A/N: Clearly it is no secret I like Taylor Swift. Can't wait to go to her concert! This is a song from her newest album, and I love how it starts a little slower in darker tones, builds to the chorus, and becomes more frenetic with the bridge. Images of Mac fighting her demons filled my head, especially of Mac trying to keep the demons in the tomb as their arms come out to grab her. Sounds scary, but I'm weird so it's not :) Anyway, enjoy.

Swiftlets

Swiftlet 4: Would've, Could've, Should've

Midnights 3am Edition

She moved slowly about the small bathroom, changing out of her hospital gown to some sweats Harm had provided for her. Her uniform had been cut off of her after the accident, thus she had nothing, and the kind man had gone to the nearest Wal-Mart for soft clothing she could put on without difficulty. Once that was accomplished, she stopped to look in the mirror above the sink.

"Ugh," she sighed. The facial burn and bruises from the airbag were as prominent as ever and it hurt to move her mouth. Harm's appearance last night was a surprise, their conversation even more so, and she would have liked to smile about that. Unfortunately, it really wasn't her face that was the problem in this case. The truth was, she was scared. Scared that as soon as he took her out of this hospital, they'd go back to what they were—mere acquaintances who used to be best friends, and why shouldn't they stay that way? She really had been pushing him away and she couldn't imagine why he would want to be her friend again, no matter what he'd said last night.

She'd done so many things wrong in her life, not the least of which was turning Harm away.

When had her path to self-destruction started? Was it when she witnessed her mother's abuse at her father's hand? Was it when she'd experienced her father's mental and emotional abuse toward her? Or was it the first time she'd tasted alcohol?

God, if only she'd recognized the cheap vodka as the poison it was and spit it out right then. Hell, she should have already known it was a poison after observing her alcoholic father for years. Why hadn't she been smarter? She should have been.

One night her father caught her stealing his booze and he'd actually hit her. She had fallen to the ground but jumped right back up, defiantly grabbing the bottle before walking away. Joe MacKenzie didn't go after her; he'd merely stood there in shocked horror. He'd never hit his daughter before, and though he'd tried to apologize to her later, the damage had been done. She'd left him behind within the month.

Maybe if that night she had just stayed down on her knees and crawled away, leaving the bottle behind her, she wouldn't have been a slave to it for so long. It had to nearly kill her before she gave it up.

But no, of course, she hadn't done that, and if she were honest with herself, the forgetfulness of alcohol made the pain of it worth it. It turned something awful into near heaven, and when she found Chris, the heaven was complete. Chris was fun, thrilling, and her savior, but god, if she'd only blinked instead of continuing that shy first glance, she would have left him behind too. If she hadn't married him, she wouldn't have forgotten to get a divorce, and she certainly wouldn't have killed him. She sould always carry that guilt with her, along with the guilt of never telling Harm about her erstwhile husband.

Then came John, warm, caring John. He'd been so good to her, so gentle and loving, a true piece of heaven. He'd taken her pain away for a moment, but she'd been like paint, paint that splattered all over him, paint that wouldn't wash away. It was because of her his career would end in mediocrity instead of in the way he deserved. She had danced with the devil many times-with alcohol, with Chris, and in the accident that killed Eddie. With John she'd been the devil, one he should never have tangled with. She'd ruined him.

She wished so much she'd been left to wonder about it all, instead of knowing all the misery so intimately because of her own choices.

Sometimes she liked to think back to when she first started at JAG. She missed who she'd been then—the feisty, strong marine, who fought with and loved a tall, handsome sailor. There relationship had been one with simple affection that grew into something more. They'd both been innocent at the start, and then everything went to complete and utter hell. It started with Chris's death, followed by her engagement to another man whom she'd go on to hurt, Harm's crash into the ocean and near death, and then…lord, she didn't want to think of it…Paraguay. Clay. She would have relived all her drunken years over if she could have avoided that. She regretted her relationship with Clay every day, every hour. All the time. She regretted what she'd done to Harm through all of that too. If Clay had never touched her, she would probably be with her sailor today. Clay certainly wasn't the only devil she'd danced with, but he'd been the worst of them all. He given her wounds that would never close.

There'd been other men, other failed relationships, of course. There had been Dalton. He'd betrayed her trust, and his death by her stalker had caused such a crisis in faith that she'd turned to alcohol one again. Mic had been next. She'd been hurting over the situation with Chris, John, and Harm, and the Aussie had been there, his compliments making her blush and even giggle. When Harm had rejected her in Sydney, Mic had been there again, making her feel important, saving her from the restless boredom she'd felt when Harm left to fly and again when he'd turned the warmth of Australia into something cold.

And then, after all of that, after asking her to marry him, all it took was her worry and care over Harm to make him wash his hands of her and erase her from his life. He didn't fight for her and it hurt, even if his leaving was the best thing for them both.

So many memories…so many memories that just wouldn't die. Memories that struck her like weapons, memories like ghosts that would haunt her forever. Why wouldn't they die? Why couldn't she bury them? Why did she have to fight them in her sleep every goddamn night?

She needed to stop the obsessive thoughts about it all, needed to give up on all the would've, could've, should'ves. She had fought them so in her dreams and now, as she stood at an ancient hospital sink staring into an equally ancient, cloudy mirror, her breath quickened and tears fell from her eyes. She felt sick. She felt dizzy. She felt like passing out. Her mind was a tomb that stored all of her fears and pain. She could see them turning into demons who tried to escape while she tried and tried to close them off. Arms ending in claws slid through the cracks in her mental mausoleum, grabbing at her as she leaned against the huge, heavy door, until they finally freed themselves again and carried her back inside with them. She fought them and they scratched her. She pushed against the stone walls of her tomb, but they wouldn't move. She tried to shatter its stained-glass windows, but the glass cut her even though it didn't break.

Mac was spiraling down, down, until finally the devil himself had her.

It couldn't end like this.

She needed her freedom.

She needed…

"Mac?"

Harm.

Mac turned around and flung herself into his arms, ignoring the intense pain of her sudden movement. Harm held her to his chest, his arms enfolding her in a tight embrace.

"Mac, honey. It's okay. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay. Everything will be okay," was his repeated refrain, and as he spoke, the devil and his demons loosened their hold and fell away from her, leaving just Mac and Harm behind.

Mac and Harm.

Harm and Mac.

Just them.

It was going to be okay.

End