met his…

So..should I be burned at the stake? Hide somewhere? As I said, I'm not begging, I'm truly very insecure about this story...please tell me if I should continue...