Dear dear readers! Thank you for the reviews, they've been fun to read you guys trying to figure things out. This is a bit of a filler chapter because what was supposed to go with this chapter had it being extremely too long and I needed it to break apart... So here we are... the backflash though...* swoon *

SO here you go... a flash... a spark...

Chapter 11 - Cut

Harm composed himself some time later ruefully realizing he needed to let the tears out, to cry, to hurt, to rage. It was all out of his system for now and so he used the sleeve of his jacket to clean his face and then headed back into the cabin. It was quiet when he walked inside and stopped in the center of the living room, his ears trying to pick up any signs of her. He needed to shower, change out of the suit and, despite his lack of appetite, begin something that resembled dinner.

He also needed to scrape the bits and pieces of adhesive still on his face from the fake beard he'd tossed out somewhere on the road. They were making his face itch and he knew a hot shower would help him feel fresh again. Unfortunately, his clothes were in the bedroom where Mac was now. He hadn't thought to leave his out in the livingroom and now contemplated waiting. But for how long?

The woman could be downright stubborn and he doubted that attribute would change much no matter who she thought she was. Begrudgingly, he walked towards the closed bedroom door and stopped. What if she tried to escape again?

No matter how quickly he'd learn to shower in the Navy, those short minutes would give her ample time to mount an escape. Not that there were too many places to go. The SUV he'd left at a parking space Most people who had a home on this side used boats because it took too long to drive around.

There were neighbors but at least half a mile in each direction. Even if she screamed, the river leading up to the dock didn't carry sound the same way a lake would. It wasn't impossible to get away but he was concerned she'd hurt herself in the process.

He briefly considered Webb's serum or at least the chains and handcuffs Chegwidden suggested, just in case. They were stashed beneath the bed and any thoughts of having to actually use them made his stomach churn. Harm sighed, neither would go over well for a man trying to win her trust.

He knocked softly and when she didn't answer he cracked the door open enough so that he could see the bed. She wasn't sleeping on it like he expected, the red sweater was still there and when he opened the door wider, Mac was nowhere to be found.

Escape was impossible unless the window panes and frame were broken and both were still intact. He ducked under the bed and found nothing there but a plastic storage box and the edge of the rug. He began to panic, the very fringes of his mind considering so many alternatives.

What if she had slipped out and ran off during his mini breakdown? What if she was hiding somewhere ready to attack him and gain her freedom? What if….What if… What if.

The thoughts came to an abrupt end and even his heartbeat seemed to pause when he heard the faint sound of water rippling. He turned to the left finding the bathroom door opened just a sliver, enough to allow him to peek through the opening and catch the reflection in the mirror where he could see swatches of turquoise hanging across a small clothesline attached to the shower wall. Mac wasn't in the shower though which meant that the sounds of water could only come from one other place.

He must have lost his damned mind then because a rational man would not have opened the door wider and certainly wouldn't have searched her out through the steam that hung in the room. Harm's eyes found her at once, elegantly seated at one end of the extra large tub.

Her head was tipped back against a rolled up towel. Her arms draped over the edges. He could see the traces of droplets that rolled from her chin, to her throat and farther down, slipping beneath the water still murky from the soap she used. Only a few suds still floated across the surface and the hazy water only partially obscured the more interesting parts of her anatomy - his brain did a fine job drawing the rest of the picture of how damned good she looked wet.

He'd seen her like this once before and his mind took him back to that day when a newlywed Harm and Mac began their honeymoon.

January 2003

He'd done the goofy carrying-the-wife-over-the-threshold thing, all with a squirming and laughing Mac that he would not put down until she kissed him. He would have then done the consummating-the-marriage-in-a-comfy-bed thing but she wanted a quick look around the place they would share their honeymoon. Lovemaking would have to wait, much to Harm's chagrin.

"The bathroom has a claw foot tub." Mac had said, cooly containing her excitement as they toured the small home that would be their honeymoon spot for nearly a week.

Harm never saw the allure of laying in luke warm, dirty water. It seemed like too much of an effort and couldn't find any enjoyment whatsoever. He rolled his eyes at her, women. "A tub, huh? What's the big deal?"

"Claw foot tub." She pointed out, her lips spreading to form a grin.

"Okay claw foot tub. A tub is a tub, Mac."

"Nope. This one is long enough and deep enough to fit two." She reiterated and ran a hand over the cool, porcelain edge. The oversized tub sat in the center of the room with no discernable plumbing attached to fill it; only the pipes to drain the water were attached. Mac then moved back to him, coming up to her toes so that she could press a sweet kiss on his lips. "Looks like we need to fill it by hand. Warm the water on the stove, pour it in..Yeah that could work. We'll make it work."

"Do you know how many buckets that will take?"

"There's a metal bucket?"

"Yep, saw one on the porch."

Mac studied the tub and bit her lower lip, her eyebrow rose up in that MacKenzie way as she tried to come up with a number, eventually giving up. "No clue. You're the math major, how many buckets do you figure?"

"You're serious." He could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind and imagined himself hauling gallon after gallon after gallon from the kitchen because Mac had a whim - on his wedding night.

"Oh yeah. It'll be worth the effort, I promise."

"Mac…C'mon, we just got married shouldn't we be doing other things? Sexy things? Mac!" But she was already dragging him out of the bathroom before he could mount a defense.

It took forever to fill the damned thing but he had to admit it felt nice to slide into the hot, soapy water and have Mac sitting between his legs, back leaned against his chest. It had been sexy, incredibly sexy to feel her hands on his thighs, her fingers lightly moving over his skin. Even a barely there touch could seduce him and he found his own hands slipping beneath the water, around her waist and finally grazing beneath the swell of her breasts.

His palms cupped each globe, massaging gently as Mac turned her head up to kiss him. One of her hands found him, her fist moving up and down driving him mad with want and need. They had consummate their marriage then, a slow sensual union that turned intense and sloshed a good amount of water across the tiled floor. He would pull her out of the tub when the water cooled, carrying Mac to bed where their still wet bodies joined once again...

"I've never forgotten how beautiful you are."

"Ouch!" Harm's memories came to a stop when something hard hit the side of his head - a bar of soap. His eyes snapped open and he found Nazanin yelling angrily at him. She tried to cover her breasts with her arm, her lower half with a towel. He didn't move though, he couldn't because he remembered seeing her in a tub waiting for him with a sexy grin.

She reached for a bottle of something or other, prepared to fling it towards him as well but, he ducked out before Nazanin had a chance. "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I'm..so so so sorry!" Mortified, he hurried through the door without a second look back.

…

For a long time Nazanin sat in the cooling water afraid to move should the heathen return. It was only the chill in the bathroom that forced her to crawl out. She fisted her silk naqib, of course it was still wet from her cleaning it as best as possible. So she pulled on a robe that was hanging on the back of the door and slid into it's matching slippers. She wrung out the long hair that had now reached past her waist, wincing from the weight that had become slightly uncomfortable and then quickly braided it only to cover her head with a towel.

Nazanin stared at the closed doors wondering if the man was in the bedroom or elsewhere.

What was wrong with him? She wondered because he hadn't even tried to touch her, not really especially not when she was naked and at her most vulnerable. He could have had his way with her, the man was bigger, stronger and although she had some fight in her, it was clear he could subdue her with just one strike.

But, he didn't attack her and didn't… didn't...rape her, like Nazanin believed he would. The man was always frowning, brooding...sad? Lost? And a part of her understood both sentiments. There was a time when she too felt sad and lost and a myriad of other things until she came to terms that she was Nazanin Ahmadi, wife of Farid.

But, why then did he take her? She spent the last hour contemplating just that and cursed the man for whatever his ploy might be. Maybe she was nothing more than ransom? Maybe the infidels were plotting something against her country and she was their collateral? Farid was soon to take over his ailing father's position and with that place in government came power and knowledge, some of which he'd already been privy to.

"Hello. I. Nazanin." She whispered, trying to phrase together some sort of words in English so that they could attempt to converse. The sentences rolled across her mind, jumbled as most languages other than Farsi were. "Damn you!"

Nazanin cinched the robe tighter across her body and noticed the red sweater still spread out at one end of the bed. She knew she would have to wear those things at some point. The longer he held her captive, the sooner she'd have to submit to even some of his demands. Angrily she glared at the door and couldn't help but to yell, "What do you want from me? Why have you taken me? Let me go...let me go, please!"

She knew he was listening and so she kept yelling, louder and louder until her screams gave way to gasps of air from heavy sobs.

…..

Mac didn't leave the room, not once and throughout the day and most of the night he could hear her crying or sobbing. There was yelling too, from both of them. It hurt of course because he never, ever desired to destroy her. It also angered him something awful that between bouts of tears she would cry out for Farid in the most agonizing voice. Farid Ahmadi, the bastard that stole her away from him. The man he could have beaten to death in the corridor if time allowed him to.

The anger forced him to yell at her a time or two through the closed door, even slamming his fists into the frame in effort to get her to stop. He yelled back for each time she yelled at him through the same closed doors, unable to help himself because the exhaustion had finally forced him to crack.

It hadn't even been one full day and Harm was already losing it. He didn't like this version of him, the pining, angry man who yelled at a woman just because she couldn't remember. When she quieted down, he pressed his back against the door and slid to the ground, his own silent tears matching the sobs Mac couldn't seem to stop. He apologized although from the curses she verbally threw at him, Harm knew he hadn't won any points.

As quietly as one could move over creaky wooden floors, he padded into the bathroom entering through the door in the living room. He used the head and brushed his teeth but the reflection in the mirror scared him. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his skin seemed pale and there was more than a five o'clock shadow.

He wondered if Mac was asleep and if, in her exhaustion, he would have time to shave and shower. Carefully, he cracked open the adjoining door and saw her curled up on the bed, under the covers. Harm stood in the doorway and watched feeling very much like some sort of stalker as he did. He imaged the streaks from dry tears staining her beautiful face and he wished so badly to kiss that all away, for her to be his again. With a heavy sigh, he closed the door.

From beneath the sink, Harm pulled out a toiletry kit, one that held a razor and shaving cream in hopes that a simple act would make him feel decent. He unfastened three buttons from the dress shirt and got to work lathering his face as the sink filled with warm water. The first pass was clean without any knicks and even took some of the adhesive off.

He studied that patch of skin, thankful the glue hadn't caused a reaction like Webb had suggested could happen. His next pass was just as clean, taking the tiny whiskers with it. He was half done when the image suddenly reflected in the mirror startled him.

Mac was there, puffy eyes holding his own and for a second, just a breath, really Harm swore she remembered. Her eyes squared, lit up and although it wasn't that spark of conversation it was something.

But it wasn't Mac looking at him through the reflection, instead it was Nazanin and she was taking the razor from his hand. He let her curiosity win out over common sense but then how much damage could she do with a disposable razor?

He remained perfectly still, barely breathing when she pressed the blade against his neck slowly running it upwards as it sliced each follicle. He watched her carefully, eyes never leaving her as she skillfully worked on shaving him clean. And then, she stopped.

The edge of the blade bit into his skin and Harm forced down a wince. She'd drawn blood and was pressing the edge deeper into his skin. The eyes reflecting in the mirror, staring back at him were angry ones this time, the kind that would kill if prompted to. He remained still, softening his gaze so that Nazanin realized he meant no harm. After what seemed like forever something flashed within those eyes, a brief recognition and then, she was gone.

….

Nazanin was shivering and her body was covered with a fine sheen of cool sweat. She pressed her hands together in effort to stop them from shaking so badly. She paced the room, her jail cell back and forth her eyes ever so often glancing towards the closed bathroom door. What had happened?

What in Allah's name had possessed her to be so so...brazen? True, she had a warrior spirit in her that showed when Farid was in trouble, a spirit that was skilled in self defense. But the way she'd stepped into the bathroom, intruded on her captor's personal time and then proceeded to hurt him with the razor…

"You are foolish!"

She would have gone deeper too and had every intention to slice the blade across given how he didn't stop her. In fact, he remained perfectly still merely glancing at their reflection. Her captor did wince and Nazanin felt a deep satisfaction that she'd caused him some sort pain.

Until she looked at his eyes.

Really looked.

Nazanin had been avoiding them, seeing but not looking, not this way. Hazy blue irises widened, locking onto hers in a way that she felt to the depths of her soul. She knew this man somehow, from somewhere. She knew him enough that she had drawn his eyes over and over and over.

"No, it mustn't be." She said out loud and wondered if perhaps the drawings were a premonition? A warning from Allah that this man would steal her away from Farid. In the name of Allah she wanted to hate this mystery man so badly, to cut him until he bled out to death. But, something deep inside told her he wasn't a threat.

Nazanin scoffed at that notion and absentmindedly pressed a hand to her heart. Why was it racing so? It wasn't out of fear. It was something altogether different and...and… "No. Stop it."

She heard the shower running and contemplated an escape only to be thwarted when she heard the sheets of rain falling. Nazanin stared out the window, frowning at the heavy weather. She would escape, someday. She would get in her captor's good graces, feign friendship and when he let his guard down, she would slice his throat open and run.