Chapter 17

When all her tears had dried and her mood had returned back to normal, Annessa sat Sergei down on the sofa to examine his bullet wound. Having been a wife for a special ops soldier, she was used to removing bullets and stitching up wounds. Her handiness kept the hospital bills low, that was for sure.

Once wrapping his arm with a cloth, reducing the blood flow, she pulled from her first-aid kit, pliers. "This is going to hurt just a bit," she told him as she neared him, aiming for the hole in his shoulder.

As she dug through his meat with her tool, Sergei couldn't help but notice the scent Annessa carried with her. It was very subtle, spring-like, and it suited her gentle nature to a T. Definitely a scent his own Anna Williams couldn't pull off. And, now that he thought about it, one of the many things she couldn't pull off that Annessa could.

While Annessa wore modest clothing, Anna was flashing off her goods. Where Annessa was reserved and gentle, Anna was fierce and bossy. Even their looks were different. Green-eyed Annessa, blonde, wore her hair long in contrast to the blue-eyed brunette who preferred the bobbed look. They were incomparable. Complete opposites.

As Sergei continued to list the differences between the two women, Annessa retrieved the bullet from his body and placed it in a towel on her lap. "There," she whispered. "All that's left now is to stitch you up." The needle and thread came out and without warning, she began her post operation.

Sergei didn't flinch as the needle went in and out of his skin, closing up the wound delivered to him by the cop. After all the bullets he's received along with the gashes, cuts, and bruises, a little needle was nothing. In fact, now that he thought about it, the most painful thing he had ever felt was not the bullet of a pistol or the fists of a well-bred fighter. It was the feeling of having to say goodbye to someone you care about, and the uncertainty of not knowing whether you could ever see them again that hurt the most. The idea of never seeing Anna again, that was what tore at him the most…

The room around them was quiet until the blonde decided to break the silence by asking him, almost in a teasing tone, "So, what's she like?" The question came unexpected, to say the least, and Sergei had unknowingly passed her a confused look. Annessa, unused to seeing Kliment's commander so perturbed, couldn't help but giggle. "Don't give me that look. You know what I mean. Kliment told me all about it during our phone call." She tightened the thread as she was finishing up her stitching. "He told me that you had fallen in love. So, who's the lucky lady? What's she like?"

He took her question into consideration as he thought about his answer. What she's like? What can he say about her? He recalled the first time he had laid his eyes on her. He had been assigned to find her and bring her back to SPETSNAZ headquarters at the orders of Aleksander and was thus given a picture of her. She was stunning in the photo, but not even the best of cameras could ever capture the true beauty that was Anna Williams.

She was more than a picture as she was warm and real, breathing and living. She cried and laughed, felt morose and happy. She was good at kissing and she was all that existed when you had her nude in your bed. She was far from picture perfect but Sergei couldn't think of anyone else he would rather have in his arms than her.

"She was…the little bluebird of happiness that came pecking at my window, and I…let her in."

The next morning, long before the sun had a chance to make its rise from the east, a shaggy haired brunette exited his flat and released a breath he had been holding in. "Man…," he whispered, "What am I doing…?" He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. He stared long and hard at it, contemplating. Finally, he tucked it back into its original spot and looked up at the smoky sky, a smirk on his face. "You better be grateful for this, Commander Dragunov."

Treading through last night's leftover snow, Anton approached the edge of the sidewalk and waited for a cab, feeling unfortunate for the cabby who had such early shifts. The car pulled up and the young soldier stepped in. The man behind the wheel looked back at his customer and upon seeing his uniform, shifted his gaze into a kinder one and asked, "Where to, sir?"

"The radio station please."

The cabby passed him a stunned look. That was all across town! And with this snow, they wouldn't get there for another good two hours if they were lucky. Nevertheless, you didn't argue with a soldier so he pulled the car out into the road. Just as he did so, he heard Anton chuckle lightly behind him and tell him, "I know it's far, which is the reason I called you in so early." That was a blatant lie. The reason for rising so early was to avoid unnecessary eyes. He didn't need everyone telling Mikhail that he was the one who had delivered the message.

Midway through their slow, slippery, and bumpy trip, the cabby, unused to all the silence felt a need to break the silence. "So," he spoke, "did you hear about it last night?"

Peeling his eyes off from the window, Anton turned to the older man. "What?"

"That Dragunov fellow; I heard he was spotted in town last night."

Anton widened his eyes and found himself sitting up straighter, wanting to hear more. "You're not serious."

"No, it's true. It was all over the news. Apparently he was found by some policemen while they were looking for a bunch of drunks causing trouble last night. Who would've thought that he was hiding beneath our noses all along?"

"Is that so…?" Something didn't sound right about this story. What would Sergei be doing out in the middle of town when he knows for sure that he's an enemy of Russia. "So how did he get away?"

"Well, y'know about the blizzard last night? He made his escape through that. Though, one of the officers did say that he managed to land a bullet on him." As he continued to explain about the news report that he had watched, the radio station came into view and he concluded his tale.

"He sounds…pretty crazy if you ask me," Anton said, playing along with the citizen.

A solemn look crossed the man's face as he pulled into the radio station's parking lot. "Yeah," he whispered, "But y'know…Maybe he's not too bad of a guy after all…"

Anton raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

Reluctant to speak about the supposed "traitor" to this soldier, the cabby gulped and responded, "If he truly is this 'killer' SPETSNAZ makes him out to be, I'm sure those three drunks would be dead by now. But," he added abruptly, "what would I know?"

The soldier passed the nervous cabby a smile. After handing him the fare for the ride, and a fair amount of tip, he opened the door and put one foot outside. Though, before exiting the cab entirely, he placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder and told him, "Yeah, he really is a good guy. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Just as he put his second foot out the door, prepared to leave the taxi, he abruptly stopped as he remembered one last thing to tell the man. "Oh, and before I go, keep your radio on."

Leaving the cabby confused, Anton left the car and preceded into the station where the final touches of Markov's plan was to take place…

The scent of eggs and sausages woke Sergei from his sleep and slowly he sat up, recalling last night's escapades. He found himself surrounded by the photos of his former subordinate as he was lying on the sofa, a wool blanket draped over his body. He didn't remember when he had fallen asleep, or how for that matter, but he definitely had a sound sleep especially considering his current location and local status.

Annessa came into view carrying a tray of food and greeted him with her vintage smile. "Good morning, Sergei. Did you have a good night's rest?"

She placed the breakfast before him on the coffee table and turned on the television set in the corner. As she began channel surfing, Sergei, almost questioningly, stared at the food before him. Spotting the disconcerted look on his face, the blonde asked, "Is something wrong?"

"You shouldn't be doing this."

"What do you mean?"

He motioned to the food before him. "All of this. If anyone found out you were housing me…"

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek causing him to turn up and look at her. Her smile was graced on her face as usual as she spoke. "I know the consequences and I'm willing to risk it because...I have nothing else to lose. Since Kliment passed away, people have asked me how I live on without him. And my answer is I don't. I endure."

"Annessa…" Suddenly, he saw the one similarity her and Anna had in common.

Biting her bottom lip, Annessa turned away from him and as if to avoid speaking of the topic any longer, she digressed, "Now, you better start eating or your food will get cold."

Not wanting to upset her any more than he had already, Sergei began to eat while she continued to go through the channels until at last, she reached the news reports. As it had been for the past month or so, the broad band reading "Breaking News" was running across the bottom of the screen, but this time, the font below it was different from its usual, "Traitor on the Loose" storyline.

"Controversial Radio Broadcast: Behind SPETSNAZ's Closed Doors," were the new words to grace the television screen.

"Early this morning, a radio broadcast was sent out to the public," the female newscaster began, "This radio broadcast was a supposed recording of SPETSNAZ leader, Mikhail Barclay, confessing to the murder of the late great Aleksander Barclay, falsely accusing former Commander Sergei Dragunov with crimes, and even threatening the young lieutenant, Markov Solari, who had recorded the whole conversation. However, can these allegations against the new leader be results of forgeries? We have yet to hear from Mikhail on this matter, leaving the public to wonder what goes on behind the closed doors of SPETSNAZ."

After she finished her story, her male colleague who sat beside her commented, "Yes, it truly makes us wonder who we could trust."

Sergei stared at the screen for a long while as they replayed the radio broadcast heard by the thousands in the country. He listened and, without a doubt, that was Mikhail's voice he heard, but was the other one truly Markov's? It was too strong, too courageous. Yet all the same, he found that it could belong to no one but.

When the broadcast ended with Markov speaking to Anton, Sergei rose from his seat with a clenched fist. Suddenly, he felt a rise in anger and…protection. Who did Mikhail think he was, laying a single finger on his soldier? "Markov…" he whispered into the air. He couldn't let it happen again. He was going to make sure he was going to save a life.

"Sergei, what are you doing?" Annessa asked as she watched him head towards the door.

"I'm going to go save my soldiers."

He waited for her to speak, but instead heard her giggle, causing him to turn back at her. She caught his glare and in those cold blue eyes, she could see he wanted an answer. "Sergei, there's better ways to do this." She pulled out a phone, black. Clearly it didn't belong to her. "Have you forgotten that Kliment was your subordinate too? He was friends with Markov and Anton, both of which attended his funeral and visited me within the last month or so. Don't you think it'd be better if we bring them here to us rather than you try to find them?" Clicking on the phone and scrolling down the list of numbers, she eventually found a number and held the phone out to him. "Here Sergei, call him."

He stared at it awkwardly. Why couldn't she just call them for him? As if she could read his mind, Annessa, with a cute pout on her face, stated, "Don't you think they'd rather hear your voice than mine?"

With that said Sergei gave in and, in Annessa's opinion, immaturely snatched the phone from her. He dialed the number she had given him and held it up to his ear all the while watching as Annessa smiled back at him. Did she enjoy seeing this "human" side to Sergei?

Anton, who was treading his way back to his flat, kept his face hidden underneath his coat's hood as he listened to the confusion that had erupted in town. He was sure Markov didn't want his broadcast to cause this mess, but nonetheless, it did spark a light in the public's mind as he saw people stare confusedly at Sergei's posters before sneakily pulling them from the boards.

Just as he had reached the foot of his flat, his phone, which was one of the primary causes of this whole ordeal, began to ring. Not expecting a phone call from anyone, he jumped but slowly pulled it out to see that the caller was Kliment's number. Unless you can make phone calls in heaven, which he hoped that was where Kliment was, it could only be Annessa. Glad that it wasn't SPETSNAZ dialing him, he happily answered. "Hello, Annie."

Sergei raised an eyebrow. Annie? Didn't he have an ounce of respect to address the widow appropriately? Clearly he was still the same Anton he knew. Trying to think of the correct words to start his conversation, making sure that whatever he would say would be simple, quick, to-the-point, and avoid Anton's questioning, Anton on the other end was confused at only hearing breathing on the other end.

"Hey, you alright over there?" He asked cautiously, suddenly worried that Mikhail had taken Annessa as a hostage.

"This is Sergei," came the reply, "Get over here right now."

Before Anton could even question, comprehend, or relay the message to his brain, Sergei had hung up. However, once given a few seconds to think of what he had just heard, the biggest smile formed on the young soldier's face. Sergei was back and almost instinctively, he called Markov to relay to him the news.

"Are you sure it was actually him?" Markov asked, stopping himself from entering the cab he had just pulled over. He was dressed in casual winter clothing while gripping a briefcase filled with a few clothes and necessities to last about two weeks.

"Yeah, I'm sure. After all," Anton chuckled, "his voice is only a once-in-a-lifetime thing and we all know we remember those things the best."

Markov nodded despite Anton not being able to see it. His excitement was rising at an increasing pace. The fact that his commander was still alive was more than enough to make the young lieutenant smile.

Imagining how happy Markov must be at the moment, Anton went straight to the point and told him where Sergei was waiting. "I hope you haven't ditched town yet, Markov."

"Was just a second away from doing so." He plopped into the taxi which was now cold due to Markov leaving the door open for so long and gave directions to the now grumpy cab driver. Within a few minutes, the two friends found themselves at the doorstep of the apartment building where Kliment once came home to everyday.

Without even a single knock, Sergei and Annessa watched as the door fling open and two snow covered men entered. "Commander," they called joyfully, "you're back!"

Before Sergei could act, his beloved subordinates had found their arms around him in what could be one of the least manly embraces ever performed by a human being. Never had his underlings ever laid their hands on him, especially in this manner, but for some odd reason, Sergei didn't see a need to push them off nor did he see a reason to return the embrace. Yet, sometimes, you don't need a reason to do something. Gently, Sergei placed a hand on each of their backs and patted them, releasing a hopeless sigh at the same time.

He really had changed…

Once they had unlatched themselves from Sergei, and all storytelling and pleasantries were over and done, Commander Dragunov returned, prepared to give orders. He was going to make sure, that in two nights, the deed he set out to do would be done, but this time not by himself. According to Markov, there was a still whole militia that still saw him as their leader, still waiting for him to give his orders. Not wanting to disappoint, Sergei assured that they would be getting their assignments in due time.

Mikhail listened to the raucous occurring at the front gates of SPETSNAZ and laughed. "Who would've thought the little squirt had it in him to pull something like this off?" Walking back down the halls, hands behind his back, he began to hum. Stopping at the door to his office, he stopped his humming to smirk. "Now it gets fun, Dragunov…" He pushed the door open and casually walked in. He settled himself down at his desk, propping his feet up on the good mahogany and let his eyes skim across the room.

Finally they settled upon the back right corner of his room, the spot where he had shot his father, and smirked. Now lying there were three bodies, a female newscaster and her two colleagues, bound, gagged, and unmistakably terrified. "How are you doing?" Mikhail asked with a smile on his rugged features.

He received only muffled and whimpers as his response.

"Ah, getting impatient, are we? Don't worry," Mikhail conversed, "you'll play your part soon enough." He turned his back to them and gazed out his window. "Don't keep us waiting, Dragunov…"

Author's Notes: Ugh! I got so frustrated deciding what this chapter was going to be about so I just wrote, hoping that I would get somewhere. I apologize if it seems a little chunky and not up to par. So I got Tekken Tag Tournament 2 and guess which two I paired up with each other…? Because of that, I now have a little idea for the final chapter of this story. I'm hoping it's going to be a good reward for all those who have enjoyed my story. We still have a little more to go through before we reach the final chapter though, so hang in there! As usual, thanks for reading and I'm looking forward to reading your reviews!