Chapter Text
Maria “Anya” Allen
Status Update: Organization data removed.
Santorini, Greece
“Are you ready, honey?” Mrs. Allen asked Anya while the make-up artist did the finishing touches on her. They were in a dressing-room prepared by the venue that overlooked the caldera. It was a small wedding, with mostly friends and colleagues. No one would have noticed that most of the attendees were soldiers, most of them contributed to the end of the war from the jovial nature of the occasion.
Anya had chosen a fishtail gown of eggshell-colored satin that showed off her figure, a gift from Price because he vehemently insisted, threatening to not approve her resignation if she refused. With the three remaining diamonds she had, she made them into a set of stacking necklaces that could be worn together or separately. On her ears were her ouroboros earrings, followed by another pair of dangling pearl earrings, those had been from her parents.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror and found a stranger staring back at her. No longer burdened by duty, her brow was no longer permanently furrowed. She no longer needed to turn her face into a mask. She was truly just herself. For the first time in two years, who gave her the jewelry no longer mattered, a shadow that no longer haunted her. She could have more than one piercing on her earlobes, she could sell the three strands of diamonds and keep the last three. They were reminders of her past. That day, she would be looking towards her future.
“I am, Mom,” she told Mrs. Allen once the makeup artist announced that she was done.
“Look at you!” Mr. Allen exclaimed. “You’re totally going to make John cry.”
“Which one?” Anya asked in jest. “I bet you Price has already started crying.”
“What’s John’s nickname again?” Mr. Allen asked Mrs. Allen, as if it was the most important thing in the world. They had a field day figuring out the call-signs of their guests and were highly amused that Price just decided to give their daughter the next most common Russian name for hers.
“It’s ‘Soap’, Dad,” Anya helped. They were waiting for the right moment to enter.
“So, is this naming thing... arbitrary?” Mr. Allen asked, taking Anya’s arm in his, trying to make sense of everything.
“Some of them are chosen, others are given,” Anya explained. “We had a guy called ‘Roach’ because he sucked at jumping, but he somehow got through, like a cockroach. His real name was Gary.”
Before Mr. Allen was able to say anything, the doors opened, and they scrambled to walk out of the dressing room. Once they reached the start of the aisle, they straightened up and looked at one another.
“Well, here goes,” Anya whispered with a smile.
She looked forwards and found everything to be in place, from the guests to the flowers, and of course, MacTavish standing in the center of the altar. He had chosen to keep his mohawk but cleaned up well in his beige-colored suit. Her friends from college were recruited to be her bridesmaids, while Yuri and Nikolai were the groomsmen. Price had walked MacTavish down the aisle previously, in place of his parents.
When she was close enough, she gave Yuri and Nikolai a wink to start singing her praises to see how MacTavish would react. The plan backfired. MacTavish still stood tall, as cool as ice, even up until she arrived at the altar despite their best efforts.
“What did you buy the boys with?” Anya whispered to MacTavish, who helped her to adjust her dress. She knew that something was up.
“Whatever you bought them with, I paid them at a higher price,” MacTavish replied. “Business is business, love. You need to remember that I’m spending more time with them than you are now.”
As always, she let him have the high road. She would deal with him later.
Although raised Roman Catholic, MacTavish had not been particularly religious, so they opted for the simplest of civil ceremonies. Having completed all the legal paperwork in the US and in Scotland, this wedding ceremony was just purely a celebration. MacTavish’s only request was to ban Anya from choosing the alcohol that was being served for the reception.
Their wedding vows were simple, domestic, but filled with commitment to one another. In the year that they took off work, they learned to live like a normal couple traveling and choosing somewhere to call home, which was New York city for the moment. With everything that they had faced, just living their lives together was an easy challenge.
“Now, you may kiss the bride!”
MacTavish smirked at the announcement and dipped Anya as low as he could before pressing his lips against hers. She knew that she instinctively gave him a smack when he pulled her up after the kiss, but she had done so with her bouquet, causing an explosion of petals.
“I love you,” Anya whispered into MacTavish’s ear as they posed for more photographs. Their love budded in Siberia, was brought to the surface in Paris, and grew and survived through war. Her parents, their friends, Price and everyone else melted around them, and only they remained. She smiled from ear to ear, taking in the sight of her handsome new husband, who was all smiles for her as well.
MacTavish chuckled silently and tipped her chin. “I will always love you, Maria,” he replied, sealing his promise with a kiss.