He looked at the sleeping woman before him and sighed. He knew he should not have given into the girl for a host of many reasons: He had still not discovered her true nature; that she could most likely be a spy, and more importantly, he could not afford to have himself embroiled in such an entanglement… He was a busy man, a man with a mission…

But when he looked upon that woman who had risked her life for his, for whatever reason that it was, and the fact that she was so alike him, in that they were soldiers, that she had the same enthusiastic hope for the future as he once did in his youth, that she was without a family of her own… His hand had reached for hers without his mind's command. It was so small compared to his, so dainty in comparison, how was it that she was so skilled with a gun?

"You fool!" he could practically hear Zakhaev's condescending voice in his mind. "That vixen could have had you killed in your sleep the moment you take her to your bed!" And he knew that there was a great possibility for that to happening. But what if she was a spy anyways? She would be still of use to him, there was no doubt about it. If she would use her own beauty and skills to such an extent to weave a trap for him, then who was to say that he could not do the same to her?

Besides, he would not be on the losing side at all. The girl was young, and still idealistic… She would most probably fall into every single word that he would say. Once he figured out what side she was on, he would easily be able to sway her to his own fully.

For the time being, he would be content that he would have another capable aid in his arsenal of subordinates, who happened to be a beautiful distraction in every sense of the word. Yes, he did think that she was a beautiful woman, and that was a tall standard to match, especially according to his tastes. But what man would not be stirred when they looked upon her?

"You are an enigma to me, Anya," he whispered to her as she was sleeping under the influence of the medications that she had been taking. She would be discharged in about two weeks, and it was plenty of time for them to recuperate and plan for their future operations. "Who are you, my dear? Why have you come to me?" he asked her further, and brought his lips to the top of her head ever so softly.

He felt her hand tighten in his and watched her stir in her sleep. What was she seeing in her dreams, he could not tell, but he did know one thing: it could not have been a good dream, not from what she must have seen throughout her service as one. Makarov put down her hand, and was about to leave when he heard her call to him.

"What time is it?" she asked him in English groggily, her eyes were not even open.

"Three forty-five in the morning," Makarov replied in the same language. She said nothing more and fell asleep once more. He left the room and went back towards the parking lot to find Anatoly already waiting for him in the car that he had rented, ready to drive him back to the adjacent hotel that they were renting.

It was going to be a long two weeks in Malaysia indeed.

Corporal Maria "Anya" Allen A.K.A. Ultranationalist Codename: Anya

Task Force 141 / Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moscow, Russia.

She had returned with Makarov and his men the very day she was discharged from the hospital. And she had notified the 141 of her return as soon as she had been able to. She knew that Shepherd would not have been happy at all with what she did, and she was anxious to discover the fate of the 141 following the previous… fiasco.

This time, it was Ghost that came to see her, and they were in a rather middle-class neighborhood. She had told Makarov that she was meeting an old course mate who was still a bachelor. "How are the boys?" she asked, knowing well that she was being followed, as always. Makarov's reach was even further than she dared to even calculate, so they had to prepare for any eventuality.

"The boys are doing fine," Ghost replied. "Some of them are even working for the old man!"

The 141 could communicate not only through voice. They had devised different systems of gestures for different settings to send messages to one another, because even coded words could be broken; And with enemies like the Ultranationalists, the 141 need to be prepared. For example, in that dinner setting, Ghost would take a sip of wine and it would mean one thing, if he chewed three times on his main course, it would mean something else altogether.

Shepherd's having a great time skulking at the results at the Op. All of us, including 'Tavish has got extra training and whatnot, Ghost reported to her. And what were you thinking, taking the shot for Makarov? You scared us all half to death!

She laughed along with Ghost and replied, "Really? I do hope that he pays them. He hasn't given me the money when I was his research assistant!" She stabbed the dumpling in her bowl with her fork and glanced at the man three tables away. He shouldn't have pulled all of you into this so early. Makarov's planning something big, and if we stop him halfway, there might be others that might take his place…

"Oh, and Annie made it big in New York," Ghost added, "Apparently she was a translator for some fashion hotshots and got signed on by an agency." It was a common 141 trick. It was a generic sentence, able to be placed into any sort of conversation. It basically meant that he understood what she said and would report it to MacTavish and Shepherd.

"Thanks for telling me all this, Jackie," she said, remembering the name assigned to Ghost when he was collecting reports from her. "I miss them all you know, but since I joined the armed forces…'

Ghost laughed, and replied, "Anya, you're doing great with the Spetsnaz, aren't you? All of us are proud of you." It was true that the political climate between America and Russia were strained, and many suspected that a second Cold War would soon start, but between friends, those words would bring comfort to her. "Dinner's on me, darlin'" he told her, and she rose to hug him and left after thanking him.

"Anatoly, you can come out now," Anya said, looking towards the alleyway behind her. She rolled her eyes as Anatoly emerged, with a hand up his neck. She had to act as if she was not expecting Makarov to send someone to trail her, and she knew that she was supposed to be furious. "How long have you been following me?"

"Throughout dinner," he reported. "But it wasn't me. I had a few boys observe you and things like that… Anya, you know that I wouldn't do it if I had a choice."

She knew that unlike that of her own, those words coming from Anatoly were genuine. "Well, at least you're not the new recruit," she joked wryly and stood beside the man. "You're his right hand man, how long were you with him?" It would be a great time to dig information about the rest of the boys as well, because one could never know when it would be useful someday.

Anatoly looked towards the stars, blocked by the immense number of skyscrapers and began to count. "Well, for the record, it's been more than 20 years. Makarov and I go further back, back when we were soldiers of the Red Army!" She chuckled along with him, and he continued. "Dimitri came not long after, and he had such an eye for talent! Zakhaev favored Dimitri after his son, Makarov and Boris, you know?"

"He was a great teacher," she said, looking down towards the pavement. "His passing still haunts me…"

"Trust me," Anatoly added. "Makarov'll find a way to avenge him."

In all truth, Dimitri Batkin had betrayed Makarov to America. He had staged his death for a new name, a handsome pension and all the freedom of America in exchange for enough forged papers and information to put her where she was right now. She would have to play her cards right if she were to shake each and every one of Makarov's suspicions off her.

"But, there's another reason why Makarov sent me here," said Anatoly. Now, this was something that she was utterly curious to know. "He's worried for you, since you're just being discharged from the hospital and all that. He actually wanted me to make sure that you didn't eat any seafood. "

"Seafood?" Anya asked incredulously. "What does seafood have to do with anything?"

"It aggravates healing wounds," Anatoly replied. "We learned that from a grandmother who used to clean his apartments. She had a Chinese daughter in law and all that. We tried it out and found out that it was true. Imagine that!"

Anya did not really know how to deal with Makarov at all. First, he had her followed whenever she was out of his sight even after she had taken a bullet for him, and now, he sent his right hand man to follow her because he wanted to make sure that she was eating right post-injury?

She was silent after that, and allowed Anatoly to drive her back to Makarov's apartment. Her thoughts, however, dwelled on a certain terrorist who had slowly learnt was more of a radical politician than anything, a strategist, a businessman, everything but what she had been trained to think of him as.

She did not have any keys to the apartment, so, she had to knock, naturally, and she was greeted by Makarov, who was dressed in nothing but a terrycloth bathrobe. "Was your dinner productive?" he asked her when she plopped herself on the leather sofa.

"It was," she answered him bluntly, her anger evident in her words. "Still… Makarov… why do you still doubt me?" she asked him. She knew that one operation was not enough to prove her worth to him, but how he had treated her in the two weeks when she was hospitalized… she thought that she could have reached a breakthrough.

Makarov did not respond, but he did not keep his distance at all. Instead, he sat next to her on the sofa and took her hand in his, like that night in the hospital… But she had been too drugged to remember anything more about it. "I do not know what to think of you, Anya," he told her. "You are beautiful and intelligent but…"

"But?" she asked. Those eyes of emerald and blue told her nothing at all. Knowing that she would receive no answer, she rose and excused herself from his company. She was about to walk towards her room when she felt him catching her by the wrist and with one powerful tug, she was upon his lap. "What do you want from me?" she asked him further, getting more and more furious by the second.

He kissed her. Just as suddenly as she did him in the hospital in the suburb near Kuala Lumpur two weeks ago, he kissed her, and this time, it was not sweet or short as the previous one had been. His tongue grazed her lower lip, and when she brought her arms around his neck, she parted her lips so that their tongues could meet. His hold upon her tightened, and soon, she was straddling him.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear, his light, cold voice bringing thousands of tiny electric shocks up her spine. "All of you, Anya." And between each of those words, he kissed her forehead, the arch of her neck and the base of her collarbones.

There was nothing that she could do apart from closing her eyes and sighing. She had started this little game of seduction in Malaysia, and she would have to use it to her full advantage. "So be it," she breathed, turning her head a little to kiss the side of his head as she burrowed her fingers into his hair, tugging the ties of his bathrobe open with the other.

HAN: A word of thanks to Sassy Satsuma for her kind reviews!