Okay guys, this is a quick One-Shot. And when I say quick I mean quick, it'll probably be only about 2,500 words. I know this means I'm deviating from my quest to do nothing but my Mass Effect story but I played the Modern Warfare 2 campaign again the other day - I'm going back through 3 to Black Ops on Veteran getting ready for Modern Warfare 3 - and I had this idea while I was doing "No Russian" so I had to act on it before I forgot the idea. :) sorry. Enjoi.

Saviour.

The metal detector beeped and another person was pulled to the side of the traffic and scanned. Finding nothing but the ring in her lip, they let the girl pass and collect her bag and shoes.

She turned back to the group of people waiting to pass through the metal detector, intending to wait for the English guy she had met earlier - it turned out they were sitting next to eachother on the plane - but froze as she heard a distinctive Russian voice over the din.

"Remember, no Russian."

She paused and looked back over to the service elevator behind the people lining up to be scanned. The doors were wide open and five men dressed in suits and bulletproof vests stood with guns slung across their arms. In a moment of panic, the girl pushed through the crowd and further into the airport. It wasn't a moment too soon, as behind her the group of people opened up on the crowd.

"Fuck..." she hissed, her eyes wide.

People around her were running and screaming. She spotted an empty Burger Town kiosk and ran over to it, vaulting the counter and crouching behind the fibreglass and expanding foam. She huddled into the corner, hearing the gunfire come closer and closer. Her mind was whirling with thoughts; what's going on, why here, why now, why were they being so indiscriminate.

Then the gunfire stopped... Right next to her. She held her breath as footsteps echoed outside of Burger Town. That voice spoke again, in it's lilting Russian accent.

"Go on ahead, I'm going to clear out this place."

A set of footsteps began to walk away from her, almost making her sigh. Thank god she didn't as, seconds later, another set of steps sounded... and they were moving towards her.

'Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me, please don't-' a pair of legs appeared before her, clad in black suit trousers. She spotted a rifle muzzle peeking below the lip of the counter, but it was aimed at the ground - which was a small comfort.

The man crouched before her. His face was sharp, his hard eyes a mismatched green and blue. When he saw her, his expression softened and his pale lips stretched into a gentle smile.

"Hello."

The girl froze again, her heart hammering against her ribcage. When he wasn't barking orders his voice was kind, with a musical accent that made her mind swim. Never had she been so attracted to someone, especially not just for aesthetic value... But this man was stunning.

Unfortunately, he was also a murderer.

The man reached forward and placed a careful hand on her cheek, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I find that hard to believe, look at all of those people you just killed..." her voice was quiet, her accent similar to his but a little thicker due to her being unaccustomed to speaking English - she had been in Petrograd for the past two years speaking her mother tongue.

"I'm a terrorist, it is what I do." he sat before her, crossing his legs beneath him, "What is your name?"

"N-Nathalia Seminov. Who are you?" the girl watched as he discarded his bulletproof vest and straightened his suit, resting his assault rifle across his knees and placing some kind of grenade launcher that had previously been slung across his back on the floor beside him. His curiously mismatched eyes scanned over the girl's black cargo trousers and black tee-shirt. She had three rings in the top of her left ear and a large hole through her right lobe. A small ring pierced the centre of her lip. She glared as his eyes met her own dark grey ones.

Nathalia watched as he ran a hand through his dark hair, only serving to tousle it more. "My name is Vladimir Makarov..."

She knew that name.

Nathalia jumped to her feet and walked further into Burger Town, backing away from the man who had reportedly killed more that 1500 people. She had been talking to him like a civil human being! Even after he massacred all of those innocent people, and his men proceeded to massacre the rest, no doubt.

"You? You've killed so many people... how are you so normal? So calm? How do you sleep at night?"

Makarov stood but remained where he was, his eyes following the teenager, "Mostly, I don't. When I have to... sleepers help."

Nathalia bit her lip, thinking about how they had been talking. She thought about how she first saw Makarov, how she felt when he spoke to her, reassured her. She felt safe, sat under that counter with him. She felt like nothing would hurt her, not even the self-proclaimed terrorist before her. All of that had been shattered as soon as his name passed his lips.

"Nathalia, you should probably hide." he took a step towards her but she took two back.

"Get away from me, I need time to think."

"Hide... you'll probably never see me again. I'll make sure my men don't come back here, you'll be safe." with that, the suited man turned on his heel, picked up his weapons and walked away... leaving her unharmed. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but she hid anyway, claiming it was her own common sense rather than Makarov's instruction. The entire time gunfire ripped through the Zakhaev International Airport, all she could think about were those mismatched eyes.

"Nathalia, your father said no." a kind woman stood in the doorway of a small house, calling out to her daughter, who walked away down the simple garden path.

"I don't care, Mama. Tell him I've gone to stay with Nita, by the time he gets back I'll be long gone."

Nathalia looked back and gave a small wave, whichc her mother returned, before walking away down the gravel path. She was breaking the rules her father had implimented, but she didn't care. She was going to join the Russian Special Forces. To be one of the only women in the entire Russian military capable was a huge honour, she couldn't believe they had chosen her. Maybe it was because her father was a General, maybe it was because she was the only survivor of the massacre at Zakhaev International... Over the past three years, that had been wighing on her mind. To be more precise, Makarov had been weighing on her mind. She couldn't forget his eyes, the way he tousled his hair, how tired he looked. The fact that he had spared her.

She wad struggling to explain it, struggling to figure out how she was any different to all of those people he killed. She couldn't see it.

The military shuttle bus left just after she boarded. On the short journey all she could think about was the stories she'd heard about the Specials. The violent training, the skill, the fact that she may not be able to match up to the men there. Her musings were cut short as the bus stopped and she climbed down the steps, followed by the remainder of the passengers. When her feet touched concrete she wished she'd stayed on the bus.

Vladimir Makarov stood before her, his expression stern. He saw her and smiled, walking over.

"Hello Nathalia. How are you?"

She froze, surprised by the fact that he looked no different than when he crouched before her, telling her to hide. Surprised that he remembered her name.

"Vladimir Makarov. Do you not have civilians to be shooting?"

Makarov grinned, gesturing to her shaved head, "what happened to those curls, Nathalia?

It was true, the last time they met she had loose black curls that hung to her shoulder. Shaving your head wasn't compulsory if you were female in the military, but she did it anyway. It was a dare from one of the boys in her unit, she never refused a dare.

She ran a hand over her scalp self consciously, muttering, "why do you care?"

She found herself drawn to look at his eyes, partly to firm up her memory and partly to make sure it was him. They were the same, a mismatched pale blue and vivid green. He was identical, it was only her that changed. She didn't like to say Makarov changed her, but her experience with him at Zakhaev International certainly had a profound effect on how she spent the last three years.

The first six months were spent in basic, the second I advanced. The second and third years were spent in several different countries doing three six month tours in active service, interspersed with various training exercises. She'd spent the majority of the time on base, not bothering to return home to her family. There was nothing there for her, nothing to keep her safe. When she was on barracks she had friends, friends who could use guns.

Right now, facing Makarov, she didn't feel safe. She want scared, just apprehensive. Her military training had changed her, active service made her realise who she really was. The best time of her life was spent in a foxhole in Poland, she felt her safest back then.

"I care because you're the only one I ever saved." Makarov said simply, not really answering her question but giving her many more to ask.

"what are you doing HERE?"

He smirked, "Courtesy of Imran Zakhaev. The best thing he ever did was get me back into the Spetznaz."

Nathalia rolled her eyes at the mention of Zakhaev. Her father had once said that He was like a disease with a purpose, infecting everyone he touched with his extremist ideals. Modern Communism wasn't enough for Zakhaev, he wanted a dictatorship, much like the rule of Stalin. Zakhaev had a lot in common with Stalin; they were both fascists disguised as communists, they had both killed many of their own people - indirectly or otherwise - and they were both dead. The news, under it's usual censorship, had cited his death as an attack gone wrong but Nathalia knew different. Her father had seen the body; Zakhaev had been executed, one clean shot to the head.

"Yeah, you wouldn't happen to know how he died would you?" her tone was sarcastic, it was clear she suspected Makarov - even he could see it.

"I didn't kill him. I saw him for what he was but I didn't kill him. It was a British man by the name of Captain Price. He finished the job, even if it took him twenty years to do it." Makarov sounded bitter, his tone as hard as it had been three years ago. Despite his physical appearence, he had changed. He seemed more bitter, even if he was being kind to her.

"What happened to you?" she didn't know why she had bothered to ask, she didn't know why she even cared... after all, this man had killed thousands of people. But she did; she cared that he had changed, she cared that he had been through tough times, she cared about him and what he thought and felt. Over the three years she had spent thinking about him, it had taken him appearing out of nowhere before her to realise it. She didn't believe in love at first sight, it was a western myth, but seeing Makarov... she had fallen in love with a terrorist.

His eyes softened as he watched the cogs tick in her head, he knew she wan't listening to him. She didn't really care, she was just the one that got away. Maybe it was time to correct that- NO! He stopped his hand reaching for his pistol, instead bringing it up to nurse the three circular scars on his left bicep. Spetznaz training was hard, the three bullet wounds were the final test. No wincing, no whining... just pain and tolerance.

"I was betrayed..." Makarov breathed, "and I refuse to ever feel that again."

Walking away was the hardest thing he had ever done; harder than killing innocent civillians, harder than taking three bullets in his arm just to get into the killer elite for Zakhaev, harder than his initial betrayal. Leaving Nathalia behind, stood next to that bus, tore out what heart he had left. Funny, he fell in love with the only one that got away. The only one he ever saved.

A smile graced his lips as he thought this. He had saved her, everything would be okay.