Shuhrat vaulted through the window, sprinting towards the injured woman faster than he'd ever ran before.

He set up his medical kit as he rolled her weak, limp body over onto her back, and recoiled at the amount of blood.

"Shit…" he muttered, attempting to press down on the woman's wounds, but there was just too much shrapnel. It covered the entirety of her torso.

"No…" Shuhrat said, in disbelief with himself. How could he let this happen?

"No, no, no, no! Please, no!" Shuhrat was begging, pleading to some unknown thing. He wasn't pleading to himself, as his attempts to slow the blood were futile, and he definitely wasn't pleading to the lifeless body in his arms.

"This isn't my fault...no…" Shuhrat was beginning to cry. "I'm not a bad person...I would never do this…" However, the deed had already been done. He continued to cry, even scream, in denial.

Suddenly, the SDU team he had been working with burst through the door. "Shuhrat, what the hell?!" a short woman screamed. "What did you do?!"

"No...this isn't me...I would never do this…" Shuhrat continued, sounding almost deranged, refusing to accept the bloody reality that was in front of him.

"Shuhrat!" the woman repeated.

"Shuhrat!"

"Shuhrat!" Timur shouted, slapping his hand on the older man's shoulder, breaking him from his trance. Shuhrat looked at him, his face wet with sweat and tears and his eyes filled with terror, but said nothing. The sniper let out a sad sigh. "It happened again, didn't it?"

Shuhrat gulped and nodded, breaking eye contact with Timur, instead gazing at the floor.

"It's getting worse, Shuhrat. This is the third time this week."

"Glazkov, I'm fine," Shuhrat denied, to the younger man's evident frustration.

"Shuhrat, I…" Timur paused under the weight of what he was about to say, and considered whether he should even do it. In the end, he decided it was in Shuhrat's best interest, and the worst thing he could do was reject. "...I think you should go see Siu about this."

"What?!" Shuhrat raised his voice more than he had intended to, and winced awkwardly. He was responding about as well as Glazkov had intended. "I can't talk to her about it. You know how I...am around her."

"You say that because you never actually spend time with her. Who knows, it's been years since you've talked outside of missions," Timur tried to reason with him.

"No, but I've seen the way she looks at me...those eyes...so pretty, but so cold…" Shuhrat was slightly red at the thought of the woman, but he refused to budge on his point.

"Even if things don't go well, won't it be nice to have some closure?" the sniper made one final attempt. When the other man merely responded with a slightly contorted expression and looking at his own feet, Timur couldn't help but feel dejected. "Food for thought," he mumbled, standing up from Shuhrat's bedside. "The others and I are going to a cafe nearby for breakfast. Lera's coming with. You want to come?" Timur offered.

"Yeah, I guess," Shuhrat accepted, but quietly and with hesitation. After throwing on an olive hoodie, he and Timur went out to their car.

The drive was short, roughly 5 minutes, and they arrived at the cafe. They saw Alexsandr's ancient Lada sitting outside and assumed the others were already there, waiting.

The two who had just arrived exchanged greetings with the other three before sitting down.

"I want this one," Alexsandr said, pointing at an item on the menu and showing it to Lera.

"You're going to eat yourself out of house and home, Alex," Lera replied after looking at the item's cost. "You might have to start selling your Soviet surplus," she joked, earning chuckles from all but the eldest.

"Lera, how much have you had to drink? It's only, what, nine o'clock?" Maxim looked at his watch.

"What?"

"Well, it's not usual for you to be this funny when you're sober," the trapper smirked, laughing softly at his own joke, unaware of the hostile look he received from Lera. He was, however, very aware of the swift kick in the shin.

Save for their initial light banter and the ordering of food, the Russians' table was surprisingly quiet. Almost painfully so, according to everyone except Shuhrat, who was perfectly content with silence. He was never really adept at socializing.

"I think Shuhrat should go see Siu for his flashbacks," Timur blurted out, much to Shuhrat's unease.

"Tim, what the hell?" Shuhrat half-yelled, half-whispered.

"I think he's right," Maxim agreed. It was the most genuine-sounding thing he'd heard from the man in a while. "She's got psychology experience, and I think that's more important than your personal past together."

"I agree," said Alexsandr. "It hurts to see my comrade...my friend like this." There was a heartbroken look on his face as he gestured to his chest.

Shuhrat started to tap his foot nervously, looking at the table around him. He felt beads of sweat develop on his forehead at the pressure of his fellow Spetsnaz.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand against his own. Surprisingly, it was Lera, reaching from across the table. "Shuhrat, I might not have known you for as long as these guys, but any friend of Alex's is a friend of mine. And I've learned from experience that life's toughest problems aren't solved with wishful thinking. You have go go out and do something about them," she said, a warm smile on her face.

Despite having the least experience with her, Lera's relative lack of personal bias made her response probably the most moving to him. For a short moment, his lips even curled up into a slight smile. His expression returned to normal, and he sighed in defeat. "Alright, I'll go," he muttered.

"I really do think this is for the best," Timur smiled, along with all of the others.

With that, a weight seemed to be lifted off of the table, and a tension released. The rest of breakfast was filled with not more awkward silence, but instead the laughing and chatter of five Russians drinking at an English cafe at nine in the morning.

"Did you bring me here just to get the others' opinions on this?" Shuhrat asked as Timur started the car to drive back to base.

"I might have," the sniper replied, a smug, shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Shuhrat scoffed lightly, but then turned serious. "I'm trusting you on this," he said, a term he rarely used with anyone. Timur remained quiet, and basked in the success of his plan.