His eyes were constantly upon her, those eyes, one of green, and the other of blue. Everywhere she went, she could feel him, following her with his gaze, watching her as a hawk would watch the prey it was stalking high in the skies. It took her three weeks to actually summon the courage to send information back to the 141, and that alone was a nerve-wrecking experience, and the information that she had was nothing of importance at all…

She had hoped that it was enough for the 141.

"Take it easy," MacTavish told her that day. He had personally come to accept her information, and all she told him was that Makarov was staying in a beautifully posh neighborhood in the heart of Moscow's highly expensive and prestigious financial district, and that he had cameras all over the place, especially her room, to watch her every move. "It'll be alright, Anya."

They were in a park at the outskirts of Moscow, she had told Makarov that she had received some information about her parents, and at the word: parents, there seemed to be a change in the hardness of his eyes. He had given her a full day for herself, just for this purpose. However, she knew that it was for without a doubt that he would have his men following her, but that feeling of his eyes all around her was not there at all…

"You don't know that, 'Tavish," she told the Captain, placing her head in her hands. "He watches my every move, he thinks that everyone wants to kill him. He washes his own dishes and clothes, cleans his own room because he's paranoid over any possibility that someone might kill him. No one, not even those who served with him in the Russian army has ever been into his room!"

MacTavish sighed, and brought his hand onto hers reassuringly. "You see, you told me that Makarov doesn't trust anyone." Being a mole was not an easy job, not even for one of the most able snipers in the business. And the worse thing was that Anya was sent there because she was the only woman accessible to them. It was an unfair deal from day one. But she had taken that job, because she knew that she had to. "It's a great start."

"Thanks," she said, and looked at MacTavish. This man was the first man she had laid eyes on the very moment she had joined the 141. It had been a new organization then. When Shepherd was still gathering the ones who were deemed the "best" soldiers, first from the NATO countries, and then from the rest of the world… She was a US soldier, a born patriot, and already under his command as an Army Ranger. That was why she was there. She knew the conflict in MacTavish's eyes. "Hey, don't look so sad. I know Shepherd. I've known him ever since I was a Ranger. He doesn't give a damn about what happens to us out here in the field, and more importantly, he takes us and uses us, squeezes us into oblivion to make sure that everything is alright for the rest of the world."

She could not be more right about Shepherd, MacTavish had to hand her that. "You'll do fine," he told her. "You can see everything clearer than anyone does, you'll be back into the field with us in no time."

In no time… Those three words went into her ear, and she knew that they would be the words that would make her stay beside Makarov, so that the boys could do what they did best. "Captain, we probably shouldn't meet for much longer. In three weeks, I will have something else for you, and, please, don't come here the next time," she told him. He raised an eyebrow and she chuckled. "I can't have you risking your neck for me, 'Tavish. You don't know how much you mean to the boys and I."

MacTavish looked at her, and smiled. "I'll try," he promised her, and started to walk away from the park bench. "Try to keep it together. We'll be watching over you."

"Thanks," she said, and remained upon the bench. She knew why MacTavish left. A black BMW pulled up all near her, and to her surprise, Makarov himself came out of the car. She had never seen that car in his garage at all. "Sir… I never thought that you would come…"

Makarov said nothing, but from his expression, she knew it that he wanted her to get into the car. She nodded, and got into the front passenger seat next to him. They were driving back to his apartment, as she noted by the change of scenery. "Who was that man you were talking to?" he asked her suddenly, speaking in English all of a sudden.

What was he trying to do? Was he testing her, to see if her claims were true? She knew that she was in court right now. She had to play according to his rules. "He was a friend of mine in the orphanage we grew up in," she answered in the same language. "His girlfriend works there now… He told me that she found my parents, but… they're in America right now." She had to make sure that she was pressing the right buttons. A tear fell from her sapphire eyes, and she combed her hair with her fingers. "They left when the Soviet Union was resolved, before that… they left me in that orphanage because… they could not afford it if I went with them…" By the time she looked at him, her beautiful face was streaked with tears and she hoped that something would go "ding" in his system. "Why did they leave me for another country?"

He gave her a tissue and she wiped her face with it. "Forgive me," she told him. "I did not mean to be this… weak." Strength was what he valued, and it was strength that he had. With her sapphire eyes she looked at him and she tried to find what was going in his mind. She could not see a single thing.

The car pulled to a stop, and Makarov sighed. "I had a beautiful family," he told her. "My father died before I was born, but I was raised by my mother, along with my sister and brothers. We weren't rich, but we had each other… until…" He did not continue, and she did not press the matter on. "Let's just say that I lost everything in one night, and I only had the boys around me."

So, he lost his family. Perhaps that was why he had so much… bitterness towards the world. "Maybe we've lost everything that we could have had because we can gain something else in the future…" she told him. And those words, for one second, caused him to look at her, and nod.

"Those are wise words," he told her, and started the car again.

That was the first time she had seen signs that Makarov had actually held something inside his heart. That was the first time when she began to see that he was a man who lived for reasons more than bloodshed and terror across the world. The first time she saw that he had a life far beyond the life of a terrorist, a man who causes fear into the hearts of others to achieve his goals.

The second time came during the winter. Her sapphire eyes had fallen upon the gravestone that marked the graves of the infamous Zakhaev family. Imran Zakhaev, and his son, Viktor. They had died a few years ago during the second Russian Civil War. They had died defending the ideals of the Ultranationalist party, and they had died, murdered by a joint task force of the British SAS and the United States Marine Corps. She knew it to be the day the US and the UK winning only a short victory against the Ultranationalists, winning only a small war, but ending with the victory of the Ultranationalists.

Makarov laid a bouquet of flowers onto the graves of the Zakhaevs, his face hidden from everyone in the world. He was wearing heavy and dark sunglasses. No one could see his face, but she knew that the grief that he was feeling was true, everyone did, but they pretended not to take notice at all.

"You'll have to do everything to gain his trust, Shepherd's voice rang in her head, and she took a deep breath. She knew that she had to do it no matter what. Thus, she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slightly. He did not move at first, no, he did not move at all, but he did not react negatively to her. A few minutes passed, and he removed one hand from his face and grasped her hand that had been holding him.

"He was like a father to me," he told her. "He was like a father to me, and Viktor like a little brother to me. If they had lived, all of this would still be theirs…" She knew that he had championed Imran Zakhaev that he was even once called the "Shadow of Zakhaev", but she did not know that his connection to Zakhaev was so deep.

His men knew the story all too well. They had lived throughout that story. She was too young to even know its beginning in complete and utter detail. "Imran Zakhaev gave Makarov, and us, another chance," Kiril told her. "The US forced the Russian Federation to charge us with crimes against human rights, but instead, we chose to be discharged. No one wanted to give us a second chance, except Zakhaev…"

Anya nodded. She knew the stories that followed that one. Zakhaev saw Makarov for his talents, and built up the monster that was the Shadow of Zakhaev, a former soldier that mastered the Underworld so that they could source weapons for the war that they would raise against the capitalist Russia and the rest of the world.

MacTavish had been the one who killed Imran Zakhaev, and she knew that Makarov did not have a clue about it. It was the very fact that MacTavish was still there, leading the 141 that he does not know the real identity of who killed Imran Zakhaev that the 141 could even exist at the first place. She knew that she had to guard this secret, of what used to be a plain, but often unspoken truth, and turn it into the greatest secret that she ever had to keep.

"You will have your chance," she told him, when he stood up, her hand still in his. "Makarov, sir, one day, for sure that we would be able to get the vengeance you so deserve…"

Makarov took off his sunglasses, revealing his reddened heterochromic eyes. His grief was still there, and her words could not have meant anything. He would have heard those words a long, long time ago, for many, many times across the years. Her sapphire eyes brought a different feel to those words, and made them to be more genuine to him than the words that the others had said.

The day was cold, and the sun was fading soon beneath the mountains not far from them. "Come," Makarov said to all of them. "We must leave now, there is much to do, and we must not disturb Zakhaev and his son until next year." Turning towards Anya, he said, "Thank you, Anya. Those words are much appreciated."

She nodded, and smiled as well. "You're welcome," she replied. She really thought that she was taking one step forward with Makarov, progress that she had tried so hard to make. She waited until the rest of the men around them had left for the luxury MPV that they had came in, and told him, "I just want you to know that all of us are here for you."

"Anya, you are young," Makarov told her. "I was once an idealist like you area, I once had the hope in my heart that you carry in yours. But one day, you will know that sometimes, everything you fought for may or may not come true." Those words were words that a teacher would have said to a student, but there was a deep harshness in his eyes that she knew was even more severe than him in his usual moods. "I would suggest that you would only speak when you are spoken to, my dear, from this day forward."

HAN: Honestly, I don't really know where this story will take us. This thing just writes itself, you know? I would think that in the end, it would end the same way as the previous version, but the way to that point would be either the same, except that it's longer, or, a totally different perspective. ^.^ But I hope that you would enjoy the ride, and remember that all of us should be open to the different interpretations of what this fandom is to each and every one of us. See ya!