The view was majestic, one of the most beautiful that she had ever seen. It was of the skyscrapers before her, being engulfed by tiny streams of gold and red light, the first moment of dawn, when the darkness of the world was subdued by the sun. The light had just touched the base of every single building in sight.

In about half an hour, the entire city of Moscow would be bright and beautiful underneath the summer's sun. That was the view that she was seeing from the main window in Makarov's room just a few moments after waking right next to him in his bedroom in his apartment, Located in the very heart of the financial district in Moscow.

It was nigh impossible to actually believe that the most wanted man in the world was hiding there in plain sight… It was utterly inconceivable, but there in Russia, as in every mega-metropolis, money could bring everything, be it anonymity or utter security.

Her blue eyes looked out the full-length windows and she sighed internally, feeling a pair of strong arms encircling her waist. "You're up early," Makarov whispered into her ear, and caressed the side of her cheek. Those words sent a chill up her spine, the fire between them that burned so brightly in the previous night all but fizzled out, replaced by a sense of guilt, of regret. In her eyes, she was still the girl from the suburbs, an American soldier that had sworn to defeat the enemies of the world. Whatever they did last night, it felt horribly wrong to her from the depths of her guts. She did not like that feeling at all, and she had a feeling that she would have to go through it many, many more times.

"You're one to talk," she replied, turning to face him. Even when they were alone, his expression was still so cold, although the iron-like quality of his voice had diminished somewhat. "It's not yet even sunrise, and you're already awake." Looking into his mismatched eyes, she tried to decipher what was in his mind, but she found nothing. "You must have an important appointment with a very secret informant…" It was the most logical thing to say, and he nodded his head. Makarov was a man who did things by himself because he did not trust others to do them, and she knew that it would be a long, long time before he would be willing to share anything with her at all.

"I have a meeting with an old friend," he told her. "He is on an important mission for me on a long-term basis, you'll not see him often."

Anya had heard tell of this man before. Apparently, he was a close friend of Makarov's next to Dimitri Batkin and Anatoly, a man who had been with all of them since Zakhaev's prime. If there was anyone that Makarov had to rely on without any choice left, that man would be the man that he would turn to… That man would be a man that she should not cross at all. He would be even more dangerous to her than Makarov himself would be.

"I'll tell you one thing, Anya," Makarov added, kissing the top of her forehead. "I would not have earned the favor of Imran Zakhaev without Yuri, and vice versa. I am sure that he will be pleased to meet you if he has the chance to."

She chuckled softly and looked into his eyes as his fingers loosened their hold on her chin. "I can just see his reaction when you introduce me to him as your paramour."

Those words were meant as a joke, and she was lucky that Makarov took it as one. In fact, she was starting to realize that one of her redeeming qualities in his eyes was that she had a sense of humor that none of his men ever had, and he was starting to enjoy it. Strange, it seemed that the more natural the response, the less reserved he was with her. She would have to make a mental note of that.

"Anya," Makarov uttered her name in a rather condescending manner. "If anything, you will be more than a paramour to me. At least you can use a few guns."

"Fair enough," she answered back and rose when he offered her a bathrobe so that she could go back to her room as decently dressed as possible. His men would already be there around that time, and judging by how they threw off each other's clothes the previous night… It was rather prudent of Makarov to have offered it to her.

She exited his room when he entered the bathroom, and what she saw did not surprise her. Anatoly, Viktor, Lev and Kiril were all looking at her in utter shock, unable to even react to the fact that she and Makarov actually spent the night together. "Good morning," she greeted them with a curt nod, gathering her clothes that Makarov had almost torn apart quickly before departing back into her room.

Once in the sanctuary of her own room, she leaned onto the surface of the door to try to hear anything that they might have uttered, where they thought that she was out of earshot.

"Did I just see…?"

"Yes, Lev, it was Anya coming out of Makarov's room," Anatoly replied. "Yes, she was previously undressed if not for the bathrobe."

Kiril seemed to have a calmer mind about it. "There's nothing to make of it, right? Makarov's had his share of women…"

"Frankly, no," Anatoly sighed, taking a puff of cigarette smoke. "Makarov does not keep them close at all after sex. From what we know, he intends to have Anya here as long as she survives whatever he throws at us."

"You mean that they're together now that they're having sex?" Kiril asked.

"No," Anatoly stressed. "All I know is that Makarov intends to keep her beside him and with us, for whatever purpose. I don't know much for anything else. Whatever happens, nothing changes until Makarov says so."

It was at Anatoly's words that Anya felt relief was over her. She knew that she should not discredit Makarov for being so easily shaken by one night of pleasure, not should she ever hope that it would change to be the better for her. At the end, her mission was still clear; she had to feed Intel back to the 141.

Yes, it was all she had to do, and at that point, it was all she could ever hope to do.

Vladimir Makarov

Ultranationalist Terrorist Cell

Moscow

He was going to meet Yuri in a busy local restaurant, infamous for its early-morning breakfast crowds, most of its clientele being corporate employees of all levels. This was where they got their morning coffee where the sounds of the many, many customers would drown out their conversation.

If Makarov was the prodigal politician-cum-terrorist leader like Imran Zakhaev had been, then Yuri's image could be found as the prized soldier in any elite military unit. He was young, resourceful and loyal, in short, the very man that a young leader like Makarov needed. Sometimes (more often that Makarov would ever want to admit, that is), Yuri was even able to give sound counsel.

"Makarov, that girl is dangerous," Yuri told him after a hearty sip of coffee. "This is not a joke to prevent you from bedding her, she is what I say she is, make no mistake with that," Makarov had tasked Yuri to find out more about the girl, and the latter was not to reveal himself to her at any time to quell any whisper that he had his own suspicions of her. "Her background is completely clean. We can trace her existence straight to the orphanage where she supposedly grew up in… This smells like an elaborate plan for something, I am sure of it."

The Americans were getting desperate, it seemed. So desperate indeed, that they decided to send perhaps one of their best warriors to have a straight shot towards him, creating a sealed web of lies around her, so that he would not notice any holes at all. They were fools. It was for that precise reason that she was being suspected in the first place, because no one, not even one who had lived a life of privilege and happiness ever was in the Russian military without their own story to tell, a story of pain and suffering… He could easily see it in the eyes of his men, all of them. The girl, however, she was bright-eyed, and full of hope. It was the mark of a soldier from the West, thinking that he or she could actually make a difference in the world from his or her actions…

Makarov looked at Yuri and sighed. "She took a bullet for me, Yuri," he told her. It was a statement, the utterance of fact and only pure fact. "We must be grateful to those who saved our lives." There was no mistake about it, he mused, recalling the incident that happened almost a month ago. It had been so damned evident to see that the Malaysians were working with some NATO military faction, and when she saw that a sniper was about to take his shot, she quickly shielded his body with her own. Not even his most loyal of followers would have done something so selfless. She, on the other hand, had no choice, he deemed, because she needed to obtain his trust in the soonest time possible.

Yuri scoffed. "She comes to you with an agenda," he told Makarov matter-of-factly. "There is no way around that. Are you not worried that one day she might be able to kill you?"

"Yuri, the day she is able to kill me, will come after the day that you betray me," Makarov placated. He was sure, very, very sure that his friend would never do anything of the sort. After all, their rise to power had been on the same path ever since that day in Pripyat, Ukraine, and it would not ever change. "However, of all the artificialness that surrounds her, there are a few things that really surprised me about Anya."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. How could a woman surprise Makarov in any way? They were mysterious creatures, yes, but in all his years with Makarov, he had never seen him think highly of one at all. They were all just… tools to be used, to be threatened when necessary, or, to bed when they needed something more substantial than a bottle of good Vodka to waste. "What is it?" he queried, looking back at his friend, whose mind seemed to be unable to be shaken from the girl.

"She has the ability to project whatever it is to come accurately, judging from past events," Makarov answered. "All of us are subject to knee-jerk actions in our lives, but Anya, she is able to forecast that something is going on the moment she receives a stimulus."

"She knew that her companions would storm that ship, and she knew that they brought snipers," Yuri corrected Makarov. "That's why she shielded you from that bullet. She needed to earn your trust. My friend, do not let things go in too deeply into your head. It's just as simple as that."

Makarov knew that there was a chance that Yuri may be right. "That would make her the bravest soul ever," he concluded. If Anya knew that she was being watched constantly by his men, and she had the courage to even challenge him, to ask him why, acting as if she was truly the innocent party, then Anya's courage knew no bounds. "If only our own men had her courage…"

"Then they will have no qualms into acting for those who are your enemies," Yuri finished Makarov's sentence for him. "That is precisely why the girl is dangerous, Makarov. The very fact that she dares to do what she is doing shows her heart. You must be very, very careful around her."

HAN: Hello, people! I'm finally back after my hiatus! I've been planning to continue this fic after Modern Warfare 3 came out, and now that my Uni finals are done and I've already played through the game, there's not much of an excuse not to update! Oh yes, I will write this according to the timeline of the whole series as best as I can, so hopefully, I'll be able to stick with canon this time, heehee ^.^ Well as always, I hope you liked reading this, and that you'll stick around to see what I have all lined up for you.