Lizzy woke up in hospital three days later. The first thing she became aware of was the large ventilator pipe in her throat and mouth the second, as she blinked her eyes to the left was Vladimir Makarov, looking unkempt, pale and worried, a stark contrast to the smart business man who had left her in bed two months before. As she tried to take a breath, the ventilator prevented her and she started to choke, an unwelcome reminder of why she was laying in this uncomfortable bed in the first place.

Makarov jumped up but the nurses were already rushing in, quickly removing the pipe from down her throat and replacing it with a somewhat more comfortable oxygen mask. It felt like she'd been swallowing razors. As soon as the nurses were gone, she raised her hand to remove the mask but he pulled it away.

"Do not try to talk. Sleep. I will be here when you wake up" he said, gently caressing her forehead.

She wanted to tell him how good it was to see him. That she was sorry about his house. Ask him about his trip. But the intravenous painkillers were strong and made her eyelids heavy, coupled with his soothing touch, she was asleep in no time.

When she woke a couple of hours later, she felt no more human. Makarov was still there, worry etched in the lines around his blue-green eyes. He looked older than he had before he went away and weary.

Lizzy pulled herself upright against the pillows before Makarov had chance to help her and took stock. Two arms, two legs, her head was obviously where it should be, so despite feeling like shit, she was all in one piece. She pulled the oxygen mask off which had made her face hot and sticky and tried to ask him for a drink. Her voice was little more than a croak and resorted to sign language, miming holding a cup and bringing it up to her mouth. Her throat felt no better when she finished but she tried her voice again.

"Urrrgh" she managed. Her voice had dropped an octave or two, making her sound like a hardened smoker.

Makarov smiled.

"You are a difficult one to get rid of" he said, knowing that his words had a double-meaning. He was relieved though. The doctors had said she would be ok, but Makarov suspected that they had been telling him whatever he wanted to hear. He knew he intimidated them; he had barely moved from her side and prowled the room like a protective lion while they saw to her.

"What... happened?" she asked.

"There was a gas leak" he lied.

She knew he wasn't telling the truth. "But on the phone…? You said Petrov…?"

"I know. I was wrong. It does happen sometimes." He hoped his self-deprecation would distract her.

Please stop making me lie to you... he begged silently I'm trying to protect you.

Lizzy remained unconvinced but gave him the benefit of the doubt. She was still alive and the fact that he was here beside her suggested that the trip hadn't changed his feelings towards her, whatever they were.

They spent the day talking punctuated by Lizzy's fits of coughing. Makarov found himself wincing whenever she started. He was no stranger to physical pain; he was certainly used to inflicting it on others, but couldn't stand her suffering.

As the sun went down, she visibly tired and he excused himself from her side. He promised her that he would be back in the morning, but that he couldn't face another night of sleep in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. She teased him for his age before he left her to sleep.

Sleep however, was the last thing on Makarov's mind. He drove his BMW back to the bar and waited in the gloom of the alley for Viktor to collect him in a different car, bought for cash with the number plates changed. He wasn't taking any chances of being followed.

The car took a looping journey around the city before finally heading into the industrial quarter. Poland's manufacturing sector had suffered the same fate as many in Europe with cheap imports coming in from China, meaning many of the warehouses and factories stood empty, long stripped of machinery. For those that were still open, twenty-four hour production and night shifts were a thing of the past. Makarov had found that the security guards were only too happy to turn a blind eye to him utilising one of the vacant buildings, they were depressingly cheap to pay-off.

Viktor turned off his headlights and quietly parked the car out of sight of the main driveway. The industrial park should be deserted at this time of night, but it paid to be cautious. Makarov unlocked the warehouse door's rusting padlock while Viktor fetched his bag from the boot. The massive building was empty, save for a solitary occupied chair in the very centre of the floor. Makarov could be frighteningly precise when he set his mind to it.

Moonlight streamed in through the high, murky windows and the only sound was of two pairs of feet striding out confidently on the dusty floor towards the seated figure, who started to fidget when it heard them approaching. The hostage was bound tightly to the chair with tape round its chest and legs, arms secured behind its back. Makarov whispered orders to Viktor, who headed back to guard the door after dropping the holdall next to Makarov. It landed with a metallic clank.

Makarov grabbed the hood which hid the figure's face, with a good handful of hair besides, and yanked it off. The figure struggled against its bonds.

"Roman Petrov. So very nice of you to join us."

Viktor and some of his other men had only picked Petrov up a few hours before, but he looked a mess already, fresh marks on his face adding to the ones which had just about healed from his encounter with Lizzy. Makarov had told his men that he wanted the man conscious and in one piece, he wanted Petrov to know why he was here. Tape was wound securely round the man's mouth and Makarov's gloved hand was unflinching in ripping it off.

"You're fucking crazy Vladimir... loco." Petrov spat.

Makarov could almost smell the fear coming off him; he could certainly smell that the man had pissed himself.

"I may be crazy Roman, but you are sat in that chair and I am not" he said lightly before his demeanour changed. "Did you know she was there?" He growled his question without raising his voice.

"What?" Petrov asked, confusion overtaking his anger.

Makarov slapped him round the head, almost toppling the chair with the force of it.

"Listen to me carefully Petrov. Did you know she was there?" Makarov spoke slowly. Despite his lashing out, it was important to be in control.

"Who?" The look on Petrov's face was one of bewilderment, but Makarov had to check he wasn't lying. He smacked him again, harder this time. Again the chair threatened to tip.

"Look... look" Petrov stuttered, before explaining quickly "I don't know who this "she" is you're talking about."

Makarov was satisfied he was telling the truth. Petrov had intended the slight solely against him. He hadn't had the house watched too closely before the attack, just closely enough to know that Makarov himself wasn't there. Whether through malice or stupidity though, Petrov had almost robbed him of the one person Makarov had allowed himself to feel anything for.

"Look... Makarov. I'm sorry. That's what you want to hear isn't it? I'm sorry. We're even now. I will buy you a new house. We can go our separate ways and-..." Petrov was not one of nature's diplomats and faced with Makarov, he certainly wasn't going to talk his way out of this situation. Petrov however, was also not a quick thinker, and failed to realise that fact.

Makarov silenced him with a glare.

"You misjudge me, Roman. I do not care about the house."

Petrov breathed a sigh of relief, taking Makarov's words on face value. If Makarov wasn't bothered about this house, he wasn't bothered about what he'd done to it. For some reason, Petrov's brain ignored the fact that he was tied up in a dark and isolated factory with an obviously displeased Makarov and decided to go for humour

"I should have hit the club then eh?" he joked.

In the face of Makarov's stony silence, his brain had second-thoughts about this tactic when it was already too late.

Makarov shook his head, slowly.

"No, you should have been brave enough to hit me. Somebody almost died because of your cowardice." Makarov was still quiet, his temper in check, while he stalked the floor in front of his hostage.

Confusion spread across Petrov's face again "But the fire report said..."

"Reports can lie."

Makarov bent down and unzipped the bag. He'd had a great deal of experience in torturing people while serving in the army but he'd always had a different motivation than just pure revenge. He had never taken pleasure from it, just satisfaction from a completed job when he had achieved his objective. He had always had to keep people alive long enough for them to tell him the information his superiors needed. Or make enough of a mess of their hostage to affect the morale of their comrades when they found the body. There had always been rules, just not very strict ones.

Now there were no rules, Makarov could push as hard as it would take him to be satisfied, to feel better for the pain Lizzy was feeling. He paused as he thought of her, he knew she wouldn't like this being done in her name. But this was his test, to prove to himself that she wouldn't make him soft or that her presence wouldn't affect anything that Zakhaev was planning in the future.

The tools had been carefully selected; he didn't like to make a mess. Petrov watched him, eyes wide with fear, not trusting himself to speak.

Makarov stood up with a baseball bat in his hands. "If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt."

He swung the bat.