A/N: Sorry for the delay. I completely forgot. Shame on me. Can't say when the next chapter will be on as I'd like to have another one or two finished before I update.

This chapter was inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Born to Die".

Enjoy!

rlrct: This chapter should answer your question! ;)

lszejny: Our Marine is still distracted. And tired. Which is not good.

alix33: "EW!" indeed.

Thank you all for your lovely reviews!

A special thank you to my beta and friend AvaniHeath. :)

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

14 Born to die

Relief washed through Mac as she closed the door behind her. Finally she was alone. Finally she wouldn't have to hide anymore what she was feeling. Wouldn't have to pretend that everything was fine when her world had just come crashing down around her with everything turned upside down. She felt empty, drained, but she was also angry. At Harm because he'd pushed her away, but mostly at herself because she felt like she'd given up. Because she didn't want to be feeling this way. Because she wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.

All day she had fought the tears; now that she was alone once more she let them stream down her face as she sank down against the door, pulling her legs up against her chest. She couldn't remember ever feeling this desperate, this lost. This heartbroken. There had been other men in her life, other relationships, and of course she'd been sad when they had ended, but never like this.

Perhaps it was because she and Harm had been friends before they became something more. All the other men she'd been with had made it clear from the beginning that they wanted a romantic relationship and wouldn't settle for anything less. But things had been different with Harm, and instead of a lover he'd become her best friend, the one person in the world who knew her better than she knew herself, who'd seen her at her best and at her worst.

And that was it, really. This was why it hurt so much. Because she wouldn't just lose the man she was in love with. She'd lose her best friend too, would lose the one person who'd been a constant in her life for nearly four years.

She hadn't spoken to him, or seen him, since this afternoon. She'd stayed at the office, first going through the personnel files of everyone on their suspect list, then over the ME's report. But even the gruesome images of Florence Acker's broken body hadn't been able to distract her.

She couldn't forget the look on Harm's face.

Mac brushed her thumb over her empty finger. The ring was in her purse, tucked securely into a handkerchief. She refused to think about the reason why she hadn't put it back on, why the thought of slipping it back on her finger made her insides clench. Not tonight. She couldn't deal with that tonight.

Her phone started ringing, the sound loud in the darkness that enveloped her. Reaching beside her, she took it out of her purse, staring at the lit screen. Mic. Her finger hovered over the acceptance button. She was afraid to answer; she couldn't go back to pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't, but neither could she explain to him what was wrong. Not without hurting him, and he didn't deserve that. He knew that she and Harm were close, but she wondered if he had any idea how deep they ran. Would he still be with her if he did? Would he still want to marry her, even knowing that he wasn't her first choice? That she'd only gone to him because Harm had pushed her away?

The phone went dark, the ring tone cutting off mid-sound. Relieved, she dropped it back in her purse and dragged herself up. It was nearly half past ten and she was exhausted, but she dreaded going to sleep. What if she dreamed about him again? She didn't think could handle this kind of intimacy even in a dream, not when part of her wished for it to be reality, even now, even after today.

Will it be enough? she wondered as she slowly made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She couldn't stay in DC because she was afraid of what might happen between her and Harm, of what she might do, but would it help her move on? Help her put him out of her mind? Out of sight, out of mind hadn't worked for her before. Even during the time he'd been away from JAG to pursue his dream of flying he'd always been in her thoughts, even though they had barely communicated, even though she'd known she'd probably never see him again. What if it wouldn't work this time either? What if she was just kidding herself?

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

Mac startled, nearly dropping the glass. Putting it down, she headed for the door, switching on the light in the hallway. She didn't want her visitor, whoever it was, to wonder why she was sitting in the dark. Hesitantly, she turned the knob, half-expecting it to be Harm—who else would come by this late?—and dread knotted her stomach; she didn't know how to face him. How could she even look him in the eye after what she had done to him? After how much she had hurt him?

But it wasn't him. The tall lieutenant standing in front of her door, dripping water on the floor, looked vaguely familiar though, which probably meant that she'd spoken to him yesterday. But she'd interviewed so many people over the course of two days that her tired brain refused to put names to faces.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I hope so, Ma'am," he replied. He took a step forward, moving into the light, and Mac got a better look at him. Broad shoulders, green eyes, short-cropped blond curls. Seeing his face, she remembered him. He lived in this neighbourhood, perhaps three or four houses down; this was why she had spoken to him the day before, to find out if he'd see anything. But his name remained elusive.

"I know it's late," he continued apologetically, "and I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was just on my way home from work and I remembered something about the night Lieutenant Acker was killed. I tried reaching this NCIS agent on his cell phone, but he didn't pick up and I didn't want to wait until tomorrow."

Mac deliberated for a moment. Exhausted as she was, she wanted to put off going to bed as long as she could, so she might as well get some work done. Besides, if he did know something useful, something that might even help them solve this case, she'd be home by tomorrow night.

Is that what you want? the voice in her mind asked, doubtful.

She ignored it. "I'll be with you in a minute," she told the lieutenant and closed the door, starting towards the bedroom to get her coat.

The blow caught her completely by surprise.

Mac stumbled forward, slamming into the wall. Pain exploded in her left shoulder, but it had barely time to register. Something struck the back of her knees and her legs gave way. She hit the floor with a muffled cry, her right arm twisted awkwardly underneath her. Panic swept across her mind. She started scrambling to her feet, clutching at the wall for support. A hand gripped her wrist, then her arm was yanked back brutally. White stars danced in front of her eyes as a fresh wave of pain shot through her shoulder. She tried to wrench her arm free. For one terrifying moment her vision went black and she struggled to stay conscious, no longer fighting his hold on her. He drew her hard against him, clamping his calloused hand over her mouth. His skin smelled like motor oil and something metallic, and the sharp scent grounded her firmly in reality.

"Quiet now, Colonel," he murmured, brushing his lips across the back of her neck. The sensation made her skin crawl and her stomach turn. Her heart was hammering madly against her ribs, each beat sending a fresh surge of panic through her body. It's him. It's him. It's him. There was no room in her mind for any other thought. It's him. It's him. It's him.

She struggled frantically in his iron grip, ignoring the pain raging in her shoulder. If he took her off-base, if he took her wherever he'd taken Florence… No. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen!

Mac dug her heel into his instep.

He grunted and his hold on her arm loosened; she tore it free and slammed her elbow into his stomach as hard as she could. Groaning, he released her. Mac spun around and rushed past him, heading for the door. She had to get out. She had to get out and get help or…

The key was gone.

She twisted the knob anyway, wasting valuable seconds. She sensed rather than heard him come up behind her and turned around just in time to see him swing his fist at her. She ducked under his arm, not even trying to counter the blow. His movements were swift, efficient, precise. He clearly knew what he was doing and Mac harboured no illusions that she'd stand a chance in a fight. Her area of expertise were small arms, not martial arts.

She dashed across the short hallway and back into dark the kitchen. Leaning across the countertop, she started shoving up the window. He grabbed her around the waist, wrenching her back. Her chin connected with the edge of the counter hard enough to jar her teeth. Pain shot through her jaw, causing stars to spark in front of her eyes like tiny fireworks. She tasted blood in her mouth, hot and metallic; she'd split her lip. The pain was fierce, blinding, but she forced herself to think through it.

Self-preservation finally overpowered panic and her head cleared.

She kicked at him, aiming at nothing in particular. But she hit home. He howled in pain and his arms fell away. Mac grabbed the edge of the counter, pulling herself up. She barely noticed as her knee banged against the cabinet. The glass clattered to the floor, shattering on the tiles. Tiny shards exploded every which way. A low, angry curse; he must have cut himself.

Mac yanked the window open. Rain slammed into her face, so cold and hard that it felt like a million tiny needles piercing her skin. She greedily inhaled the icy air, twisting on the counter to slip out feet-first just as he made a grab for her again. His arm wound around her middle, his hand closed around her throat and began to squeeze. She gasped for air, clawing madly at his grip. It was futile. He lifted her off the counter, cradling her gently against his chest as he choked her. Dark spots appeared before her eyes. He was talking to her, his voice calm and soothing. She struggled to make out his words, but they didn't make sense to her oxygen-deprived brain.

His hand slipping under her blouse, sliding across her skin and curving around her waist, was the last thing she felt before she fell into darkness.

Thoughts?