Chapter 12

Revelations

With Adrien's prompting, they soon left the apartment and went down to the lobby for their watch. Katja was suspicious. "Why are we down here?" she asked him.

"Because, you're going through menopause," Adrien joked again, to her irritation, "and there's no reason to keep the others awake." Leaning against the front desk, he looked at the dusty receptionist telephone, pulled the curly phone cord as long as it would stretch, then let it go.

"Speaking of, I know this is personal and none of my business, but when was the last time you…" He trailed off, and gestured inadequately. "You know…"

Katja was totally confused. "Last time I what?" Adrien groaned and tapped some dried blood on one of his cuts. Then, it hit her.

"Oh. My. Lord. What is wrong with you? That is none of your business!" she snapped.

"I agree, but I'm being serious here." At her infuriated stare, he added, "Come on now, I gave Preobrazhensky the same treatment when he had to pee, and made him do it in the river. I'm just worried one or both of these creatures hunt by smell. I fear continuous blood could bring them like sharks, and we'd be leaving a trail," Adrien defended himself.

She sighed; it was possibly a fair point. Enraging and extremely invasive, but fair. Polar Bears had been shown in at least one study to be interested in that scent specifically. And somehow the hunter had found them in the large forest; certain smells could be the reason why. Maybe the hunter did track pheromones. They just didn't know. "We'll be long gone or dead before it could become a potential problem. Do you need to ask me whether I'm on birth control, too?" she sneered, unable to help being a little hostile about it.

"I get it, ok!" He held up his hands placatingly. Clearly, this wasn't a hill he wanted to die on. Or even walk towards.

They stood in their uncomfortable silence for a while. The wind was howling, and it sounded cold. The snow was still light, but visibility was extremely limited. Katja had almost accidentally drifted off standing up when she heard paper being crumpled.

Looking, she found Adrien flipping through an architecture magazine. Given the language barrier, she guessed he was reading it by the pictures. There was another rude page turn.

"Do you mind?" she asked tiredly. He sighed and tossed the magazine down.

"Are you more mad that I treated you like a woman, or that I treated you like a man?" Adrien posed.

"Neither. I'm mad at your callous attitude toward my people. Dead or alive," Katja answered sharply.

More silence. She snorted in disgust and focused on the mesmerizing snow instead.

"I've been where you are," Adrien suddenly began, his voice quieter than normal.

Confused to hear something from him that wasn't sarcastic or offensive, she turned and waited for him to continue.

"I was in Afghanistan, leading a unit through the mountains, search and destroy on weapon caches within the caves of it. By the books, very simple for special forces like us."

His story sounded somewhat interesting, so Katja stayed silent, and tried to soften her look to encourage him.

"Slowly, men started being picked off. They'd go take a piss and never come back. Or they'd hear a weird noise, go check it out, and disappear."

"What happened to them?" Katja asked.

"I started finding them. Strung by their legs, dangling in the air, missing their skin. Other times I'd find a husk without its skull and spine. Same went for the opposing force; we found them in the similar condition," Adrien answered.

She shuddered, morbidly enthralled now. "What did you do?"

"I called command and asked for an evac, describing events in detail. They told me that capture of the hostile was priority one, by any means necessary; dead or alive," Adrien explained.

No doubt he was talking about a hunter, Katja was sure of that. But she nodded for him to go on. At the very least, it was keeping her awake.

"By that point, I doubled everyone up, much like we are now. Nobody went anywhere alone. Ever. Didn't matter much, because it still found a way to isolate and pick us off one at a time," Adrien elaborated.

"A hunter…" Katja deduced aloud.

"Yeah. I didn't know it at the time. I figured it was highly trained insurgents. Heh, maybe even the Russians," Adrien joked, and she had to give a huffy laugh.

"Anyway, I set a trap to try and figure out what we were up against. Nothing fancy. I just hid a line tied to a bunch of empty cans, and backed us into a cave with a deadend. Wasn't long before the line was tripped, and we heard the clattering of cans; but we didn't see anything. My men's natural reaction was to mag dump."

"The camouflage," Katja nodded.

"The free-flying lead dropped the camo, and we saw just what we were up against. Thankfully, it retreated, and I wanted out of Dodge. So, I decided we needed to get out of the mountainous forests and go for the city. You know, since command wasn't gonna get us out of there," Adrien explained.

Katja nodded; it would be her first choice in that situation, too.

"We never made it. Before long, it was down to just me. The city was too far away, and it was gonna come back. I knew I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell," Adrien explained.

"So, what did you do?" Katja asked.

"I decided to go down swinging. I knew it favored the forest and was never far from it. So, I lit it up. Ring of fire slowly closing in on us, pushing us together. Dry Afghan forest like that went up easily, and burned relentlessly," Adrien continued.

"Why stay in there? You didn't care about capturing it," Katja asked. One would have to be insane to create a forest fire around one's self.

"I wanted revenge. I wanted to make it bleed, suffer. I couldn't even see past that enough to remember I had a family waiting for me at home," Adrien recounted slowly.

"What happened next?" Katja asked. It was clearly a no-win situation. She wasn't sure what she would do. Trap herself and the monster in an attempt to destroy it? Or possibly let it escape and harm others?

"As the ring closed in on itself and we were driven closer to one another, the air was red and unbreathable. Flakes of orange hot ash sprinkled the area like snow. I found a pond to stay cool in, kept my face covered as much as possible with googles and a shemagh," Adrien explained. He was staring out the window now, and clearly far away from Russia.

"And?" she prompted.

"Being out of ammo and gear, I rigged up a rifle into a crossbow from whatever I could salvage. Made arrows from much the same, but, I also put the unused C4 on the arrows too," Adrien explained.

"The explosives meant for the weapon caches?" Katja deduced.

"The very same," Adrien nodded. Katja motioned him to continue.

"Eventually, we met. I asked it why? Why us? Told it we had families, kids to take care of. That we hadn't done anything to it. It didn't reply. I don't know if it even understood me. If it did, it didn't care; it made it clear it wanted to fight," Adrien said.

Adrien was a hunter himself, that much she could figure out.

"You survived."

"At what cost?"

"You killed it?" Katja asked.

"I was outmatched, but got lucky early on. I managed to detonate an explosive bolt close to it, flinging its mask somewhere. I think that impaired its breathing and vision with all the smoke. I still had minimal protection by comparison. The fight dragged on. I managed to land a C4 bolt into its leg, but it stabbed me through the chest before I could depress the detonator. That's where the spinal trauma comes from. It held the detonator out tauntingly. Rather than go for it, I pulled myself forward on the blades, crushing the detonator between our bodies. It seemed that his body shielded me from the blast enough. Blew his lower half off, though."

Katja blew out a short breath. "What about the fire? You were trapped," she pointed out.

"I dragged myself back into the pond and waited it out. With the dryness of the material, I didn't have to wait long for it to burn itself out. After, I radioed base for an evac, and informed them of what happened. Command never did find the body, technology, or even evidence – and they didn't care about my men. But the medics did come for me, and somehow, they patched me back up. I was honorably discharged, with a Purple Heart and the Silver Star medals – for all that's worth," Adrien answered.

"I used to be the reason people were afraid to go into the woods," he added with a huff.

"It was over. So how did you end up back in the marines?" Katja persisted. Better question: after enduring something like that, why come back?

"I was at a pretty low place when I got back. I tended to hide in my garage from my family. I wouldn't see friends, or even leave the house. I was even… abusive to my wife," Adrien said.

"You hit her?" Katja cut in, cringing. She had already noticed he had a temper, but…

"No, no, nothing like that. It was all verbal. I scared her, but never hit her. But she couldn't take it anymore. She took my daughter and left. Not that I blame her. By that point, twice I had come close to suicide. Just a four-and-a-quarter pound trigger pull away from doing it," Adrien unloaded, in an eerily matter-of-fact way.

Katja was blown away by this information. He didn't seem like that kind of guy, from what she knew. In fact, he'd seemed pretty invested in keeping himself alive on this mission. Maybe his suicidal tendencies now manifested in that dark, twisted humor of his. PTSD and survivor's guilt could be powerful mental afflictions, after all.

"After reflecting on it, I decided that was the coward's way out. I cleaned myself up and re-enlisted. But I took a powerful lesson in leading people from it," Adrien explained.

"Which is?" Katja asked.

"Sometimes there is no right choice. You can go left, you can go right, it doesn't matter. But you have to be prepared to send men to their death. I'm not saying waste their lives, but there may be times when you aren't left with a choice. That's why you should never get too attached to your people," Adrien answered.

"I know that, Adrien," she said slowly. "I knew what I was getting into when I enlisted. And neither of us got as far as we did in our careers without making the hard choices. I've… I've lost men before." But the difference between then and now was when she'd previously lost people, she hadn't abandoned them. This time, it felt like she had – intentionally or not.

This did, however, give a lot of insight into the American Captain. It was nice to know it wasn't that he didn't value her men's lives. It was just professional detachment on his part. His story was also… sad. Hard not to humanize him much more after that.

"I take it revenge on the hunter didn't bring any comfort," Katja mumbled. Some part of her wanted revenge on Weyland – but who to extract it on, short of the whole company? Plus, not everyone working for them was evil. Most were just trying to make a living.

"I've found the dead don't care about revenge. It will not make you feel better. Often, all it does is give you drive and focus. Once it's gone, so are you," Adrien told her.

Not really what she wanted to hear, but deep down, she knew it was all true.

"You feel better now?" Adrien asked. Katja was taken aback; shouldn't she be asking him that after unburdening so much baggage?

Weirdly enough, she did. Even his razzing about her and Petrov was in a new light. A warning. Not him being crude. It was comforting to know he also did care about what happened to her and her men, but he was just refusing to become attached. It also was a comfort that someone experienced with at least one of the alien species was co-leading them to safety.

"Yeah, I do," Katja nodded.

"Good, because I would like some sleep tonight and I know you need it, too. So when we are relieved, can you at least try?" Adrien requested.

Realistically, it was a relatively small request for sharing so much with her. She got the impression he didn't generally talk about this to just anyone.

"I will try," Katja agreed. He nodded in a thankful way. But she felt his confession had definitely shifted them more towards friends. Or at least, not enemies.

Yet, in the back of her mind, something about Adrien's words of caution, and something Petrov had said about him, were combining together to bother her. She just couldn't figure out what it was. Her brain wanted to connect them, but she was too emotionally spent and tired.

"Tell me about your family," Adrien cut into her thoughts.

It seemed like an odd thing to bring up. "Why?"

"Because I want to know your origin story. And the Black Widow movie isn't releasing until summer," he teased. "No, I'm just making conversation. And I figured it wasn't polite to ask about the ex-fiancé."

"Now you care about being polite?" Hesitantly, not ready to talk about her brother yet, she said, "There isn't much to say. My father had an affair. I'm his illegible daughter."

By the way Adrien's mouth wobbled slightly as he tried not to chuckle, Katja realized she must have used the wrong word.

"Illegitimate!" she corrected quickly, slightly embarrassed. She'd been speaking English since she was six. There was no excuse for the error. "As you can imagine, his wife – my mother – isn't too fond of me. Pretty sure my father wishes I didn't exist. I… I don't get home too often anymore."

"And your biological mom?"

"She died when I was a baby." Sometimes Katja wished her father at least had a photo of Mila. But maybe she wouldn't have lived up to what Katja had built in her mind, anyway. Toddler Katja had imagined nothing less than a fairy queen from all those stories Karik would read to her. "My father won't talk about her. He only ever said she was talented, pretty, and caring."

Adrien sobered. "Then you must take after her. And I'm sorry. Sounds like your upbringing was rough."

"It wasn't all bad," Katja told him, thinking fondly of Karik. Parades sitting on his shoulders, visits to his base and board games, tea parties with just him and her stuffed animals. No, she'd had her good moments.

Adrien nodded, not probing any deeper.

"What about you? You said you had a wife and daughter? How old is your girl?" Katja asked.

"I have a wife, yes. And Mackenzie is eight," Adrien corrected, just a bit indignantly. She waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Obviously, it was a sore subject, if his story was anything to go by; so she left it alone. Might be a good time to probe about the aliens.

"Tell me more about the incident in Antarctica with Weyland," Katja requested.

"Ok, I'm gonna need you to get all the way off my back about that," Adrien answered.

"Not getting off that thing," Katja smirked. He shook his head and looked elsewhere.

"I'm sorry, but I just recently found out we are not, in fact, alone in this universe. Excuse me for asking about it," Katja continued more seriously. Still, he didn't say anything. He'd revealed the personal story about himself, but Bouvetøyen island was, for some reason, still taboo – despite him claiming he told her the important things about it.

Deciding the interrogation was over, Katja switched to less heavy subjects of conversation. Most of them involved food. He was appalled to hear she'd never had a cheeseburger.

Apparently, he also was extremely informal in the military speak because he was sick of doing it all the time. She figured that was a pretty fair reason.

Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky eventually came down to the lobby to relieve them, yawning a little too dramatically. She and Adrien trudged back up the stairs and laid down on the empty bed. After her hours in the lobby, she was now cold, and stole Adrien's blankets. Again. This time though, she left him one.

"Katja…" Adrien said.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"They don't feel anything. They're soulless killing machines," Adrien said, but she wondered who he was trying to convince. Himself, or her? Personally, she thought if it was sentient, it was physically impossible for it not to feel emotion. She didn't respond, and Adrien didn't push.

As she drifted off, Katja swore she heard light scratching outside the window. But her mind told her it was just snow, or the trees scraping the building…

Morning broke, and Vai'dqouulth stirred awake. He removed his mask to splay his mandibles wide in a yawn, giving them a good stretch. Unsurprisingly, there was a thin layer of snow over his entire person.

"C'jit." he complained aloud. Shaking himself of the offending blanket, which caused the rings attached to his tresses to jingle. Vai'dqouulth took inventory of his wounds next.

They seemed healed enough. It did not matter, because he had to retrieve that human computer, injury notwithstanding.

Now, he was fairly certain he knew where the noises from yesterday were coming from, and human vehicles tended to leave very distinct tracks to follow.

He'd get ahead of them and try to place some nonlethal traps in their path in hopes of incapacitating his main target. As for the rest of them, they'd be meeting with the black warrior soon enough.

Jumping from his tree, Vai'dqouulth landed almost silently. It was time to hunt.

Adrien woke up alone in the bed. Strange, he had never been on the other side of this situation. Usually, in his younger days, he left someone else in bed to wake alone.

Walking out to the kitchen, he found Katja awake and making food. She seemed refreshed and calmer than last night, even giving him a tiny – but genuine – smile in greeting, which he couldn't help but return.

Her restored frame of mind may or may not have been a good thing for the extraction, however. The more focused and sharp she was, the more dangerous she might be.

"No wonder your parents hate you. You're up at ungodly hours making noise and a mess," Adrien said between a yawn. At least he'd gotten sleep, too. He had been running on empty yesterday.

"I want to get an early start and maximize our daylight in case something goes wrong," Katja stated simply. She turned, waiting for his reaction.

"…You didn't think we'd make it through the night, did you?" Adrien asked.

He watched Katja glance around for any listening ears before answering very softly. "No."

He tried to lighten the mood by rubbing his eyes of crust and flicking a flake towards her. Making a face, she snapped her spatula in his direction, flinging small bits of food at him. "Disgusting!" she complained.

"No, what's disgusting is being up this early. This isn't hunting season. We don't have to be out there before someone steals our deer stand," Adrien said, his still-waking mind not realizing the irony in the statement.

"Seems to me it's open season on humans right now," Katja shot back. Trying to figure out what she meant, he gaped at her, eyes at half-mast, until he realized how stupid he probably looked.

Blinking a few times, his sleepy mind finally caught up. "Oh. Right," he answered.

"Sleep well?" she asked, turning back to the pans.

"When you finally stopped kicking me, yes, I did," Adrien answered. "What're you making, anyway?"

"I found some canned potatoes and chopped them into cubes for makeshift hash-browns. I also managed to scrounge up some powdered eggs," Katja replied. "Had to break into a few other apartments to find it all; but it's a real, all-American breakfast, just for you and your guys. Consider it a 'thank you' for the ride."

"That sounds good. Let me take over. I love making breakfast food." Adrien practically pushed her out of the way, mouth watering.

"You're welcome," Katja grunted before taking a seat at the table.

She seemed on the verge of asking him something when Hornet and Alexei walked into the kitchen to join them. Hornet appeared extremely tired, but happy.

"Long night?" Adrien asked.

"I love this kid! Doesn't speak a word of English unless it's movie quotes. So all we did was quote movies all night!" Hornet answered. "He can recite all of the original Terminator, beginning to end."

"I'll be back." Alexei said in poor English and an even worse Austrian accent.

"See?!" Hornet pointed. "He's amazing."

"Hornet, literally no one likes Alexei," Adrien said. Way too early in the morning for this crap. "He's a little asshole."

Alexei began squawking angrily, probably about Adrien's insult; but Katja didn't bother to translate.

"I side with the American on this," Petrov announced as he walked in with Scarecrow. It appeared the entire apartment was waking up, drawn by the meal.

"Thanks, I guess," Adrien said. He noticed the first batch of eggs were ready. Grabbing a plate that was too small, he loaded up a mountain of hash-browns, topping it with two extremely runny scrambled eggs before dumping it in from of Katja. She looked a little intimidated by the portion size.

At last, the final two stragglers, Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky, wandered into the kitchen. "Something smells good, but why are we up so early?" Zaitsev asked, eyes bleary as he fell into a chair.

"Katja's fault," Adrien quickly accused, sampling some hash browns from the pan.

"What are you? Four?" Katja asked just as Adrien handed plates to Hornet and Petrov.

"Mentally, yes," Adrien answered. He watched as Hornet bit into the eggs. "Eggs good?"

"Hooah, Cap," Hornet said, and Adrien cringed.

He hoped to hell Katja was not familiar enough with the various American military quirks to grasp that slip-up. To be fair, he had never requested his men act like marines.

Sparing a glance at Katja, Adrien saw the tightness in her face, and that said it all. She had caught the mistake. She now knew they weren't all marines.

Dropping her fork, Katja stood, faking a grin. "Hey everyone, I'll be right back. My feet are cold, and I think I left my socks in the bedroom."

It was even worse than her map excuse last night; however, Scarecrow started nodding. "Oh yeah, my wife's feet are always freezing, too. Want me to get them for you?"

"No!" Katja said hastily. "I mean, thanks. But no."

Adrien, though, knew better. He was staring at her the way Mishka did when he was about to attack his toy mouse.

On the way out of the kitchen, Katja made a discreet hand signal to her men.

They met her in the bedroom less than a minute later. She didn't know what explanation they'd given to the Americans; but the important thing was, they could now speak in private.

"What's going on?" Preobrazhensky asked. None of them, not even Petrov, had caught Hornet's slang. In their defense, it would be impossible to notice without studying American militaries endlessly while in school, as she had.

"I'm not sure, but these guys are not United States Marines," Katja answered.

"How do you know that?" Petrov asked.

"Marines don't say 'Hooah'; that's an American army term. The separate US military branches have their own culture and would never mistake each other's little mannerisms. Not to mention, Hornet is wearing OCP camouflage, an army pattern. Scarecrow and Viper are wearing a pattern called 'Navy Work Uniform', generally used by Navy Seals," Katja rapped out. Her brain was working ahead of her mouth, trying to think of a way out of their situation. Nothing viable was coming to mind.

"With respect Captain, how do you know all this?" Zaitsev asked.

"And why didn't you mention the uniforms earlier?" Petrov threw in.

"I studied the American military in depth while in school. I thought we'd be at war with them by the time I entered the service. As for the uniforms, sometimes special forces will wear random patterns to throw the enemy off. This is not the case. They are wearing their branch of military proudly," Katja answered, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door. She couldn't believe the Americans hadn't yet burst in and demanded to know what they were doing.

"Big deal, they are getting us out of here. Who cares what they wear?" Alexei scoffed. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.

"It matters because they could be Weyland. They could be imposters," Katja began before Alexei cut in.

"Among Us," he said, no doubt referring to some pop culture nonsense.

"Yeah, whatever. Point is, they aren't who they say they are, and that could mean our lives," Katja finished. She had to wonder if that story about Afghanistan was just chicken crap to garner trust and sympathy. And she'd bought every word like a sucker.

The part about Adrien's daughter was real, though. She'd have bet her life on it. Not that it did her any good.

"What should we do, Ma'am?" Petrov asked.

"Be ready. Your guns are in the living room with our gear. Try to grab them and get them loaded – but only if you can do it without them noticing. Be prepared that there is no evac waiting for us," Katja stated.

"Captain, for all our sakes, I hope you are wrong," Preobrazhensky said grimly.

"And once again, the army screws the pooch," Adrien whispered. Scarecrow had been listening at the door and translating everything, and now they were in the living room, waiting for the Russians.

"Hey!" Hornet protested.

"Give it a rest Brian; you'll screw anything," Adrien rubbed his forehead as he headed over to his gear and grabbed his sidearm. He stuck it in the back of his waistband, not taking the time to grab the holster. He'd need it hidden, anyway.

"What do you want to do, Cap?" Scarecrow asked.

"Let them make the move; just be ready. Otherwise, we stick to the plan. Cat's out of the bag, but no reason to acknowledge it unless they push. We may still be able to get to the evac and leave. Sounds like they wanted to as well," Adrien ordered. This situation was about to become one ugly motherf–

Katja walked in, interrupting his thought.

"Oh good; you're back. I was worried when the other guys left that perhaps it wasn't a socks trip, but a parasite removal," Adrien commented.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" Katja asked. It wasn't a joke; she was testing him. He noted how tense everyone seemed to be. His guys were expecting an attack from her guys and vice-versa, each waiting for the other side to move first. Like the Cold War all over again.

"Not at all. We still have an evac to make, but my wounded man needs something to eat and drink before we're Oscar-Mike. Would you mind?" Adrien requested.

"Yeah, sure," she answered neutrally before loading up a plate.

Katja entered Viper's room and thankfully, he seemed aware. "Hi again," she greeted.

"Again?" Viper coughed.

"Yes, we met earlier. You seemed out of it, though," Katja answered, mashing his food into pulp. Given the jaw and facial damage, maybe it would make it easier for him to eat. Too bad he wasn't still delirious. Maybe she could've gotten him to talk.

"Ah. And who are you, exactly?" Viper asked, taking the plate.

"Captain Jekaterina Mikhailov, 25th Special Purpose Regiment Spetsnaz of the Russian Federation," Katja gave her verbal signature.

"Oh! You must be the one we came here for!" Viper perked up.

"…What?"

That's when her head finally put together what she'd struggled with last night, when she was talking to Adrien. "He risked his life to save you," Petrov had said. "You have to be prepared to lose people," Adrien had said.

Adrien should have been just as prepared to let her die as anyone else…

Unless there was a reason not to.

When Adrien saw Katja emerge, he knew immediately something was up. She looked angry and determined… and she was coming into the living room, straight at him like a freight train.

She punched him. Hard. Hard enough he heard her knuckles crack. The blow made his head ring.

"When were you going to tell me that you were kidnapping me? When I was already on the goddamn helicopter?" she demanded, but didn't give him a chance to speak as her next attack was already coming in.

Adrien was able to block her follow up assault, though, and he quickly delivered a blow to her stomach – designed to slow her, and not injure her. She responded to his kindness by grabbing his offending forearm and kicked him right between the legs. There was an audible and collective pained groan that came from both his guys and her's.

Stumbling back through the kitchen archway, Adrien bumped into the dining table, knocking a dirty plate to the floor. She charged after him, her anger making her form sloppy.

He wrestled her to the ground, knowing if he could put his full weight on her, this struggle-snuggle would be over. Realizing this, she began reaching around for something to use against him. Her hand found the plate, and she smashed it against his face.

Even trained in hand-to-hand, he still reeled from a plate hitting his face; and then she was on him like a vicious little badger, ready to do more damage. Adrien was done with this fruitless game, however; and besides, after his encounter with a hunter in Afghanistan, the belief in a fair fight was no longer a belief of his. He drew his sidearm and lazily trained it on her.

"Now, now, let's not let the kids see mom and dad fight." Her men had followed them into the kitchen, ready for confrontation, and his men were ready to counter. This was officially a standoff.

"Stand down, guys; this is nothing more than a violent disagreement," Adrien said to his men, dabbing a finger on his face where the plate cut the skin. It came away bloody. He looked to Katja, waiting for her to tell her men to back off as well.

"Stand down," she finally yielded quietly.

"We," he said grabbing her collar, "are going to have a talk. Now."

Petrov rushed forward and gave Adrien a hard shove with the heels of his hands, right in the solar plexus. It actually caught him off guard – he hadn't really thought any of them were crazy enough to charge him when he was armed – and he stumbled back a step, dropping the gun. Catching his breath, he quickly recovered, but the gun was now out of reach.

"Let her go. You're not taking her anywhere unless she wants to," said the other man, warningly. He was very clearly spoiling for an outright brawl.

Adrien inwardly winced. He didn't want to do this. Especially after mixing it up with Katja just seconds ago and getting a plate to the skull.

He was pretty sure he had the edge, and could've eventually taken Petrov. He'd been in enough training sessions and fights to know what he was doing, and do it well; he hadn't lost a fight (with another human anyway) since he was a teenager. But Petrov was also possibly close to a decade younger, lighter on his feet, and didn't have a jacked-up back to contend with. Not to mention he was looking to impress his lady fair. He wouldn't go down easily.

It would be difficult, unnecessary, exhausting, and painful for them both; and Adrien was at the point in his life where he was past the worst of his pride and just… did not want to deal with it.

"Look, Petrov," he said reasonably, lifting his hands, "I'm not trying to kidnap her or anything."

"Really? What would you call it?" asked Katja coldly, standing warily out of Adrien's reach. Her men were moving to stand between her and Adrien.

"Guys, this isn't a prisoner-of-war thing!" Scarecrow protested, picking up Adrien's gun from the floor. Clearly trying to defuse the situation, he didn't point it at anyone. "She's a VIP. Government's gonna treat her like a queen when we touch down. It's just an extraction."

"I'd treat her like a queen too," Hornet murmured.

"Yes?" Zaitev snarled. "Why is she a VIP? Why does the United States want her?"

Keeping an eye on Petrov's fists, Adrien blurted, "They don't!"

All of the Russians stared at him. Well, crap. He hadn't meant to do that. "They don't," he repeated. "They just promised us a serpent specimen for her safe delivery. Someone in your government wants her out."

For just a brief second, the look of a sad, rejected little girl flitted across Katja's face.

"What are you talking about?" snapped Petrov.

"Some old guy, how would I know?" Adrien retorted. "I thought it was weird myself. Unless Kat has a secret lover we don't know about, or she's pissed off someone higher up."

"That's ridiculous!" Katja cried. "Nobody knows who I am; nobody cares!" She bit her lip after the last word, as if she had revealed too much of herself with it.

It did make sense she would think that, given what she'd told him about her parents. Poor girl.

"I'm not… I'm just a Captain," she attempted to rephrase, her face smoothing out. "I've had absolutely no issues with any superiors. Other than a major who… look, I've always kept my head down. My promotions came from my record, not any special treatment. I don't know who would've requested this, or why. I don't know any 'old guys' who would be trying to get me to the United States."

"Right. Seriously, who the goddamn hell are you?" Adrien asked. "My men and I are risking our lives to get you out of here. The least you can do is tell us."

"I did tell you–"

"No. No more games. Someone high up in the former Soviet Union wants you out of the country, like they knew this was coming. It's not just extraction, Katja; I have a whole relocation packet waiting for you in the US. It has a house loan, a car loan, and a 401k with enough money to pay that all off and live more than comfortably the rest of your life, never working again should you choose to do so," Adrien stated. It was true, too. He'd read it in the mission briefings on the way to Russia.

She didn't say a word, maybe from shock.

"And now I find out the hunter wants you too. Why?" Adrien asked.

"That's ridiculous, it wanted Alexei," Katja jumped right back into the argument.

"Really? Because it only went after Alexei after you intervened. And then it just stared you down. They don't do that. So, why are you so important to everyone and everything?" Adrien demanded.

"I'm. NOT!" she shouted. "Idiot! You sure you even have the right person?"

"Well, I don't know any other Russian special forces women in the area; do you? And you may think nobody gave you special treatment, but someone sure paid for your Krav Maga lessons and fancy English tutoring. Am I wrong?"

Katja folded her arms tightly, as if warding him off. "The person who did those things for me is dead, if you must know. They couldn't have had a thing to do with it. And none of your questions matter, because I am not going to the United States, anyway."

Setting his teeth, Adrien pushed away his sinking feeling. It was time to see exactly how much her men meant to her.

Still breathing hard after her fight with Adrien, not to mention discombobulated by his insistence that she had some special importance, Katja managed to tell him there was no way she was going to America.

His face went hard. "Then I'm afraid you've left me with only one option."

"Which is?"

She was so used to Adrien's sarcasm, his nonchalant and humorous nature, that she didn't quite know what to expect from this new, cold, and menacing person in front of her.

"If you don't come with us, neither do your men."

Feeling her heart go still, Katja said, "What?"

"You heard me. Come quietly, and we'll give them a ride as promised. Fight us, and we'll take you anyway – but they'll be stuck in Siberia with all the creepy-crawlys that want to kill them."

Preobrazhensky scowled. "We outnumber you. We could just commandeer your transport if we wanted."

"Great. I'm sure the pilot will just take a bunch of Russian military guys, no questions asked," Adrien said, chuckling darkly.

Katja's men looked down, frustrated.

Well, there was only one thing left to do. "Adrien," Katja said, "I'll–"

Zaitsev cut her off in Russian. "Captain, wait. Think about this first. If you leave like this, command might consider it a desertion, or even a defection, no matter what we tell them. You'd never be able to come back. Not just to the military, but to the country."

Over by the Americans, she noticed Scarecrow repeating what Zaitsev was saying. In English. So, Adrien had a translator this whole time. Why was she not surprised? Better yet, how had she not noticed? Careless of her.

Katja replied to Zaitsev in Russian anyway, not wanting to make things any easier for the Americans than she had to. "I'm aware. You don't need to worry about me, Zaitsev. You're a good soldier. You've come so far, and I'm so proud of you. I wish I would have told you more often."

"Come on, Captain, stop talking like you're saying goodbye!" Preobrazhensky began angrily. "It's not right! You shouldn't have to go!"

"Thank you, Preobrazhensky. You always went above and beyond for the unit. Always." He was right, too, but it was her own fault. She should have listened to Petrov when he'd tried to warn her.

Petrov…

Her Lieutenant was just barely shaking his head, pleading with her. Angling her body so the others couldn't see, she reached out and took his fingers, just two of them, between her thumb and index finger and gave them a small squeeze. It was all she could give him. "You're going to be fine," she told him. "You are. Wherever the Americans drop you off, you're going to get our boys home. Command is going to promote you, and you're gonna make a great captain, because you're the best man I know."

She didn't give him a chance to respond; and surprisingly, Scarecrow didn't translate any of it. Letting Petrov go and turning to Adrien, she said in English, "If I go with you to America, do you swear you'll bring my men somewhere safe?"

Gravely, Adrien said, "I swear on my daughter."