A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers again! I appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think with words and all! With this chapter, I'm thinking that I'm about halfway through this story. I'll be sad when it's finished. -.-
Disclaimer: I own a small plot of land in Scotland, but I don't own Metal Gear Solid or its characters. If I did, I'd buy me a bigger plot of land… and maybe an ice-cream!
My Pretty Jungle Flower
Chapter 5
Groznyj Grad descended into somber, horrified silence that day. Captain Malenkov was given the same hushed eulogy as every other unfortunate in the facility, before they boxed his body in a plain wooden casket and sent him home to his family. It was not an uncommon event, but the men were still moved to sober contemplation each time it happened. At least the sight of death still had the power to provoke them into reflection. Following the event itself, the girls and I retired to our room, where the others preoccupied themselves with cross-stitching or some pointless task like it. The hopeless humming that arose as they went about their labour drove me slowly to distraction. It was then that the youngest of our group laid down her work, and approached me cautiously.
Her name was Agnessa, teetering only a few months away from her eighteenth birthday, the most awkward of times for a young woman. It was no surprise to any of us that during her time there, she had developed the most desperate infatuation with a certain young, blonde Major and truthfully, the older three of us thought that her feelings were completely reciprocated. It gave us small moments of pleasure when Agnessa would meet her Prince Charming in the corridor, and Major Ocelot would clear his throat repeatedly and touch his beret politely. Our adolescent friend would dip her head slightly, as we watched the scarlet creep into both their cheeks before they would move off in opposite directions, looking dolefully over their shoulders. However, Ocelot was forever the little soldier, and that superseded everything, even the need to be a young man, and so whatever there was of a connection between them was left unexplored. Agnessa had subtly latched on to me during her fruitless obsession, declaring that we shared something in common. In a way she was right, we did share a mutual comprehension for the hopeless situations that we found ourselves in. Though Agnessa affirmed that our likeness lay in being "desperately besotted beyond the point of reason". I had argued with her, of course, and she apologized for being impertinent, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize that she may be right. There was nothing like youthful wisdom.
As she drew up before me now timidly, I managed to fix her with an artificial smile, which she returned. She sat down on the bed beside me, and tapped the back of my hand gently. She seemed to find the gesture oddly comforting, although it failed to work for me.
"You're not a bad person, Lenusya…" she said amiably. Whether she actually knew it or not, it was exactly what I needed to hear. I was afraid she didn't mean it. After everything I'd told them that morning about the night I'd had, I felt sure they would regard me as some sort of accomplice to Malenkov's demise, seeing as how I kept close counsel with the Devil himself. They appeared to appreciate, however, that although I had shared the Colonel's bed, his mind remained a complete mystery to me, and probably always would, no matter how physically close we became. It seemed they were worthy of more credit than I afforded them. Congenially, I tapped her hand back and smiled evenly.
The door of our room opened. The girls scattered. All three sought sanctuary behind me. It was the wisest place to be, given the situation. It was a young soldier, only a private who entered, his gun leveled at his side. He had evidently been pulled off patrol to attend to whatever errand he now ran. He had a nervous, panicky look about him that assured me that he was not here to plunder my girls. He pointed his weapon at me briefly.
"You." He lowered the firearm. "The Colonel wants to see you." He stood expectantly, anxiously. I hesitated, Svetlana squeezed my shoulder. I swallowed, angled my head proudly and replied firmly.
"Tell the Colonel that I'm unfortunately indisposed." I answered boldly and sweetly, my eyelashes fluttering instinctively to underline the sarcasm laden in my voice. The private looked as if he had anticipated my response. No wonder he looked so uneasy. If I refused to come, as he rightly predicted I would, he would have to explain my absence to the Colonel. I dreaded to think what would then happen to the youngster. Having considered this, and having seen the colour drain from his face, I stood up sharply, even as the girls tried once again to restrain me.
"On second thoughts, private, it would not bode well for either of us to upset the Colonel…in his present mood." I added in an afterthought. The private sighed outwardly, his gratitude clear but unstated.
"No, Lenusya…" Agnessa begged me quietly, taking my hand lightly. I knew exactly what she meant. Who was to say that the Colonel wasn't just looking for another punching bag? I was taking my life into my own trembling hands by going to him, but how could I refuse?
Magnificent bastard. He knew that I would not decline his offer if made through the jittery wreck of a private that he had sent. He knew my disposition all too well. And it made my spine tingle to think about it.
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The private practically threw me into the Colonel's room, and took off down the corridor. Obviously, he wanted to be as far away as possible when this peculiar "meeting" began. I would have been happy to follow him, but it was too late now. Colonel Volgin sat placidly at his desk, not looking up from what ever work had preoccupied him. A good few minutes passed by, with me standing at the door, before he finally looked up and sat back in his chair, regarding me closely but without his typical grin. His intention was to make me nervous, and it worked. It always worked.
"Lenusya," he began, extending his hand, as if we had just met. "You look…interesting." He hinted at a smile, but refused to let it break when I did not take the bait. Since we had all finished our work early to watch the inspection, we had changed out of our dire uniforms for the evening. I wore standard issue black boots, three sizes too big (it made a change from two sizes too small), olive drab combat pants that I had cropped into a decent pair of shorts, and an old white shirt that had been left unclaimed in the laundry. I had haphazardly ripped the sleeves off and cut most of the shoulders and front away. I realized now, in front of the Colonel, what an unhealthy amount of my midsection it revealed. Along with my unruly straw-blonde hair and exhausted face, I'm quite sure that "interesting" was one of the more imaginative words to express my appearance. Yet, I hadn't moved or even gave the vaguest hint of an emotion, merely stared over his shoulder vacantly. That hand that he had so agreeably proffered was slowly retracted, and he grunted, returning to his work.
"You're upset." he muttered, and nodded to himself. "Yes, I knew you would be…"
"A shame you didn't care." I interrupted. I regretted it immediately, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to reprimand myself. When I opened them once again, the Colonel was looking at me fiercely, stabbing my entire body with that ferocious glare. He began to stand up, leisurely and purposefully. With every loud footfall of his boots as he moved towards me, my fists clenched a little more in anxiety. He took a violent handful of my hair and jerked me to him. I gasped only slightly, for the move was more possessive than threatening. It took an experienced soul to tell the difference, a level of understanding and mutual comprehension that few could ever hope to achieve with the Colonel, and that I had accomplished in such a short space of time. It was the same kind of unspoken awareness that you see with people who train dangerous animals.
"He's just playing with you. If he was serious, he'd have taken your head off by now."
His teeth were gritted as he inclined my head to speak viciously in my ear.
"Listen and listen well, my dear. Several days ago I received some disturbing information about your friend, Captain Malenkov. He had never served any time in the Red Army. He was not even drafted during the most desperate times of the war, due to a heart defect that he'd had from birth. I did, however, find his name coming up along with several well-known Nazi sympathizers." It was then that his grip was relinquished slightly, and I raised my gaze to meet his, shocked and intrigued. He began to lovingly smooth out the tousled tresses under his hand. "Aleksandr Malenkov was an anarchist, Lenusya, hell-bent on the downfall of the Motherland after she rejected him. His father is Georgy Maximilianovich Malenkov, First Secretary of the Communist Party between 1953 and 1955, and briefly Premier after Stalin's death until he was replaced by Khrushchev. Given his position, it was easy to gain trust within the Presidium, and he was planted here with orders to report back to the Secretariat. He would've seen to it that every last person in Groznyj Grad was eliminated, in some sort of personal vendetta against the military."
My lips had formed an involuntary "O" shape. It was easy, with the benefit of hindsight, to look back and remind myself of what a normal, balanced individual Malenkov had seemed to me. I must have looked confused. In truth, I was. I didn't know whether to believe him. Selfishly, I wanted to believe that he had killed the Captain in some sort of jealous tirade, but his reasons were much more… practical. And Colonel Volgin was nothing if not pragmatic. His hands cupped my face, and I found it hard not to trust him. God knows, I fought him in my mind, but the sincerity behind those golden-hued eyes, whether it was genuine or merely fraudulent pretense, made me feel guilty to have even considered distrusting him in the first place. And that was a powerful gift. Yet even as my head lulled submissively into his hands, I probed him further.
"Wouldn't he have changed his name if he was meant to deceive you?" His gloved thumb traced my lower lip, his eyes twitched faintly when I asked the question.
"Khrushchev counted on me assuming that it was too much of a coincidence. He had Aleksandr change his middle name, to avoid a direct association. A poorly thought-out double bluff, as he knows perfectly well that I leave nothing to chance." He overstressed the syllables in the word 'nothing' in such a manner that the tip of his tongue flicked carelessly over his teeth and lips. A deliciously reptilian movement that I did not fail to notice.
"You don't believe me?"
"I want to believe you."
"Then do it."
"They say you're a monster."
"Me?" he soothed, with feigned innocence. He backed me up one step, smiling serenely. "What are monsters if not gods among men with their own agenda?" As my spine came into contact with the paneled wall, I suddenly recognized that I had arrived in exactly the same situation as the night before. A mere twenty four hours ago, I had found myself backed up against this very same wall. My mind flooded with the images that the night had brought.
"You're not God." I said, desperately, in some futile attempt to reverse the situation, to chasten my thoughts. The Colonel laughed, his warm, practiced hands finding the welcoming curves of my hips.
"I'm not so very far from godliness." He pulled my doll-like body to his, as if to emphasize his point, at the same time reminding me of his… anatomical structure.
He was right.
Was he not feared and loved in equal measures amongst his followers? Wasn't his gospel preached and worshipped as faithfully as the Bible?
His fingers closed meticulously around my slender wrists, bruising the tender flesh over small bones that struggled against his powerful grip. With my hands set firmly at my side, my back rigid against the wall, he claimed my lips once more in a potent kiss that stole my breath. His body sparked lividly, to my very pleasant surprise, searing my lips and coercing me into response. Teeth and tongue clashing and retreating feverishly with his, I shocked myself by breaking the kiss, and taking his hand as I led him to his desk. I had developed a taste for the feel of mahogany against my skin, and as it turned out, he appreciated an authoritative hand.
Who would have guessed?
Notes: This chapter was a relatively short one, just as filler fodder really. The next chapter will feature the grand entrance of Major Ivan Raidenovitch Raikov. Let the hair pulling begin!
