a/n: So, hi there. This is my first ever Call of Duty fiction and I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of nervous about the reception I'm going to get. I've been reading lots in this genre, both stories and reviews and I suppose I've noticed people can be a little harsh. It's not I don't like constructive criticism because I do, I find it awfully helpful (I know how I write isn't to everyone's taste)- I'm just worried because I've inserted an OC in my very first fiction she's not going to be appreciated. I don't think I've created a Mary-Sue (not that you're going to truly get to know her in this first chapter), so fingers crossed.

This story is going to focus on Makarov. At first, I will set the story and he will be kind of MIA, but the main bulk of this will be filled of flashbacks, telling of how my character and Makarov have developed their unique and complex relationship. It's not going to be lovey-dovey and cliché because that grosses me out too. Makarov is evil, there's no denying that, but I really don't believe that he can be simply described as a 'sociopath'. Maybe I interpret him another way, possibly completely unlike the way he's supposed to be interpreted, but he's clearly a passionate enough man about what he believes in. He must have some feelings. Somewhere. Maybe..

So yes. I hope you enjoy. :3
Also, I would like to add, as much as I am insanely attracted to this fictional, evil and dead terrorist, I do not sympathize with him. His goals or his ways (as it may sometimes seem in the story).

CHAPTER ONE.

Safe house was a term that he had never fully understood, even if it was such a common phrase in his conversations as of late. There was nothing safe about an inconspicuous old cabin nestled away in a rarely explored section of faraway mountain. For a location could be anywhere on the face of the Earth but it would never be safe when you had people who were hunting you. Mad dogs who wanted you dead with a passion most men never lived to experience. These men hold blindness to the fact they aren't the only men to have passionate beliefs and morals imprinted on them. The kind of passionate beliefs that have now turned them in to vicious murderers – even when that makes them in to the kind of people they live to kill. They are told a certain way to think is correct and it is accepted by them without question, they are merely pawns to a higher power. Foreign dictators from past and present who run countries successfully – even if brutally - are cast aside as Hell bringers and cold men with no thought for anything but power and money, death and destruction. But when one man rises up and condemns these powerful nations for being nothing more than power hungry narcissists, he is labelled as an anti-Western pig; heartless and backward and living in a past world. They talk of freedom and freethinking but only when it shines a positive light on them. Hypocritical, isn't it?

"We are almost here," a husky voice spoke out in its Russian mother tongue from the front seat of a fast moving vehicle. His voice was interrupted with each new bump in the rocky path to their destination. "Nevsky and Korshunov will first check the area once more. Then, we will proceed to the drop off and secure the location."

"My transport will be waiting?"

The back seat of the tinted windowed vehicle was occupied by two people with some distance between them. Vladimir Makarov, to the left, looked paler than usual and the dark circles that lay beneath his eyes gave the distinct impression he hadn't slept in days. His protection was sparse, nothing more than a Kevlar vest which he wore out of paranoia more than necessity for the journey; an ambush was more than unlikely at this time. It was better to be paranoid than be dead, however. His weaponry was even sparser, but the things he could do with a knife and a pistol would turn the stomachs of hardened criminals and haunt them for the rest of their lives. Arms would be ready and waiting for him where they were going. There was something dishevelled about his appearance overall – his messy hair and stubbly chin suggested he didn't care about vanity right now and it made him look even more like he was on the edge. They were trivial matters at this point. But in his hand, there was no weapon or mobile device, simply another, slightly smaller hand. It was a feminine, with lengthy, bony fingers – the index of which was adorned with a beautiful and intricately engraved golden band. Her hair was dark, but the kind where it was hard to tell whether it was black or merely the darkest of browns, cascading lazily and unshaped around her shoulders. Her skin was lightly tanned, only accentuating the scars that ladened her body both in and out of sight. But then was her face. There was no denying her beauty for it was the only reason she was sat beside him right now, instead of being face down in some ditch in a country she didn't care to know the name of – abused and broken. But she had been different and had the kind of unconventional look that had caught his attention. Her eyes, like his, did not match. The left was scarred to the point her pupil looked non-existent behind a cloud of blue-ish gray and it all gave a rather sinister look about her. But as she sat, hand-in-hand with a monster, she felt even more so than she appeared. This woman was Nina Valikhanova and she belonged to this man. The gesture wouldn't appear as romantic to anyone who may have seen. It looked more like he was holding the hand of a small child as he aided her across a busy road, simply a guide to cling on to. But she knew better than anyone it was hard for him to show any remote display of affection.

"A helicopter will arrive twenty-five minutes after our arrival." The same voice, belonging to one of Makarov's most trusted men, Anatoly, informed his boss from his driver's seat.

Makarov responded with nothing more than a fractional nod of his head and the vehicle plunged in to an eerie silence once more. All that could be heard was the sound of the cars both in front and behind them, travelling up the winding and rocky roads at dangerous speeds with no consideration for the ice and snow that engulfed the landscape.

"Your hand is warm." He spoke up after long minutes of quiet but he didn't turn to face her or speak loud enough to gain the attention of their driver. There was an air of confusion about his statement. How could she possibly be warm when each word that left his lips turned to clouds before his very eyes?

"My hand is normal. Your hand is just cold." She responded, letting her other hand make its way to rest on top of his in an attempt to transfer some of the heat to his icy cold skin. A small smile tugged at her thin lips but he did nothing to mirror it and once again everything was quiet between them. She gave his hand a soft squeeze in hopes to elicit some kind of acknowledgment of her gesture but still, nothing. It was hard to hold back the sigh that had threatened to escape her but she had learned to control such things that might only anger him.

It remained that way, silent but surprisingly un-awkward, until they finally pulled to slow a stop outside of his grand 'safe house'. Covered in a coarse blanket of snow, it looked rather like something from a story book picture. Nina had only been here once before now in her whole four years at his side because he made it very clear that he wished to keep her separate from his working life as much as he possibly could. When everything about his work controlled everything he did, she didn't see how that was possible but she was in no place to argue with him.

Anatoly stepped out of the vehicle and as soon as his door opened, a flood of icy cold air attacked both of the backseat passengers. It searched for their exposed skin and whipped at them ruthlessly as they clambered out of the vehicle themselves, desperate to head inside for some kind of warmth. Or at least Nina was. Makarov seemed to be completely unfazed by the sudden dip in temperature. Other men exited the vehicles surrounding them, speaking amongst themselves about things she couldn't make out before meeting with two men who were waiting at the door, armed with large guns, held close in waiting. Their faces hidden behind dark scarves and hats and it made them unrecognizable and rather intimidating. They had sharp and untrusting eyes, observing every move with suspicion. Makarov reached an arm out and curled it around Nina's shoulders in a sore attempt at protecting her body from the cold, pulling her closer toward him as he guided her inside of the cabin.

"You will stay here while I'm gone."

Ignoring the men pacing around the expansive living area, he instead led her up the stairway and along a narrow corridor. Everything smelled of damp wood and it was clear that no one had stayed here in quite some time. She trailed her fingertips along the wooden panelling of the walls, her eyes briefly lifting to look at his face. They were angular, his features. His nose was slightly pointed and his eyebrows dipped in a way which made him look naturally unapproachable and cold. But, there was still something about him that was undeniably attractive – if only physically.

"And where are you going so soon?"

Makarov smiled at this – what seemed like a genuine one, something of a rare occurrence, she'd observed during their time together. There had always been such an innocent seeming curiosity about her, a trait which would on anyone else be a death wish when it came to his business. However the smile was accompanied with an even more uncharacteristic chuckle, rather like that of a father assuring his daughter she is far too young and irrelevant to be worrying about such things. It was slightly insulting but she'd grown accustomed to his ability to hide the things she most wanted to know.

"Somewhere warmer than here." He responded vaguely, his voice void of any real emotion.

"Why can't I come with you?" She asked, her eyes falling to the ground at her feet as he led her into a separated room. He shut the door behind them with a quiet click. It was not a question she'd ever asked him before and she briefly wondered how badly he would take it.

"It's dangerous."

"Then you shouldn't be going either. Send someone else."

Unlike his voice, hers held a real concern. A concern for his wellbeing he rarely received from anyone besides her.

The room was small and she let her eyes glance around momentarily. It was almost bare except for a larger-than-double bed, a small chest of drawers and an old looking, oak writing desk. The bed was made neatly with bland looking sheets and everything looked to be perfectly in place. On top of the desk laid several stacked books and a lamp that looked too small to be of any use. It took him longer to reply to this last statement and she wandered over to the bed, settling herself down on the edge of what was surprisingly a rather comfortable mattress. Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad after all.

"It's too important to leave with someone else. I have to be there and you can't come. It would be inappropriate."

This time he'd spoken more firmly and she realized it was time to drop the subject there and then for fear of aggravating the easily angered man before her. Although she had never annoyed him to the point of sending him to violence, he often screamed in a way which somehow felt scarier that the idea of being physically punished. Nina nodded her head and fell silent as he stood stiffly next to the closed doorway, eyeing her up as if expecting another argument on her behalf. Not another word came.

"I will only be gone a day or two." He tried to reassure her, although he didn't pull off the attempt very well. It was as if changing his voice from its kind of stern monotony was too much of an effort. He walked over to the bed, his heavy steel-toed boots thudding on the floor with each step before he finally came to rest before her. The inch-or-so taller man crouched down in front of her so they were almost at the same height, coming face to face with her as she looked up from her feet. There was something captivating about this one, something that had caught him off guard the first time he'd seen her. It wasn't necessarily her beauty as scores of more attractive women had passed through his life without grasping so much as a second thought once they were gone. Maybe it was her youth; her round and innocent face that reminded him of childhood memories. Makarov leaned forward slightly and pressed a lingering kiss to each of her rosy-from-the-cold cheeks. He whispered against the soft skin. "When I'm back, I'll take you somewhere warm where there is no business. Somewhere away from here. Just you and I."

Although his words sounded genuine, she knew better than to expect anything close to a promise from him. Something always cropped up; he needed to be somewhere to carry out a devious and intricate plan with his men or to meet with a weapons dealer who would sell him arms to kill people she never wished to think about. People who could be innocent with families and small children they would never get the chance to return home to. Yet she would sit back and smile as if thankful for the words, nodding her head lightly in response.

"I think that sounds like a very good idea."

Tearing his eyes away from her, he reached down to un-holster his handgun, turning it to face from her as he handed it over. He then slipped a cell phone in to the breast pocket of her silk blouse.

"Keep away from the window. Two of my most trusted men are outside of your door if you need anything. Do not hesitate to ask."

The idea of leaving her alone wasn't one he enjoyed.

It was the first time she'd held a weapon since she'd been with him. The first time in four excruciatingly long years. Although she had been surrounded by them as if they were the most normal thing in the world, the gesture took her somewhat by surprise. This had to prove he had the ultimate trust in her, while knowing many of the things he'd done; she wouldn't turn it on him and blow his brains out like any sane person who encountered him would? He hadn't even looked reluctant. Makarov got to his feet without any kind of explanation on how to use the cold metal object in her hands. She was unsure whether this was because he believed her to know how to use one already or whether he just forgot that not everyone was as trigger-oriented as himself, considering it was almost innate behaviour for him now.

And then he left.

Without a single word of goodbye and nothing more than a small squeeze of her stiffened shoulder, he marched out of the room. She heard him utter something to one of the men outside before the door shut and she was plunged into utter aloneness. It might have been strange that she was surrounded by a dedicated man power that would kill any intruders without hesitation but still felt a little unsafe now that Makarov was leaving. Even with the gun that was still grasped in her relentless grip. Nina slumped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes trailing over to a spider that was walking across it at a lazy pace. The loud whirring of what was obviously a helicopter approached after what seemed like an age, growing from a quiet hum to a thundering rumble in a short space of time. It came so close that she could feel the vibrations through the bed frame and could hear the window panes rattling loosely as it stationed itself outside to pick up Makarov and a handful of his men. All she could think about was where it was going to be taking them and it was burning in her mind for hours after it took flight and disappeared over the immense wooded area.

It was beginning to get dark outside now and the clouds above looked almost like a shade of lilac. She hadn't ever seen a sky like that before, she observed. Getting to her feet, she heard manly voices conversing outside of her door and took it as her cue to head over – maybe they would be talking about something of interest to her. Pressing her sticky-out ear to the door, she tried to make out their faint voices through the thick, dark wood. It was difficult, but she could hear them faintly. One spent countless minutes rambling on about his marital issues, which seemed a little odd and caused her to roll her eyes in impatience. They talked about how cold they were. And for a brief while, they talked about her and Makarov's 'situation'. Pigs. It seemed like these 'trusted' men of his weren't exactly in the loop because nothing they discussed had any relevance to where Makarov was or what Makarov was doing right now.

It seemed to be a lost cause and she stood there until the outside fell into pitch black. Nothing. These men were complete imbeciles. The room was dark because she had neglected to turn on any light to the point that she may as well have had her eyes closed and her cheek was pressed against the cold wood for so long it felt like it had lost all feeling. But then, the sound of a gunshot caused her heart to stop beating and broke her out of her lazy stance. Maybe one of his men had popped off a round accidentally but she still jumped sharply.

Then there was another. And another after that. Followed by the shrill cries of Makarov's men downstairs. The sound of automatic gunfire started to ring out without breaks. There was a serious problem here. A commotion broke out and she pressed her lips together. It was imperative she stayed calm but she was being plunged into a world she'd become unaccustomed to after being under a protective wing of such a powerful man for so long. It felt like it was hard to breathe. The air had become thick with an uncharacteristic fear. Behaviour which used to be hardwired into her system was only now sluggishly kicking in after what sounded like the blast of a grenade rocking through the building.

The men outside her door shouted and she heard another flurry of gunfire. It was closer this time and one of the rounds from an enemy automatic managed to pierce through the wooden walls to the left of the doorway. This was not how she was supposed to die but the feeling in the pit of her stomach was telling her otherwise. Silently stepping over to press her back to the wall, she positioned herself beside the door – to the side of which she would be hidden when it was opened. Adrenaline was throbbing through her entire body causing her legs to feel a little weak beneath her. Inside her head she was cursing, the only thing that could stop her doing it aloud. Maybe they wouldn't look in here. It was clear the rooms were being systematically checked for something and that thought was completely inaccurate, but it helped slightly. Maybe they were looking for someone. How long would it take them to notice Makarov was no longer here and that they were too late?

The door beside her creaked into life and it began to open slowly. Her breathing stopped entirely, praying that she wouldn't be found.

The muzzle of the gun peeked around the edge of the door and it dawned on her that this was her chance. Not that she had much of a chance if all of Makarov's men had been picked off in what felt like such a short amount of time. But she wasn't one to give up, especially not to a bunch of unnamed men making an attempt on her life. Before the man wielding the weapon could make his way fully inside the pitch black room, Nina lifted her leg and kicked the door with all the force she could muster, catching the man's arm painfully between the doorframe and the door itself. Before he could force the door back open, she lifted the gun to shoot him in the wrist. It surprised her, being so out of practise, that she hit him on the first attempt.

The yell in pain was almost deafening and the gun clattered to the floor. Unable to yank his arm jammed in between the door, the only thing he could do was push it back towards her with all of his weight. And what seemed to be the weight of a few other men as well. They were cursing in Russian now, angry and insulting words.

The speed in which the door had shot open and the sheer force of the blow sent her body hurtling back towards the wall, her head rebounding off the wood painfully. It disoriented her but only for a moment as a man tangled his hand in her hair angrily in an attempt to yank her to her feet and back to her senses like a splash of cold water to the face. She let out a yelp as all her weight fought against the hair rooted to her scalp and she desperately fumbled around, her eyes snapping open as she found what she was searching for. Yanking the knife holstered against his thigh, she quickly stabbed it above the man's right knee with a grunt of pain as he dragged a handful of her hair with him during his collapse against the wall. It appeared to be more out of shock than anything and she quickly got to her feet and scampered to the door way with a whimper, leaving the blade lodged in his leg. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and she could see light, enough to make it clear that there were no more men outside of the door. Or so she thought. Until the butt of a gun collided painfully with her face before her eyes even met the man awaiting her outside of the room, plunging her in to complete unconsciousness.

It appeared they weren't looking for Makarov at all. They were looking for her.