Disavowed: A Call of Duty Fanfiction

Chapter 27: Insanity

Her alluring hazel eyes were focused on him intently. "What a shame," she crooned. "Came all this way just to fail in the end."

"Don't patronize me, Sasha," Vladimir growled, seated in his chair with his head rested on his hand. He looked down at the floor catching himself; Jessica, he had discovered her name was, not Sasha. It was strange talking to a ghost whose name he hadn't known until after her death. He shook his head, refocusing on their conversation. "I'm upset enough as it is." 

"Is that so?"

He sipped his wine pensively and set it back down. "How else am I supposed to feel? I put in so much work, I sacrificed so much, and for what?"

"You could recover, retreat into the depths of society, never to be seen again, stay off the grid- people might eventually forget about you until you're ready to try again."

"No one forgets a man like me," he said, looking away from her face. He felt her staring into his soul, and it made him feel weak. "... I couldn't disappear if I wanted to..." His hands covered his face and he uttered a defeated groan. "I don't know what to do anymore." Vladimir tipped his wine glass on the table beside his chair with a finger, watching as the deep ruby-colored drink made ripples from the movement. 

Her head tilted. "You're always twelve steps ahead of everyone else, you're never at a loss of what to do."

"Yeah, well, maybe I was that way when I first met you, but you threw me off balance and now..." 

She folded her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. "'And now,' what?"

Vladimir met eyes with her again, feeling a prickle of tears gathering in them. "And now I'm torn. I want to live and fight, but I'm so tired, I want to seclude myself, disappear from reality... I want to feel you again."

Her eyes cast up and down on his body, but she didn't say anything. She almost looked remorseful. With a silent motion of her hand, she beckoned him closer. He rose from his seat and approached her slowly and reached out to touch her face.

His fingers pressed against the glass between them and he swallowed a knot in his throat. "Sasha, I miss you..." he whispered. She pressed her forehead against the glass as well, and he struggled to breathe in her familiar scent, feel her warmth against his skin. "Sasha..." He choked, his mouth turning down in a frown. "Sasha..."

Kiev cleared his throat from the entrance of the room, seeing Vladimir caressing a mirror on the vanity. "Sir," he said. "I, umm..."

"Can't you see we're talking?" growled Vladimir, his eyes still trained on the reflection.

"I... S-suppose..." He cleared his throat again, more uncomfortably this time. "I have some news."

"I heard about the peace talks... I know the war is over."

Kiev solemnly nodded his head. "Yes, sir... What do we do now?" Vladimir walked away from the mirror and stared out the window into the dark, Arabian Peninsula scenery outside, silent. "... Sir?"

Makarov mulled over his thoughts. "I don't want to do anything," he said quietly.

"... What?" 

He sighed wearily, fogging the cold glass. "We've lost, Ivanovich. If you and the others want to leave, then so be it. I'm staying here."

Kiev looked on sadly. "You've been this way since Sa... since her. Vladimir, you can't let a broken heart keep you from living," he said.

Vladimir swirled the wine in his glass. "Like I said, you're welcome to leave. I'm tired, Kiev."

He swallowed uneasily. Kiev dipped his head and started back out the door. "Yes, sir. I'll tell the others, but I'll give them time in case you change your mind."

As the door closed and Vladimir downed the rest of his wine, he heard his cellphone ring. He didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway. "Who's this?" he demanded.

"Prisoner 627," said an ominous voice on the other end of the line. "I'm coming for you, Makarov."

He sneered. "Haven't you heard, Price? They say the war is over."

"My war ends with you."

"Like it ended for Sergeant Repp?" he jeered. "Tell me, Price, how long did it take for her to die?" While he tried to sound cutting and cruel, he genuinely wondered. He'd heard the report of the Blue Wolf at the mine but refused to have hope.

Price was mournfully silent before he murmured darkly, "Is that an inquiry from the devil who shot her, or from a heartbroken lover who can't live with what he's done?"

Makarov felt the bile of rage swell in his throat as he contained a snarl. "I've destroyed your world piece by piece. It's only a matter of time until I find you."

"You won't have to look far..." 

He couldn't respond before the line went dead and he felt panic wash over him. "... Kiev?!" he cried. "Where the hell are you?! Get the men ready!" He scrambled down the hall, frantically looking for his medic. At that moment he realized:

He wasn't ready to give up.

He wasn't ready to die.