Fair warning...this is long and rough and Harm does something crazy to keep Mac safe. It's a bit wild and an idea I got from watching the original La Femme Nikita. Here goes. As usual thank you for the reviews!! Its been a wild ride!

Chapter 32 - Tehran

Sweat dripped from her brow down to her face, the saltiness burned the cuts on her cheek. Her face hurt, her head pounded and she all but forgot how to feel comfortable wearing the niqab.

How had she worn the garb for three years without wanting to rip it off the very second she slipped it on? How the hell did she stand the oppressive heat? Now, she felt like she couldn't breath and the rustling of the headscarf over her face forced a sharp intake of breath.

Fuck. This was wrong, she knew it because like Paraguay this was another step into an unknown mindfield. She had Gunny as backup but it wasn't Harm - the one constant in her life that would move Heaven and Earth to keep her safe. The Marine Credo was a strong bond and she knew that Gunny would have her back but it wasn't the same. Fuck.

Once the plane touched down in Iran there was no turning back. A sleek black vehicle was waiting at the tarmac along with a slew of armed guards sent to protect her and The Assassin. Gunny scowled at the men, his face becoming that mask of impassiveness that he'd worked so hard to perfect. The guards knew of his legendary status and they all stepped aside while he walked her to the back of the large SUV, swiftly moving out of his way when one meant to stop him from touching Mac's arm and helping her sit down. He made sure the niqab wouldn't catch on the door and then walked around to hop into the other side.

"I suggest you move or I end your life and hers right here." He spoke in Farsi, his voice low and menacing when the driver meant to stop him. He opened his coat revealing something that looked like an explosive device. "I am to bring her to Farid and my work is not done until I do so. Give me the keys and step aside."

The man was big, bigger than The Assassin and a wall of muscle beneath a badly fitted suit. He stared Gunny down, meant to reach for a pistol under his jacket only pausing when he saw the switch in the other man's hand. "Farid will kill me for this."

"That is not my problem...step aside." Keys in hand, The Assassin hopped into the driver's seat and sped off before the other guards had much of a chance to play catch-up. "Ma'am, are you alright?" He glanced at Mac through the rear-view mirror finding her eyes wide and unseeing. He wouldn't know that she was close to hyperventilating, that the breaths were rough and ragged or that the garbs actually hurt her face each time it touched her delicate skin.

"Put the air up...All the way, on MAX." She commanded, meanwhile adjusting all of the vents so that they forced cool air in her direction. It helped, somewhat but what she needed was to take that stupid outfit off once she was allowed back into her apartments.

"Breathe, Colonel."

Mac's eyes locked on his as she shook her head and replied in Farsi, "Not Colonel… Nazanin Ahmadi. Now drive."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Assassin sped through the streets and the rest of the guards followed, flanking the vehicle as they traversed the city. He was let into the mansion with little fan fair and escorted to a large office on the second level where he'd originally met with Farid.

Guards were never far behind although they'd given them a wide berth and remained just outside of the door which the Assassin closed behind him and stood against while Nazanin walked to the center of the room and stopped unsure of what she should do.

She stood with her head cast down, her eyes shutting tightly as the familiar scents of the office wafted into her nose. His cologne, the unmistakable smell of incense and fruits - he always had a bowl of fresh fruits nearby, today was no different. The chair Farid sat on groaned as he stood moving slowly as he walked to the center of the room and stopped in front of Nazanin. "Look at me."

As Nazanin raised her head she noticed the distinct differences in him. The man who prided himself in always looking his best was unkempt. His hair stuck up in odd angles as if he'd just risen from bed. HIs normally trimmed facial hair had grown into a full beard. His brown eyes were bloodshot and even Farid's skin was ashened, like a sick man stood before her. He swallowed hard and blinked away the tears which formed in the corners of his eyes. "Leave us."

"I want my payment now." The Assassin spoke in a rough voice as he stepped away from the door and neared the couple.

Farid's eyes grew darker as he regarded the other man with a steely gaze. "I know what you can do and am not afraid of death. Allah will care for us." He stepped around Nazanin and produced a small envelope which he handed to The Assassin. "It's not all, not until I know she's really alright...I'll have my staff set you up in a room on the opposite wing...Now, leave us. That is not a request."

The Assassin turned towards the woman, unsure of what he should do. His conscience was having a hard time leaving her alone because he knew of what would happen to women in this place and couldn't leave - not when he promised to watch after her. She made a gesture with her hand, one that signaled she would be okay, he prayed she was right. "Fine. But soon."

Farid gave the guards several orders and he waited for them to be alone again before he came to his wife. He saw she was shaking, saw the sad expression in her eyes, the fear and something that had no words. His fingers grabbed the edge of the headscarf and slowly he took it off without asking. "No."

What he discovered left him at a loss for words. Her face - her beautiful face was battered and bruised - her lip split and still a little bloodied. His eyes filled with tears that fell as his fingers reached out to trace an eyebrow, the only spot he could think to touch that wouldn't cause her pain. "He did this to you?"

"Yes."

He swallowed hard once more and his hands moved over the garbs touching her arms, her abdomen, cringing as Nazanin winced when he touched near her ribs. She let out a pained cry and his jaw tightened. "Did he...did he defile you?"

As an answer, her head was downcast again, her eyes looking a spot on the ground as if she were shamed. Defile? Harm would never but, she wasn't Mac at the moment and the fact was that Nazanin had been with another. Still, she didn't answer and so Farid raised her head with the tip of his finger. "Speak to me."

"I am afraid to speak. Afraid of what you may do to me if...if you knew everything."

"Did he defile you?" Farid punctuated the question and he kept her head raised until she answered.

"Yes."

His teeth clenched and grinded audibly, his breath came in a fast pace that he could not control. Farid wasn't the type of man who cried and yet the tears fell unchecked. He wrapped his arms around his wife, pulled her to him despite the rigidity of her body. "Allah will make sure he pays for that… all of that, my love."

Nazanin could not stop shaking, the feel of being in another man's arms was far more than she was ready to bear. Not less than forty-eight hours earlier she was loved by another, cherished and made to feel whole. Now she was back in Tehran, living another woman's life with emotions and feelings that still confused the hell out of her. She actually felt safe with him and hated herself for that or the gentle way he was treating her.

Farid kissed her hair, rocked them side to side and then moved back to frame her face. "You are still beautiful, my love… this will heal."

"Tell me you still want me...after what he did...do you still want me?"

"Yes my Sweet Nazanin...forever yes." His lips pressed gently against hers, just a peck but it filled her with more odd feelings she didn't want to entertain. "I'm so glad you are home."

Nazanin willingly stepped back into his arms, her head falling to his shoulder. She cried and he only held on tighter. "I am too."

Farid sat on her bed, Nazanin's body cradled against his, in his arms. They lay this way for several hours of an uncomfortable silence after he'd supervised when the maids had stripped the niqab off and washed her body, careful of the injuries. "I missed you so much, my sweet Nazanin...each day without you was more painful than the first."

She might have snorted or at least made a sound of disdain. "You had two others to warm your bed." Why did that even bother her, Nazanin wondered. The thoughts of Farid spending time with another still pained her in ways that were indescribable. She felt hurt, like something was ripped from the inside although it shouldn't matter who he was with.

Nazanin shifted to look at him, the motion causing pain on her bruised ribs. She pressed a palm against them and closed her eyes only to see Harm's blue eyes turned a stormy grey when his fist slammed into her. The vision took her breath away and Farid caught the change in her, the new found rigidity when she finally had managed to make her body relax against his.

"You can not understand me, Nazanin. I have a truth that I bury deep inside myself, one that is much too ugly for you to bear." One hand wrapped around her arm, his grip tight and painful until she winced from the act and Farid finally let her go. "I have… urges. Strong urges that make me enjoy inflicting pain. Mostly on women."

That made her breathing stop and her pulse began to beat hard enough Nazanin heard the thumping in her ears. God, what was he saying? That he would hurt her more than he had in the past? True, she hadn't been exempt from a hit here or there but it was unlike the other wives who he'd practically abused on a nightly basis. "Urges?"

"Yes. It's like a fire in my veins that can not be extinguished. I enjoy hurting others but never you." Farid opened his arms when she shifted again to move away from him. He didn't pressure her to stay in his embrace and did not reach for her when Naznin carefully scrambled to the opposite end of the bed staring at him with fearful eyes. Her expression was heartbreaking and so he folded his arms across his chest and looked away, ashamed at his admission. "I would have hurt you too but there was something in your eyes that made me stop. Those chocolate caramel eyes that I lost my soul to. Allah put you in my path, Sweet Nazanin and I had to make you mine."

"And yet you have hurt me."

Farid snorted and then gestured with his hands making light of the times he had struck. "With reason. You are too willful my love, too stubborn and what you did with our child was unforgivable."

Nazanin sighed, the heavy burden of what she had done would never ease, it was a stain on her soul. "I will never forgive myself for that but, I had to be done. I will not apologize for that, I can not."

"Father wanted me to punish you for that until death. I could not. I will not." He came to his knees, shifting on the bed until he stopped just before her. His hands frame her face, thumbs gently caressing the marred skin that was once flawless. "You bewitched me, Sweet Nazanin. I am yours forever, my love. I can not live without you and will never, ever let you go again."

"And the others? What of them?"

Farid sighed. "They mean nothing. I have told you time and time again, it is you that I love. You are my only love. I will show this to you. I will care for you always. No more pain, I swear it." His lips brushed hers gently and then moved to kiss above one brow and the other. He pulled her down to the mattress, his body balancing over hers but slightly so as not to put pressure on her injuries. "Rest my love. Rest and I will make sure he will pay for all that he has done to you."

Nazanin was prepared to throw him off despite her traitorous body wanting his comfort. Inside a war was brewing within because she both feared and cared for Farid - wanted him dead and alive all at once. He kissed her again and she kissed him back, instantly missing the feel of his body near hers when he slipped away from her rooms and out to the mansion. She curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed. Harm...I'm sorry.

What had she done?

Harm stood in the center of their apartment looking around as if he'd never seen it before.

The terrible weather made it darker than it should be, through the French doors he could see the rain pounding on the small balcony. It was dreary and gloomy and matched his foul mood. This reminded him of the same sinking feeling when he'd finally been released from Bethesda years ago to step into an empty apartment. She was everywhere: her tools, her books, her scent and it only served to drop him into a deep depression because, physically, Mac wasn't there.

Worst of all she was back in Tehran. Communique from in country confirmed that she was seen entering the Ahmadi compound with The Assassin and had arrived just a few hours ago. He had watched her plane take off, his eyes keeping guard as it sliced through the clouds and disappeared into the skies. He wouldn't hear from her again, not until the dust had completely settled and that was killing him.

From his pocket he produced two items - her wedding band, a folded piece of paper that she had asked him not to open until she arrived in Tehran and forty eight hours had passed. The request seemed odd, the paper felt like it was burning his skin through the running pants he wore. Each minute that trickled by felt like an eternity and as he slumped into the armchair near the fireplace Harm could only stare at the paper in his hand.

He settled it on the coffee table, next to the Scrabble board with the words 'Take Me Flying' written across in tiny tiles - her last message that she'd put together the morning they went running. It was a request which shocked him seeing as Mac had sworn off ever stepping inside 'Sarah' again.

Harm glanced between the paper and her message, his patience hanging on by merely a thread. He'd wanted to tear the note open the very second she pressed it into his palm but the look in Mac's eyes told him not to.

"Damnit." The last memories of her weren't pleasant ones. She was in pain and hiding it. Harm could see in her eyes that he'd hurt her

despite using utmost restraint. He brought up his hand and stared at his knuckles which were not bruised but ached just the same.

He'd never hit a woman.

It was unfathomable that his fist could cause a woman any kind of pain. Which was why with every strike into Mac's flesh, he lost a bit more of himself.

Mac wasn't going to Tehran. She held firm on that position until Clay hit her weak spot, the acts of terror that Sadik had planned, the photos of scared women shoved into a moving truck packed so tightly some never survived the trip.

It tugged at her heart strings and that sense of duty the Corps engrained in her wouldn't let Mac back down. What started four years ago in the Chaco could end now. It would be much deserved revenge for her life being destroyed, for Clay being tortured, for Harm's near-fatal injuries.The more he sold the concept, the more it seemed to make sense that she needed to be the one to end Sadik's reign of terror and the Ahmadi affiliations. It would finally bring her closure as well without feeling that at any moment the terrorist could stalk her and Harm.

He should have argued against it but Mac's mind was set and if he knew his wife - much like himself - this was something that needed to be done. Infuriating as it was, It made sense that Mac should go back to the place she once belonged. He hated it. He hated the very thought of Nazanin's return and the man that she claimed to be married to. He didn't want to think of Farid Ahmadi's hands on her or how far things could go.

There was little time for planning, she and Gunny would head back to Tehran in less than two hours once the jet was fully fueled. The Assassin was being followed, evident when one of Webb's team found a sniper on the rooftop of a hangar across the tarmac with crosshairs trained their way. They couldn't argue anymore especially when Mac was handed a turquoise niqab much like the one she wore when Harm kidnapped Nazanin.

She stared at the garbs and frowned, the material was dirty, ripped and it was clear that great effort was made to help her fill in the details as if Harm had taken and mistreated her. Taken, mistreated her and been killed by The Assassin as punishment for what he had done. Nazanin was safe although a little worse for wear.

It was Mac that found one flaw. "Sadik once told Farid who I really was. I'm not sure what other details he imparted but, if I come back in one piece, he won't believe I was captured and found so easily."

Webb agreed. She'd been with Harm for nearly two months without means of escape. There should have been some injuries. "What do you propose? I can try to get a makeup artist out here but that's time we don't have."

"No makeup. It has to be real."

Her words hit Harm like a jet roaring off a catapult. It was like he knew what she was asking and who she was asking it from without her saying the words. He stared at her wide eyed with his hands on his hips bracing for the new blow they had to endure.

Hadn't the last four years been enough penance for his stupidity? Why did he need to take more of this anguish? How could he lose her again?

Mac was speaking but he only caught the tail end this time along with the determined, if not sad eyes that pleaded with him. "I need to be broken. It has to be real."

"I won't do this."

They'd been given privacy at her request. Webb and Gunny slipped out of the office and were somewhere in the hangar. Could they hear what she was asking him to do? Would they come to save her if it happened? It shamed him so much that Harm shoved his hands into the pockets of his running pants and slumped his shoulders. "No, Mac. No."

"You have to." She demanded, standing in front of him with arms akimbo as if daring him to strike.

Harm turned away from her. "Not gonna happen. Fuck Sadik, Mac. Let it be the CIA's problem not yours. They know where he is and can drop a bomb on that damned mansion for all I care. Blow it to smithereens!"

"With innocent people inside?"

"Farid isn't innocent."

"No but the girls are. The staff, even the young guard that watched over me. They aren't bad people, this isn't their fight."

He deflated. "You're right."

"You've been upset with me before. Haven't you ever wanted to hit me?"

"No."

"Harm." Mac reached out and took his hand raising it up so that his palm could cup her cheek. "I'm not fragile, I won't break easily."

No but he would. Emotionally he'd be a wreck for the rest of his life, the guilt would fester, he knew. "I don't think I can." He let his hand drop from her face and took a step back, his breath ragged as if he'd been running.

There was no time to think or hit pause, if she was leaving for Tehran it had to happen now before The Assassin was discovered to be an American spy. The quicker she left, the sooner she'd come back to him.

Mac was shocked Harm didn't immediately protest. In fact, he stood back and quietly watched as Webb and Gunny went over a plan that had been clearly put together prior to this meeting. He just didn't think it could come to this.

Deep inside his heart Harm knew he'd lose her again. It was inevitable and they'd merely been living on borrowed time. Maybe he should have kept her back at the cabin, chained her to the sofa and never, ever let her leave until she conceded.

"Harm. Do it." She said in a hard tone, one that sounded much more like a Marine drill instructor than the concerned woman who had told Webb she wouldn't go back. Mac brought her hands back to her hips, widened her stance as she took a breath. "Harm…"

"Sarah…" A tear slipped from his eye, his heart hammered. The edges of his temples felt like they were being squeezed relentlessly. His head hurt and he was fighting off a debilitating migraine that began the second she agreed to return.

"Goddamnit, Navy...Do. It!"

Wordlessly he struck once - his fist connecting against her right side - the force hard enough to suck the air out of her lungs and force Mac to double over. She didn't see it coming and was unable to defend herself even if she tried.

She coughed, wheezed through a few painful breaths and then straightened. It hurt, it hurt quite a bit but she'd suffered worse. "That wasn't good enough."

"Fine." And so he struck again with a little more force. A blow that brought Mac to her knees crumbled before him. The coughing fit was far worse, he'd hit her at a spot just below the rib, a strike that would certainly cause a nasty bruise.

It took a moment or two to compose herself, for that warrior spirit not to strike back when the Marine in hwe wanted to fight. She stood and took his hand, balling it into a fist and holding it up to her face. Her eyes dared him. Her chin went up in offering.

"No." Harm ground out. She was too beautiful to hurt in such a way. He couldn't mark that beautiful face no matter how just. "Sarah...I can't."

Another tear spilled free and his vision began to blur, she was still holding his hand still looking at him with pleading eyes. She didn't have to tell him again or even threaten to use Clay or Victor because he wound up and hit her cheek as gently as possible.

The smack rattled her head, aching more than it actually hurt. He was being too soft on her and she was resilent, a fighter groomed from the malicous nature of her past. "Harder."

Harm's teeth ground audibly, his breath heaved and when he struck again he felt that blunt sensation of bone hitting bone - her cheek to he exact. He was sure he'd knocked her out but Mac only careened against the shelves. "One more."

The last hit did send her into a dreamless oblivion. It landed on her jaw, split her lip and felt like she'd plowed, head first into a concrete wall. Mac was conscious but for a moment and then she fell, her body being caught in Harm's waiting arms.

Their goodbye had been hasty. She placed her wedding band in his hand along with a thick, folded up note that now lay on their coffee table. "Wait forty eight hours and then open it." Mac whispered to him out of earshot of Gunny and Webb. "Promise me you'll wait."

"Is it too late to stop you?"

She had cupped his face in her hand and offered a watery smile. "We are too good at saying goodbye. When I get back, let's fix that."

Harm didn't kiss her though he wanted to. Her face was swelling and though he helped clean the blood Harm knew it would hurt her. Instead he took her hand, kissing the palm until she slipped it out of his grasp and disappeared into the plane.

Now he sat on the armchair staring at the folded paper as if it held the key to everything. He had played with the edges as he was driven home and swore it was burning a hole in his pocket.

"Why forty eight hours, Mac?" He wondered as his curiosity over the paper nearly had him tear it open. Harm stood and paced, then stopped and paced some more only stopping to find blood splatters on his running jacket. Hers.

Her blood. Mac's blood.

He glanced down at his fist and felt his mouth water, his stomach heave and he barely made to the bathroom where he retched. Christ, what had he done? How could he? Why didn't he walk away?

As he sat back on his haunches, Harm prayed it was all a dream.