He had been watching her all evening, of course. Coppery hair piled high over her delicate face, her fair skin set off by a backless crimson gown, she stood out like a – well, John wasn't a poet, was he. Like a bloody gorgeous woman in a roomful of army brass.

And it was easy to watch her, because John hadn't anyone to talk to, and nobody was paying him any attention. Most of the soldiers gathered in the lodge's ballroom were strangers to him, except by reputation; Major Lawrence had come over and chatted a bit when John walked in, but he was now deep in discussion with some General or other, and John dared not interrupt. It might leave him standing about like an extra armpit, but he wasn't a hanger-on. He lurked in the corner and sipped nervously at his glass of beer and tried not to try to catch the major's eye.

"I think he's busy," said a low, laughing voice from behind his shoulder, "but I'm not, for the moment."

John turned, momentary surprise deepening into a full-on sense of unreality when he saw that is was her, the gorgeous girl in the crimson dress. Woman, he corrected himself mentally – it was a bad habit, Harry would probably have kicked his teeth in – and somehow, that mental correction fixed it; he was firmly back in his own life, the odd one out at a party with the most beautiful woman in the room smiling at him like he was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen.

"Hello, soldier," she purred. "Or do you prefer to be called captain?"

The line was cheap porno material, but still, John was flustered. He'd had plenty of success with women, but all the same, the ones who looked like this didn't usually seek him out at parties. Especially not parties where everyone else had stars on their arms. "Just a second lieutenant."

She made a humming sound, as if in concession. He could see the muscles thrum in her smooth white throat. "For now, maybe. I'm sure 'just a second lieutenant' wouldn't get himself invited to a party like this one."

"Not usually," John conceded. "But Major Lawrence is a good friend of my uncle. Friend of mine, now."

She looked over her shoulder, gave the man in question a once-over, and turned back to John with a small smirk that he took to mean could be worse. Her eyebrows, he noticed, were quite dark. Her hair was probably dyed, he realized, and felt a bit safer.

"So what's your name?" he asked.

She sipped her drink, as if it was a question that took some thought. "I'm Mira," she said. "What's yours, Captain?"

Was he being teased? He decided to pretend he was – it felt nice, and he knew how to play it. "John Watson," he said. "And I don't think you listen very well."

"Oh, I do listen," she returned – and that was a bit cryptic, he couldn't help thinking, for all that she was so lovely in that dress – "and you still don't look like a man who plans to rest content with being second lieutenant."

It was true. He followed orders as if there wasn't anything else he wanted, but he thought occasionally about going career and trying to make top brass himself. More than occasionally. Maybe a lot. His bunkmate Allen knew it, and so did Mike and Tim back home; but most people didn't, because it wasn't exactly the kind of thing you made known, was it? That just wasn't how the system worked, if you weren't the sort of person who had gone to Sandhurst in the first place.

But a smile covered all of that, so he smiled. "So, uh, what brings you here?" He tipped his head at her. "Your uniform's not exactly army standard." It was a cheap line – there were at least a dozen other women in the room, and some of the younger women were dressed as dramatically as Mira – but it seemed fair play, after her dig about his title.

"Oh yes, I'm here with Major General Macaulay." She sneered briefly into her old fashioned. "There will be more than enough of him later in the evening, no doubt. Best to slip away while I can." She glanced back at the General over her shoulder. "He'll hardly miss me for the present – they're all quite taken up with troop movements or somebody's new yacht. Or perhaps it was somebody's new wife, I wasn't really listening." She gave a brief sigh, but there was mirth prickling in her eyes as she continued, "God, it's all so dull, I could drown myself in the punch bowl."

John huffed a laugh, caught between discomfort and delight. Macaulay was a famous bore, and Brigadier Adams was, in John's judgment, another top contender for the title; the other two he didn't know, but they seemed to find whatever the Major General was saying entirely absorbing, so that answered that. Dull as dry toast, to be sure. But it was the sort of thing men said to one another in the barracks, off duty, not with the man in question ten yards away in full dress uniform. And dull – even when it wasn't coming from the mouth of your superior officer – well, dull was something you lived through. Dull was just what most of life was. Living through it was what you did. But Mira didn't seem to see it that way, and hearing her say it, just like that, was like whisky straight into the veins.

He laughed, relaxing. "Yeah, it's not a very exciting crowd." He made a face at his empty beer glass, and slid a few steps to the side so he could set it down. "War's boring, I suppose," he said, and as he heard himself say it he discovered that he believed it; it was true. "Well, except for actual combat," he amended. "But a bunch of blokes who do their fighting with maps, sitting at a table or behind a desk, that can't be especially interesting for someone like you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Someone like me?"

Bit of a fumble, that was. He couldn't exactly say a fit, gorgeous girl in an evening dress who can have anything she wants, so instead he said "a, um, a civilian, you know, someone who doesn't need to worry about the war, so much."

"Oh, I worry, believe me." Her smile had slipped, now, but it was as if she hadn't noticed yet. "And you do too, I imagine. Most of the men in this room are perfectly safe, but you aren't. Plenty of second lieutenants will be coming home in body bags, along with the privates."

He winced. Christ. It wasn't as though he could forget. "Yeah, thanks for that. Helpful reminder."

She only quirked an eyebrow, sliding closer to him. "You don't need a reminder. That's part of why I like you."

He supposed she thought she could get away with it, looking like that. "Glad to be of service," he muttered.

Her eyes softened slightly, and she stepped closer, setting her own empty glass on the table next to his. "Please don't be angry," she said. "I like talking to you, it's the best thing that's happened to me all night."

John scoffed, not wanting to let on quite how easily he could be mollified. "Kind of an off night for you, then?"

She shrugged. "Maybe so. But I do like talking to you."

"Well. Good." John grinned. "Score one for the second lieutenant."

Mira's own smile cracked at the edges. "I do wish you'd stop calling yourself that."

He pursed his lips. "That's my title. Not captain, I'm afraid, whatever your preferences."

She let out a small, frustrated breath. "That's not the point at all. We're not…" she flicked her hands down her body, and John felt a spike of guilt, an almost instant echo to the spike of lust that came with looking at her. "…just this, John, the people we are right now. You've got plans, other places you want to go, and I have, too." She leaned in closer still, but the warm, theatrical intimacy from her first appearance was gone; she looked at him like she wanted him to understand. "You're better than what you are right now."

John stiffened. Second lieutenant wasn't much, but he wasn't ashamed, no matter whether Mira thought he should be. "I'll still be a soldier, you know." And a doctor, he didn't add, because there wasn't much point.

"As far as you know," she rejoined.

"And you'll still be, what, some general's date for the night, instead of a two-star?" John caught himself a second too late; it was already out, he had already said it. "Christ, I'm sorry, Mira, I'm so sorry." He shook his head, eyes to the floor, afraid of seeing her face. "That was – uncalled for."

The silence was worse, so he looked up. Mira's face was unreadable.

"I know you think it's degrading, but it's not," she said, slowly and evenly. "There's a lot of power, for the woman, in sex work, if she's good at what she does." She pursed her lips. "And I'm very, very good."

"Yeah, all right, but…." John had upset himself, somehow, shaken by Mira's own self-possession. 'I don't – look, I don't know you well, all right. But you're more than just what some man or other wants from you for the night."

Her smile returned, a faint glaze on her face. "I know I am. And I make sure they know it, too."

John chuckled, though his chest was still tight. "Yeah, you probably do."

"I did say I was quite good. But it's not –" Mira's eyes darted off to the right, and John looked over to see Major General Macaulay with his eyes on the pair of them, waving her over.

"That's your cue, I think," John murmured.

"It looks like it, yes." She waved back at the Major General, offering John a rueful smile. "So perhaps I'll see you another time, Just-a-Second-Lieutenant John Watson."

It was his name, but it felt odd, paired with that over-bright smile, until the next second it came together. "Mira's not your real name, is it?"

She smiled at him, arch, coy; she was moving away again. "It doesn't matter what other people call you, unless they see the person you want them to see."

That stung a bit to hear, somehow, even though he wasn't half certain what she meant. "And what's that?" he replied, a bit sharp. "It's, this, this mask you've just gone and put on again, instead of the person I was talking to just now?" He shook his head slightly. "Why would you do that? Why would you want that?"

Her smile dimmed, touched by chagrin he couldn't help hoping was the real thing. "Sometimes, being shot at is easier than trying to blow against the wind." Her lips thinned briefly. "It's even harder for us, you know. For women. You should remember that." She seemed on the verge of saying more, but her eyes darted back over John's shoulder; John guessed that Macaulay was getting impatient. She gave a quick nod and returned her eyes to John's, but her face was smooth, and the smile that had returned was small and distant. "Good luck being who you are, John."

"Yeah." He couldn't think of anything better to say. "Yeah, you too." He wasn't worried about her, but that seemed like an awfully intimate thing to say to a girl he'd just met. Even if they had just been having his first real conversation in months.

She had barely walked away when Major Lawrence slid into John's sightline and grinned. John did his best to smile back, although he didn't feel much like talking to anyone else right now.

"Keeping yourself busy, I see," Lawrence said. "Any luck?"

John gave a quick nod, trying to work out the fastest way to get off the subject. "Yeah, not really. It's fine. I'm fine." He wasn't fine; he realized he couldn't stand to be here anymore. "Look, I'm going out for a bit of air. Do you want to come?"

To John's relief, Lawrence shook his head. "No, I'm going for another beer while I still can. I'm going to have to stopper it soon, if I actually mean to get up tomorrow morning." He smiled down at John affectionately. "Not such a problem for the young blokes. You'll understand in a few years."

"Yeah," said John, as he moved toward the door. "Yeah, I guess so."