He could not give her a proper funeral, not when the blazing desert heat would make sure that she would decompose into nothing but rotting flesh within a few hours. However, he knew that it mattered little. She was at peace... When he had made it back to his own base in the helicopter that he himself had flown, he quickly instructed his men to retrieve any single trace of formaldehyde that they had, to preserve her for as long as possible.

"Men are sexist bigots... I used a male name to get in so that those who have not seen me would not dismiss me before they know that I am very good in what I do."

Her voice, her soft voice, yet filled with a certain militaristic charm, was flooding in his head. But to tell the truth, there were few words that she had ever spoken to him. She had been a woman of feeling, and of actions, she hardly spoke, particularly to him.

"I must be crazy, you freaking shot me..."

Her obliviousness to the irony that surrounded her was... refreshing. She had known full well that he had been the one that she was supposed to destroy, and yet, she did the exact opposite, just as he had done. He knew that she was not anyone significant at all, despite all her talents and her youth. She had been of relatively low rank, with only her parents to mourn for her if she had died, while skilled enough to even masquerade as one of his agents. The most important thing was that she was able to speak Russian, which he had to admit, was almost flawless for a non-native speaker.

"Stay with me..."

He remembers the first night that she had come to him, it had passed without any event. She was just there, sleeping in his arms, after taking a few pills that she'd told him that the Loyalist doctors had prescribed to her. She had thought that they were painkillers, but he knew better. Some of those pills were powerful medications designed to halt the occurrence of dreaming; she must have had the worst nightmares in those three days when she had been under their protection.

It had only been a theory, before she had gone to Rio de Janeiro to kill Alejandro Rojas for him, but he knew that the hypothesis that he had so absently formed, was solid fact indeed. Even in her waking hours, when she was alone, and her mind had been allowed to wander, she had been haunted by what she had seen, by what he had caused her to see.

Any single person could have broken down at the sheer thought of killing others, but she was a soldier, she was used to death and carnage. But to cause the death of innocent, unarmed men, women and children, he was not able to blame her for not being able to handle that. He was a monster, while she was not even close to being one.

That night, she had stopped taking any form of medication, thinking herself already cured from her injuries and their effects. That was when the nightmares had come to her in full blast... She had practically screamed herself awake, and he was there, watching her as she writhed in bed, tortured by her own memories. He had to admit, even he, had a hard time to try to calm her down.

As his men started to raise a platform as a pyre to lay her on, Anatoly and Viktor went into his tent, where he had still been holding her in his arms, the effect of the formaldehyde still going strong. They had brought with them a package, meant only for his eyes, but had nothing to do with their operations. It was a dress, one that he had bought hurriedly after the three of them had evacuated Zakhaev International Airport. It had not been particularly costly, but he knew that it would fit her nicely.

It was red, red like the color of blood, which contrasted with her own natural coloring. As he removed her battle-worn catsuit, a pioneer form of light armor designed for women in the field, he took it off and set it aside with reverence, and dressed her cold, but still beautiful body in the dress, smiling when his heterochromic eyes chanced upon a particular mark that he had left.

"Make love to me."

He knew that she had spoken those words, not out of passion, but out of desperation. Somehow, he could sense that she felt safe with him. At that time, she did not know that she loved him, nor did he realize at all that he loved her as well. She had clung onto him, with every single trace of her own being, knowing that with him, she did not need to fear anything in the world.

The first night that they had been together, had been heated with passion and a dark hunger. But this time, it was something completely different. She needed him, and he felt every ounce of that truth. Her sapphire eyes, they had been filled with a dark glaze, but it had not been desire, it was pure need. Whatever she had felt with him, she knew that she needed him, because she had felt something... if only if he had known it sooner.

If only he had known that she had felt the safest with him, he would not have sent her back to the Task Force 141. She still would be able to defeat Shepherd... He had sent her to her death... Who knows what she could have seen, without him by her side? He would be able to stop her from...

"You have to get out of here, Shepherd has this place surrounded. You're outnumbered three to one!"

Those words had been spoken moments before the battle in the vehicle disposal area, she was afraid of him. There was only her, Price, and MacTavish, as well as a few other teammates. If anyone was to run, it was them... Even if they had been on opposing sides, she was still so concerned of him.

It had only been half a day ago. Her hair, it was tied into a neat, but elegant bun, with a few strands of gold blowing in the winds that beckoned a coming sandstorm. He knew it then, that he loved her...that he had made all the wrong decisions... He should never have let her walk down that path at all.

"Without you, I wouldn't have gotten back to the 141, I wouldn't have known all of them... Makarov, you gave me everything that I have gained... Even if you would kill me all over again, I would do it again."

She was such a fool... She could have chosen to live, not only that, she could have chosen power, power beside him, but of all the things that she could be, she had chosen death. She loved him, but she would rather choose death. He could not see why, but she had been adamant, that she had died again, after she had accomplished the mission that she had set for herself. She loved him, but she was willing even to leave him...

"Look, you can see the moon when it's still daylight..."

He knew that she had calculated that particular sentence. She had never said anything like it before, and he had been tricked into looking at the full moon, a silver disc in the otherwise clear, evening sky. She knew that he would not bear to see her die, and moved his attention away from her, so that he would be spared from that one moment when she had taken her last breath...

That was how much she had loved him...

"Sir, the pyre is ready," one of his men reported. He could not remember that man's face, but it was a voice that he would forget. That voice had heralded that it was time to send her on her way. He nodded at the young soldier, and carried her onto the pyre, laying her there, in that red dress, with the M4A1 that she had always favored.

They were men of the military. Funerals like these were commonplace, and they even had an urn ready for her. It was nothing like what he had ever wanted to place her ashes in, but he had no time to get another one... When he returned to Moscow, he would utilize his own methods to ensure that her memory would remain... At least, until he was able to carry out her dying wish to scatter her ashes throughout Russia.

He took the torch in his hand, and caressed her forehead. "Goodbye, my love," he murmured into her ear. "Perhaps, I would see you again, in heaven, or in hell." With one final kiss to her cold, dead lips that had once been so warm, he heaved a deep sigh, and lowered the torch onto where fuel had been poured.

And there he stood, watching as the flames engulfed her body, that peaceful smile on her face, which he had never seen before until the time of her death, remaining even if she was about to become nothing but ash. Who would remember her, when she was gone?

Only him...

Yes, it would be only him.

She knew that there was nothing that could have stopped her from walking the path that she wanted. Not even him... She loved him, but a promise had been a promise... Even if she loved him, even if she knew that she could have a life of luxury, of love and passion beside him, a life able to fight because she wanted to, because she could, she knew that she had to let him go.

She remembered hearing a voice in the time between when she had been shot, and when the FSB had surrounded her. You would be given a second chance, child, to redeem yourself, and to destroy the man that threatens to destroy his own nation... She had told that voice that she would give any single price that she could pay, even if it was her own life...

As her physical body was burning, she walked towards the man that she loved, and held him in her now-transparent arms, knowing full-well that she would not be able to touch him physically. "I love you..." she whispered onto his neck, and walked towards the setting sun.

You have fulfilled your promise, child, the voice told her. When the time is right, you would see him again...

She smiled, and nodded. She would be right there, waiting for him, and until then, she wished him well, that he would be able to achieve all that he had wanted to, just as she had done. ..

Ironically, he was looking towards her, just as she was about to leave. His gaze, it was not hard and cold, as she had always known before she had seen, and loved him, but not as gentle and passionate as she had known. At that moment, he was no longer a cold-blooded murderer, nor was he the lover of a tortured soul, he was only he, himself...

And thus, without a heavy heart, she walked towards the field of flowers that only she could see, waiting, waiting for the day that she would see him again.