Capt. John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Hidden Loyalist Safehouse – Kandahar, Afghanistan

They had come into the Loyalist safehouse that Nikolai brought them to battered, not only in the physical sense, but also from deep within them. The very fact that Shepherd's betrayal of the Task Force 141 had just only sunk in for MacTavish, and he had been silent ever since Anya told him everything about what she had found out on Shepherd.

"He was already in it with Makarov since day one… Shepherd exposed me as a spy before the massacre at the airport," Anya's explanations on the issue still rung in his head, even though he was alone in the living area of the safehouse. She told him how she had discovered her files in Makarov's office; how Makarov himself had offered her the opportunity to go back to his side so that she could exact her vengeance on Shepherd. It amazed him that she had turned Makarov down so blatantly, in fact, he did not even know if that claim was true, that she was so noble that she would rather die than betray her country. He even voiced those thoughts to Price while Anya had retreated to the showers while Nikolai checked on his plane.

"I was in the cell right opposite to Anya's when Makarov came to see her back in the Monastery, Soap," Price said to him. "I heard every word of their conversation, and Anya really did refuse Makarov's offer. She came in unconscious and wounded, and his doctors literally rushed to revive her from whatever he used to fake her death, and he came to see her when she was showing signs of waking." He was there from the moment Anya had arrived, and his eyes never left her trail ever since then. The fact that she was a 141 operative was new to him at the time, but when he searched the reserves of his memory, he did remember her as the FNG that arrived just before his capture. Anyone with her amount of skills and sharp eye was difficult to forget, let alone a soldier of her sex.

MacTavish groaned. "I don't know who to trust anymore," he told Price. "Anya's a good soldier, but…" he paused, trying to find the right words to say. "She's been exposed to Makarov for far too long…" It was no mistake to say that one of the reasons MacTavish was so reluctant for Anya to remain in Russia for Operation Honeypot was that he feared that Makarov might have converted her to his cause instead. She had returned from Moscow a changed woman. Yes, her former fiery attitudes still remained, but there was something in her that she was trying to hide from them, even from him. On the other hand, there was Shepherd, the man that he had followed with such blind loyalty that he could not believe what a fool he was to do so.

Price was silent. At that moment of time, he needed to listen to whatever MacTavish had to say, because he really needed to let out all of his frustrations. MacTavish had always been a simple soldier, where things like intrigue and the politics behind their line of work never really mattered to him although there was a chance that they might affect him in one way or the other. He would do things because he was asked to, because it was his duty to do so, nothing more, and nothing less. There were almost a hundred of them, just that morning, and now, all that remained of the 141 were just the two of them and Anya… It was most certainly a time that no one, absolutely no one, deserved to go through, much less MacTavish.

"I'm to blame for all this," a clear, feminine voice cut through the tense air. It was Anya, fresh out from the shower. Her eyes were wet and puffy, the first sight and indication to Price and MacTavish that she had been crying. She did not speak further, but she sat down next to MacTavish, who did not look at her at all. He feared to see her tears, because it reminded him of what they had lost that day.

"No, sweetheart," Price said to her. "You've done what you could. Even if you stopped Makarov, Shepherd was still gonna try something else. His goal is his own glory, and he'd do anything to get it." He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked at her. "You've held up for so long now, Anya, don't give up now. You know that we can fight this…"

Anya nodded, and forced a smile through her tears. It made Price sigh to see the two of them like that, but he knew that they needed to sort it out for themselves. He had not been led the 141 for several years now, and some of the ones that he knew were either dead or had left their faction, apart from Ghost and a select few others. Anya and MacTavish, on the other hand, knew every single one of them, and they had fought and lived with them in close proximity. The loss of the 141 was theirs and theirs alone.

Thus, he left the two of them together, on the pretext of needing a smoke, and to think in private. He was sure that they needed that time alone as well.

"They're probably at a better place right now," MacTavish commented, shifting his ice-blue eyes towards Anya, who was still sobbing silently. It hurt him to see her in such pain, and it hurt him more in knowledge that there was nothing he could do to stop it, because he was feeling the same way as well. The feeling that they should have been there at the Caucasus Mountains, that they actually went forward with the plan to split their faction in favor of a two-pronged attack to stop Makarov. "They won't know what hit them, so, they must've gone on their way knowing that they've done something right."

For a moment there, her sobbing stopped, and she looked up towards him, still trembling, still shaking. "I'm so sorry," she murmured through her tears, not even realizing that he had gotten much closer to her, close enough to draw her into his arms. It was a gesture that she had welcomed, a pure one, without any intent other than to give her comfort. She had always looked to MacTavish for leadership, and at that time, he was the one who gave her the solace that she so gravely needed. As he held her, she cried, not speaking, not thinking, but letting out all the pain that she felt. Flashes of the death she had caused at Zakhaev International Airport went through her mind, how she had fought to retrieve the plans for the nuclear submarine at Petropavlosk, the elation and joy she had felt when she returned to the 141… She let it all out, holding one of MacTavish's hands, feeling the other gently squeezing her forearm.

MacTavish joined her as well in her anguish. But his tears, they were silent. He had lost his brothers that day, and no one was going to bedruge him them. He had lived through seeing the deaths of his comrades before, and the pain had been so hard to bear that he had suffered briefly, but severely, deep in the reserves of his mind. With Anya there, he was able to channel and release his grief. With Anya there, he had someone to share that grief with…

At that moment in time, the two of them realized that they would fight to the death for one another, because there was no turning back, and also because so long they survived, the mandate of the 141 remained the same. They would hunt down Makarov, to ensure that the efforts of their brothers were not wasted, and kill anyone else who stood in their way.

Nikolai

Loyalist / Task Force 141 Transport Contractor

Hidden Loyalist Safehouse – Kandahar, Afghanistan

"Soap and Anya are fast asleep," Nikolai told Price, who was watching the stars on the rooftop of the safehouse while smoking on yet another cigar, that chain-smoking old man.

"Good," Price said, getting up from his perch on the roof. "They'd feel better in the morning." He, like MacTavish, had lost his entire unit twice in the span of five years. Yes, there was grief; yes, there was suffering, but he had already learned to put the past behind him, and not to dwell in whatever made him angry or sad. It did not do well for the soul, especially for a person in his line of work. Nikolai had worked with him for long enough to understand that about him.

However, the Russian pilot had something to add as well, to lighten the mood a little. "You know Price, they look quite adorable together," he said, peering into the window, where MacTavish and Anya slept, slumped over one another under two rough, but thick blankets. "Don't you think so?"

"I wouldn't bet on it, Nikolai," Price replied as he got down from the roof and looked through the same window as Nikolai did. "Anya's still has some… unresolved issues regarding Makarov. My guess is that she's developed something for the bastard and she doesn't even know it yet."

"Da, only Soap see what he wants to see, I guess," Nikolai sighed. That was the nature of MacTavish. Whether it was a strength of his or a flaw, he did not know, but it was the truth, so much so that Price agreed with him. "I just hope that for their sake they manage to work something out. Or Anya will have to live with the guilt that she's in love with the man who tore the world apart."

"Same here," Price agreed. "There's no way that she and Makarov can hit it on. The girl's too loyal a soldier to do that. But, that's just a guess, after all. Maybe she's already gotten over him?"

For Anya's sake, they hoped that Price was right, if not for herself, then, for the 141, because she was all that remained for the two Captains. She had returned to them with a burden so great on her soul that she did not share, and whatever its contents, it concerned all of them.

"Don't worry, I won't run to Makarov at any opportunity I have," once again, Anya's voice was heard, interrupting their conversation. Her eyes were still swollen, but at least, there was a calm that surrounded her, that had never been felt before since she returned with Price. "I know that the two of you are thinking, but I promise you… my duty is with you guys, and I won't let the 141 down, ever."

She knew that she had done nothing to prove her loyalty to the 141, and she was determined to regain and keep their trust. She knew that she had to cut every down every tie she had formed with Makarov, no matter how he had made her felt the year previous. She had to show Price and MacTavish, and also Nikolai, that she would not abandon them at such a crucial time…

"I knew you won't, sweetheart," Price returned, "I just told Soap that I was there when you rejected the bastard's offer to work with him."

With that, her eyes widened. "You were there?" she asked him, and he told her that she could not have seen him, because his cell was not lit, and that it was at night when Makarov had seen her. Soon, she started to shed tears again, but those were not tears of pain, they were of relief. "And you told MacTavish about it?" There was another nod from Price, and she thanked him profusely.

"You're one of us, Anya," Price continued, with a half-smile that rivaled hers. "That's enough for us."

At that moment, Nikolai just had to join in. "Da, Anya, do not worry," he added. "We'll take care of you from here on out."

"Thanks guys," she mouthed, and hugged the two of them. She had found her home once again, and she was never going to let them go. "I'll never leave you too."

HAN: Hello there~ ^.^ I'm back! I thank all of you for your patience, and staying with me throughout my absence, for the fact is that real life interferes, and this fic had to be halted so I could do my work. I do hope you like this chapter!