A/N: I'm so excited about this chapter—you'll see why in a moment—and I really, really, really hope you like it.

It was inspired by "Everything I Build" by The Stills.

Enjoy!

bloodymary2: So am I! To be honest, I enjoy writing these glimpses and getting into the killer's mind for a moment… It's fascinating, in a very disturbing way, but then mankind has always been drawn to the dark and disturbing.

rlrct: I know! :D I love cliffhangers, as long as I'm the one writing them.

Ciara: You're thinking right. We'll see if he succeeds. ;)

alix33: Yep. Let's hope Mac won't be an easy target.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me!

A special thank you to AvaniHeath for offering me her beta skills and support!

Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.

10 Everything I build

His touched his lips to hers, the echo of a kiss. She lifted her head, trying to capture his lips with hers, but he remained just out of reach, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a teasing smile as he hovered above her. As he shifted his weight, he slid deeper inside her and a soft moan escaped her lips. His eyes met hers. Darkened by pleasure, they reminded her of the storm-tossed ocean. Grey with flecks of blue. He held her gaze; it felt like he was seeing into the depths of her soul, a look that was more intimate than the most intimate of touches.

This time he didn't pull away when she kissed him. His lips parted willingly, urgently moving against hers, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, his tongue in her mouth, dancing with hers. She ran her hands over his shoulders, which were slick with sweat, tracing the lines of the muscles underneath his skin. His hand was at the back of her head, buried in her hair, the other caressing the swell of her breast.

She touched her palm to his cheek, brushing her thumb across his lips before she kissed him again. She hoped she would never get used to the sensation of his lips on hers, to the delicious taste of his mouth, to the husky scent of his skin. Reaching up, he grasped her hand and slid her fingers into hers.

Darkness enveloped Mac when she woke.

"No," she whispered into the silence. Sleep still shrouded her mind like a heavy blanket, echoes of the dream reverberating through her thoughts like soft ripples on the surface of a pond. She felt hot, flushed, and tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and streaming silently down her cheeks.

"No," she whispered again. She wiped the tears away and sat up, slowly pushing the blanket away. The dreams always felt real, as real as dreams could possibly be, but never before like this, every sensation heightened, intensified. She remembered every detail vividly and with perfect clarity. The weight of his body. His lips on hers, his teeth teasingly grazing her bottom lip. Their fingers intertwined, either of them holding on to the other as he moved inside her, their hips meeting in a steady, gentle rhythm. The dream had left her aching for more, the need so acute it bordered on pain.

She didn't allow herself relief. Instead, she got up, stripping her clothes on the way to the bathroom, and stepped into shower. The water was freezing and it made her skin sting and prickle. It also washed away the tears, but the need continued to smoulder inside her.

This had to stop. She had to make it stop. But she didn't know how she could. This wasn't a question of mind over matter. She had no control over the subconscious. And even now part of her desperately wanted him, wanted to make the dream reality. Guilt wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing it tight. How could she marry Mic when she was so clearly attracted to another man? He didn't deserve this. He was a good man. He deserved someone who loved him with all her heart, someone who hadn't just gone to him because the man she truly wanted had pushed her away.

"But I do love him," she said, the splashing water nearly drowning out the words. And she couldn't have Harm. She knew this wasn't the right reason for being with Mic. But she was tired of waiting, tired of being alone. And perhaps once Harm was out of her life, she'd be finally able to achieve what was impossible now—let go.

Mac rarely thought past the wedding, of what her life would be like afterwards, but as she sat on the edge of the bed half an hour later, wrapped in a towel, she finally did. She'd shied away from the prospect of leaving DC, but now it seemed to her that she had no real choice in the matter. She knew now that she couldn't trust herself around Harm; if she continued to work with him, she might one day cross a line, take things farther than just a simple kiss, and she couldn't do that to Mic, who'd sacrificed so much to be with her.

I want us to stay real close, she'd told Harm at her engagement party. But she realised now that this wasn't an option. She could keep telling herself all she wanted that he was just her friend, but she knew it wasn't true. And perhaps it would make moving on easier for Harm too if she was gone. She didn't fail to see the irony—she had accused Harm of being incapable of letting go of things that kept him from moving on and now she realised that the same was true for her.

Mac lay back, arms by her side. The lamp on the nightstand cast a golden circle on the ceiling. It was half past two and she'd been asleep for only three hours after tossing and turning endlessly. She was tired, her eyes burning with exhaustion and tears she refused to shed, but she was afraid of going back to sleep. Afraid her subconsciousness would punish her with yet another dream, confront her with her inability to move on.

When morning dawned four hours later, she could barely keep her eyes open and she felt vaguely dizzy. All she wanted was sleep dreamlessly for a few hours, but as that wasn't an option, she dressed and went for breakfast. She took her time; she wasn't looking forward to seeing Harm this morning. She didn't know how to act around him now. She wondered if she should just go ahead and tell him why she needed the distance, but at the same time she was afraid that he'd use it as a pretext to make her talk about things she didn't want to discuss with anyone, least of all with him.

It had cooled down considerably over night. The wind was stiff, the treetops bending precariously under its force. Mac looked up as she headed briskly for the office, cold in her summer uniform; the sky was the colour of slate, the sun no more than a dull patch of glaring white behind the clouds. It looked like rain.

Harm was already there, sitting at his desk, the receiver of the phone wedged in between ear and shoulder so that his hands were free to type. He looked up as she entered, a smile on his face that instantly turned into an expression of concern when he got a proper look at her face. Mac had avoided the mirror this morning, but apparently she looked as awful as she felt. He mouthed a greeting, then said, "Yes, I'm still here, Bud. Good work. Thanks." He hung up.

"Anything useful?" Mac asked as she sat down, doing her best to sound normal. She couldn't tell if she had succeeded; he was frowning, but it could have been in response to something Bud had told him.

"Possibly," he said. "Bud managed to dig up seventeen unsolved murder cases. Similar MO and in each case the victim was either military or lived near a military base. He cross-referenced personnel stationed at the bases in question when the murders occurred with personnel stationed at Norfolk. He just e-mailed me a list of names." He clicked at something and a second later the printer on a filing cabinet in the corner started whirring. "Twenty-nine potential suspects. He has to be one of them."

"I hope so. We probably can also eliminate anyone who's been stationed here less than two to three weeks, maybe even a month. He…" Lifting her hand to her face, she stifled a yawn. God, she was tired. "He would have needed time to plan, time to find a weakness in base security, time to figure out where to stash and how to transport her. I can't see how that can be done in less than two weeks, even if he's done this kind of thing before."

"Good thinking," he said. She felt his eyes on her as he reached across the back of his chair for the list, but she didn't look up. "Then we're down to twenty-one," he said after a moment. A pen scratched over paper. "That's manageable."

"Speaking of base security, have you heard back from them?"

"Not yet, which probably means that they're still looking. How about you? You heard back from Agent Rhys yet?"

"Yeah, last night." His call had been a welcome distraction, even more so because she had been on the phone with Mic when he called. She'd been grateful for an excuse to hang up; she hadn't been doing a very good job of hiding her distress and Mic had kept asking her what was wrong. "I was right. Lieutenant Wright was drugged. Flunitrazepam. The tox screen on Acker's blood came back positive for it too."

Harm nodded at the sheet in his hand. "So if one of them has that stuff…" He let his voice trail off.

"…that probably means he's our guy," she finished for him. She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands against them. She needed more coffee. "But last time I checked you needed a warrant to search someone's residence."

He just gave her a look.

She shrugged. "Well, you do get a little carried away sometimes."

He sighed. "Fair enough. But NCIS can handle that part. Let's focus on interviewing them, see if we can narrow it down further."

"If he's even on the list. Who knows? We could be looking in the wrong direction." Personally, she didn't think so, but someone had to play devil's advocate.

He ran his hand through his hair. "True, but it's the only thing we have right now. Mac?"

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Images of her dream had just flashed up in her mind. She didn't know what had triggered it—perhaps the way the muscles in his forearm had flexed just now. She quickly averted her gaze, blinking at the black screen of her computer. No. It seemed that she wasn't safe anymore even in reality, even when she was wide awake. She hoped it was just the lack of sleep that was messing with her head; she couldn't let him take over her thoughts like that.

When this is over, I'm going to have to make a decision, she thought miserably. With the dream safely tucked away in the depths of her mind, she had almost managed to convince herself that there was a way to move on without having to leave DC and her life there behind. But only almost and now her already fragile control was slipping.

"Mac?" he asked again, worried now.

"You're right," she said curtly, hoping it was an appropriate answer to whatever question he'd asked her; she couldn't remember. "We should get started."

The sooner they were finished here, the sooner they could go home. Maybe even today.

And she had to get away from Harm.

But if that was so, then why did the thought of sleeping in her own bed tonight, with Mic's arms around her, fill her with apprehension?

A/N: Did you like the dream sequence?