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cas-backwards-tie · 14 days

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Chapter One: In the Dead of Night

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

The Long Road Masterlist

Summary: Soon after your fiance's murder you find yourself diving face first into enacting a plan to avenge his death. Regardless of your friend's approval, your wellbeing, livelihood, or future, you find yourself in it for the long-con.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes,

A/N: This is... sooooo self-indulgent and utterly crack, tbh. I'd thought it up a while ago and keep thinking about it. I kept trying to think of a way to make it realistic, but... I just feel like there is no way of doing that, so I'm just gonna write it. However it goes, it goes. Also fyi I am using google translate so I really hope it's coming out okay. I do speak Russian, but only Duolingo tiny bit. divider by @saradika

You were prepared for this, you knew it was bound to happen one day, you just didn't know when that day would be. It only looks like, now, it's finally come. As you sit at the counter, stirring the bowl of oatmeal you'd just made and are trying your best to get to cool down, you can't help but think about the man currently in the other room.

You'd expected an entrance something akin to that of a Mission Impossible movie: a loud boom, doors knocked down, guns blazing, venomous words shouted in a language you've hardly begun to understand despite the tedious month of learning to the best of your abilities. Thunder cracks in the distance, rattling the windowpane in the next room; you don't know when the heavy downpour started, but it hasn't given any sign of yield since his arrival only a half hour ago now. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your husband... husband--your fiance--you remind yourself, mentally scolding as this isn't the first, and you doubt it's the last time you're going to mentally interchange the two words. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your fiance used to tell you.

The rain reminds you of the the way the Vikings would personify the Norse Gods to Earthly elements. Sure, you know some of the comics, like Thor, and Loki... but nevertheless, with your upbringing, the heavy pounding of the rain against the tin roof and the approaching thunder only makes your thoughts drift back to him. Johnny.

What would he think? What would he do? If he knew you were here... Maybe it's the spiritual part of you that never quite left, possibly having been ingrained from your grandparents when you were younger, or an aunt, an uncle of some sort, perhaps... but you think he'd do something silly like this. Come back as a thunderstorm, manifesting himself as something so threatening and dangerous, symbolizing his distress, unhappiness, and worry for you with torrents of rain, yet trying to protect you from the beyond even with lightning. Yet, you know that's impossible, and certainly not the case. Your heart begins to ache once more as you think of him, not wanting to get caught up, again, in the overwhelming grief you hadn't fully let yourself fall into. This is for him, you remind yourself once again.

"What are you giving her?" The voice comes from the doorway, and you're not entirely surprised by the venom in his tone, albeit taken aback. While he's not loud due to the (presumably) resting woman in the next room, you know that the lack of volume doesn't mean he wouldn't yell if the situation were anywhere else.

"What do you mean? This?" You quirk an eyebrow as you continue to stir in the little additives you'd put into the oatmeal: honey, sugar, and a pinch of salt. "It's oatmeal?" You explain, the confusion obvious in your tone as you hold the bowl up a bit, angling it for him to better see. As if the man has never seen oatmeal in his life; the thought would elicit a whirlwind of laughter from you any other time, or, more accurately, if it were any other person... but this was him. Makarov.

Vladimir Makarov: Thirty-six years old; born in Moscow Russia. Commander of Konni; the ultranationalistic private 'military contractor' group.

You'd done what research you could, found what information you had access to, some you didn't. Utilized what connections, resources, and favors were owed to you. Maybe some of them did it out of pity, out of guilt, or some other sense of failure on behalf of the SAS. Regardless, you'd set your plans into action, intent on making your promise to your late fiance come true. You will kill the man before you. It won't be today. No. After all, that'd be too soon, you have to earn his trust first. Only then, after he's comfortable, and settled, will you pursue your slow and agonizing torture.

"Христос," he curses, "she said you're poisoning her," he speaks slowly, a menacing quality to his tone as he unravels the crossed arms from his chest. Anger is evident in his irises as he stalks toward you with each step, eyebrows in a thick and harsh line. "I ask again-"

"The medication? Is that what you're talking about?" You ask. Feeling your own anger continuing to effervesce in your gut, you turn to face him on the stool, sliding from the counter. While he's still a couple feet away, you have to be more than a handful of feet shorter than him. Of that, you're sure. "Because from what I've deduced so far from being here, she bribed the last caretaker to not give her the medication on the agreement that she'd get more time off!"

He shifts his weight onto his left foot, eyes widening ever so imperceptibly, yet he remains quiet, so you continue. "They gave me her medication, told me to give it to her twice a day, so I'm doing that because she's been prescribed that medication. She clearly needs it, as per her doctor's orders. So unless you think the doctor isn't right, then, that's not my problem! I, however, am not surprised if she's telling you that since she obviously didn't even want me here in the first place."

Rounding the counter, you continue about your--at this point it could be considered daily--routine. Hand grasping your cool blue glass of water, you take a few sips while silently studying him. Despite having infiltrated his life and unknowingly (to him, ethically) disposed of his mother's last caretaker, you haven't officially met your late fiance's murderer till tonight.

KILLER

Slaughterer...! You destroyed him... You took him away from me. You're the reason he's gone. All the thoughts continue to run through your head rampantly, and you can't help but turn to face the wall opposite of him. Pretending to be busy with some of the drying dishes, you try to calm yourself. Acting on impulse and emotion will get you nowhere, you know this.

A heavy sigh permeates the silence that'd fallen between you, and there are the following taps of approaching dress shoes against hardwood floors. Quickly turning to make sure he neither invades your personal space nor dares to touch you, you're met with the visage of Makarov slumped at the counter, head in his hands.

You don't speak, you don't know what to say. Silence fills the space between you. Seeing him like this is weird considering all the stories you'd heard about him. Though you suppose even the most evil of men are still that... human. "How long have you worked as a caretaker?" He suddenly questions.

"A few years," you answer, swallowing the anxiety that starts to bubble up in your throat. "I started as a nurse and thought maybe I'd become a doctor, but it was... too much for me, and... not what I wanted to do. I discovered I liked helping people better as a nurse." It's not all lies, in fact, most of it is true. The only thing that meets your admission is silence, and that fact only raises the tension building within the cottage. Wincing at the rumbling outside, the sound does nothing to help the obvious discomfort you're experiencing finally facing him in person.

"And would you say you're good at your job?" He asks, eyes slightly narrowed in questioning as he slowly raises his head from his hands. The intensity of his dark brown eyes scream hostility and a hurt you can't immediately place your fingers on. Yet despite it all you refuse to waiver underneath his gaze.

"Yes. They wouldn't send me all the way out here otherwise. Not with a case like hers, Sir," you reply.

"Then what-" he tests, pronouncing each word clearly, "would you suggest I do?" He asks. There's a slight breathiness to his voice; with the thin windows, you can't help but feel as though the torrents of northern lake air through the meadow with its water.

Eyebrow raising in response, you're honestly shocked he'd ask such a thing. You're a complete stranger! A whirlwind of emotions go through you; excitement, bewilderment, shock, curiosity... you can't get ahead of yourself. With a sigh out, you shake your head. It may come across like disappointment to him, but really, it's to clear your head and collect yourself.

"Look... it's not something anyone wants to hear, bu-"

"Tell me!" He interrupts, demanding.

"But..." you emphasize, considering you were only putting up polite pretenses for show anyhow. "Really, family members do better when they're living with the family, even with caretakers to help. Whether you can't do it because you're busy or have other priorities, I understand."

"But at the end of the day, family members usually pass more quickly estranged like this on their own in a separate house because they feel lonely and like no one comes to visit. Maybe they have no one, or maybe they feel like they have nothing to live for anymore? She said you only visit her once or twice a year, if that... and while you write letters, that sometimes isn't enough for people, unfortunately. If you really want the truth."

Finished while your spiel, you shift your weight to the other foot as you place the finished oatmeal on the tray you reserve for his Mother. While, yes, you may despise him to the end's of the Earth... his Mother didn't do anything besides give birth to him. You accepted that the night you met her. Afraid to take another sip of your water, you stand in waiting, observant as Makarov seems to silently process everything you've said, his eyes shifting back and forth for a moment.

"I'll be back," he declares before sliding from the stool and rounding the corner into the small living space his Mother used to use more frequently. Shoulders sagging, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. Onto your nightly routine with dinner, you attempt to distract yourself from the continuous torment of thunderstorm outside, meanwhile inside you can hear urgent demands in Russian faintly from the next room. It's clear he's on the phone... but with who? His goons, of course... right? Who else? But to kill you? To background check you? Do you need to prepare to flee?

As you stir the pot of soup you've just put on the stove, you can feel yourself start to sweat and panic. In an attempt to switch gears, you finish her dinner. Oatmeal ready, medication on the tray, you grab the lemonade you two had made the day prior and pour a glass for her before getting a steady grip on the tray and taking it down the hall. With a gentle rap of your foot as best you can against the doorframe, you announce your presence.

"Привет, Как вы себя чувствуете?" You ask, knowing the word for 'hi' and having figured out early on with the help of technology to ask how she's feeling.

"лучше теперь, когда он здесь." She responds with a soft but tired smile. It's a good sign that she's sitting up and alert at this time of night too. You don't understand the first part of what she says as she's talking too fast and you also don't have your phone out to capture what she says into your real time translation app, however you can grasp the last part. 'He's here.'

Placing the tray down on her lap, you shake your head and signal behind you with a frown. A second attempt, pointing to her, you give her a thumbs up and a smiling face for a moment, and then do the opposite. With a thumbs down and a sad face, you try again. "как дела?"

With a wave of her hand, she shakes her head now with a chuckle. "хорошо," she responds, lifting the spoon. "мой Володя!"

Whipping your head around, you find him standing there leaning against the doorframe most likely having been observing the two of you. Hopefully not for long... or maybe not at all since she would've said something. "она так просто с тобой разговаривает?" He says to his Mother, walking up to the bed and into her outstretched arms for the hug she craves.

"она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски," she quietly answers, holding him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back before letting go. With a pat on the bed next to her, she looks between the two of you. "My baby," she struggles to pronounce the word, "Vladimir." A proud smile sits upon her lips for a moment as she gestures to him. He smiles at her, too, and you nod.

"Yes, да. I have met your son just briefly. But it is good to officially meet," you tell her, even if you know she doesn't understand all of it. Shifting your gaze, he meets it with animosity. "Vladimir," you repeat.

"My mother tells me you are," he repeats your name, to which you nod, "it's a pleasure to officially meet you. Now that you're both here, I have news."

"News?" The question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Yes, news. Since you're taking care of my mother, you technically work for me. What you said stuck with me. You're right-" he shifts his speaking from you to his mother. "I've been a bad son to you, Mama. ты собираешься жить со мной." Again, he shifts his focus back to you. "We have to pack. You will both live on my compound from now."

~~~~~~~~

acronyms|translations:

Христос = christ

Привет = hi

Как вы себя чувствуете = how are you feeling

лучше теперь, когда он здесь = better now that he's here.

как дела = how are you

хорошо = good / fine / ok

мой Володя = my voldoya (nickname for vladimir)

она так просто с тобой разговаривает = she speaks to you so simply

она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски = she does not speak very much Russian

да = yes

ты собираешься жить со мной = you're coming to live with me

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

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