Well then. It's been a while, to say the least. I've been enjoying writing easy parodies and silliness and have left this untouched for a few weeks. But some spare time presented itself and suddenly ideas were sparking in my head.

"I can't believe you took a bullet for me."

Karov grimaced as the army doctor bound the gunshot wound on his arm. "It really only grazed me," he corrected, examining the damage done.

Spalko tightened her grip on his forearm as the doctor sealed the bandages. "You're damn lucky it did, too. You very well could have died, and then I would be one man short."

"That's really all you worry about, isn't it?" said Karov; his tone was jocular, but it came through clenched teeth, "One man short."

To this Spalko did not respond. She hadn't visited Karov in the infirmary for a friendly chat. If she were truly honest with herself, she'd been worried about him, and simply the notion of sentimentality in a war environment, especially toward her lieutenant, was enough to make her uneasy. Emotion did not mix well with an easily compromised mission and an already massive casualty rate for their country.

But then her mind would play back the short battle, and the bullet flying toward them would reappear, slowing down so that she could see its rotation in the air and her own ignorance of its path before Karov shoved her aside, the bullet slicing through the seams of his tunic sleeve and grazing his arm. She would watch herself turn around, eyes wild with the light of battle, cogs snapping into place in her head as she subconsciously prepared to take lives without a second thought.

It was at times like this that she did not know whether she possessed a gift or a curse in her impeccable memory.

She was proud; it was a trait she disliked about herself for its disadvantage in hostile situations, and especially in a tight negotiation. But she was no fool. She had been held hostage before, and not holding back her witty remarks had nearly gotten her tongue chopped off. Her skills had gotten her off the hook that day, but she knew a day would come when her particular skill set wouldn't be able to help her.

And that day, it would be her allies who saved her ass.

She looked Lieutenant Karov up and down, bullet wound, dusty face and all. She had known him for little more than a week or two, but he already felt like a real second-in-command would. She trusted him to have her back, at least. And that was something she couldn't say for every other second she'd had in the military and the majority of her superior officers. After all, she wouldn't exactly call herself a trusting person.

In truth, she could feel the anxiety for Karov's safety coiling in her belly, and she disliked that worry, only having known the man for three weeks, two of which they had spent traveling to their outpost in Poland.

They had only arrived the other day, and for fear of infection, Karov had seen the medic. They would be in the best shape possible before the stealth mission began. Or at least, as stealthy as they could be with guns and dynamite.

"You're free to go," said the doctor, looking up from the bandages he had wrapped around Karov's upper arm with an expression of satisfaction, "You'll heal fine, but make sure to change those bandages at night." He gestured to the wrapped wound, then left to check on other patients, smoothing out the small cot for the next injury as he went.

"Thank you, Doctor," Karov dipped his head in appreciation as Spalko stalked toward the door, eager to leave the infirmary. Her mind was overwhelmed with sights, focusing on every small detail in the room and analyzing it thoroughly.

"I'm afraid the man who lost his foot will not make it," she stated, her voice frank and devoid of pity, "But the private with the bullet wound in his shoulder will survive."

"How do you know?" asked Karov, buttoning his uniform over the bandages.

"I observe, Lieutenant." She never quite looked him in the face, her sharp blue eyes always focusing straight ahead as she strode back toward the main encampment.

Silently, Karov studied her face in the evening light. Her features were sharp and intimidating, her hair well groomed and knotted tightly in the back of her head. By all appearances, she was the hard commander that her soldiers needed to keep them in line and the dangerous officer with a mind like a falcon and heart like an ice box.

So he did what she told him to. He observed, searching beneath the masks and layers she kept up to demand respect. He saw how her features softened with relief when the doctor informed him that he would be perfectly fine and needed no further treatment. He saw the corners of her lips lift slightly in the dark whenever she said something particularly witty and he followed it up with a quip of his own.

And he was quite sure she noticed when he called her beautiful; true, he had been offering up a clever remark, but within it he had concealed a statement he thought was true. Even if it was roundabout, he always tried to speak his mind. Spalko valued his convictions, after all, but he wasn't sure she would be willing to hear a personal comment. He wasn't even sure he would be willing to accept such thoughts within himself anyway.

They stopped in the general's tent to turn in the official report regarding the ambush they had walked into during their journey. He nodded to them, nothing out of the ordinary, despite the fact that Spalko had deliberately put off giving him the report until after she had assured herself that Lieutenant Karov would heal quickly. The general, she thought with a grimace, was too busy with his whiskey and cigarettes to mull over reports as the hours passed him by.

She knew if it had been her captain turning in a late report, she would have reprimanded them, no matter the circumstances. But that was a matter she chose not to dwell on, because she was not in such a position, and in war it was no use pondering over what could possibly have happened, were the circumstances different. What mattered were the facts.

But that didn't stop her from receding into her bunker for the evening with a cigarillo of her own and enough candlelight to analyze her relationship with Karov before her heart got the best of her head. She might have managed to overanalyze until her emotions faded away and her mind regained its dominance, had Karov himself not entered the bunker and interrupted her train of thought.

She opened her eyes, watching him close the door as quietly as he could between the tips of her black boots propped up on the table. Her eyes followed him as he hung his overcoat on a bunk and sat down beside it, tapping his thumbs together on his lap.

She doubted he had noticed her presence until she made it known.

"Putting the soldiers to bed, Lieutenant?" she asked dryly through her cigarillo smoke, arching one eyebrow and finding some dark form of satisfaction in the way he jumped up in surprise at the sound of her voice. Her lips twisted into a wry smirk as he sucked in a breath to calm himself, but she remained motionless in the corner, cigarette now tucked between her fingers, and the smell of smoke and molten wax settling in the air.

"We are once again to share a bunker, Captain," he replied, still recovering his wits.

She smoothed her features to show no surprise. "Is this to become a normal thing now, or are they simply running out of space?"

"Most likely the latter, Captain."

Without a word, Spalko got up from her chair and made to crank the small generator that would provide some light for their bunker. As opposed to their first outpost, this one had electricity, if not a great deal of it.

"If I may ask, why were you in candlelight if you could have electricity?"

Spalko stopped turning the crank as lights flickered on above them. "It was dimmer, and I prefer to have a certain degree of darkness if I'm trying to think."

She watched as the Lieutenant shed his shirt, examining the bandages. "I should probably change these, shouldn't I?"

"Did he tell you to?"

"Yes."

"Then you should." In most cases she would allow a bit of extra time to pass before changing bandages, but she didn't want Karov to worsen or his wound to get infected.

He looked down at the bandage ruefully. "Damn," he said with a light chuckle. She could see the slight flicker of fear pass over his face, as if it had just barely hit him that he could very well have died. That fact, of course, had crossed Spalko's mind hours before, but she understood that it took time for such possibilities to sink in.

"That is correct, Lieutenant," was all she said as she studied his expression carefully. He, in turn, scrutinized the dressing of the bullet wound, then reached with one arm to pull it off. He wasn't getting very far; he only had one hand to put to use.

Rolling her eyes at his incapability, Spalko strode over to her second-in-command and sat down beside him. "Allow me, Lieutenant Karov."

With the precision of a surgeon, Spalko unwound the gauze and tossed it onto the bunker floor. Karov winced slightly, muscles contracting, and she shot him a glare before laying eyes on the flesh wound. The bullet hadn't gone straight into his arm, and a wave of relief washed over her that she suppressed, fully aware that he had assured her earlier that it had only grazed him.

However, it had certainly left its mark, and a nasty one at that. It had torn a deep cut in his skin, red and rough with drying blood.

"Another scar for the collection, eh?" Karov piped up, his voice slightly hoarse with exhaustion. They had only arrived about noon that day, and the constant traveling had taken its toll on the entire unit.

"I'm sure my scar collection is far more impressive, but I'll allow you to indulge in your pride while I bind this for you," muttered Spalko, "Gauze please."

"In the pocket of my overcoat."

She narrowed her eyes at him once more before fetching the bandages from his uniform coat. Walking back to his bed, she spotted the radio in the corner and turned it on. On most occasions, she loathed the radio. It disrupted her thinking with nonsense and static. She didn't know what possessed her to turn it on now, but the slow swing now resonating in the bunker was soothing to her nerves. Her teeth stopped gnawing the cigarette. She hadn't realized she'd been biting it so hard in the first place. She hated when she couldn't agree with herself; it felt awkward and off balance, like she walked with a cane and spoke with a whistle.

Still without a word, she rebound his arm, pinning the dressings so they wouldn't come undone and blowing cigarillo dust into his face as if disregarding what would be considered manners in normal society would ease her mind through the war.

"There," she finished, her voice husky through the thick smoke, "That should be better."

He craned his neck to see the binding, and nodded. "Thank you."

Her head had just barely reared to regain control when her emotions decided they would act before they were overcome.

Irina Spalko was anything but impulsive. She never acted without weighing every variable and considering every effect her decision could have. She was unsure still what piece of her mind thought to do exactly what it did, but it saw an opportunity and took it before her logical side could regain control.

And she doubted she would have done it, had Karov not been leaning toward her in an attempt to be subtle. And she wouldn't have done it, had he not been so damn clean, by army standards. Certainly, showers were a rare privilege, and one got used to being dusty, but with fresh bandages, his kind face, rough with stubble and a few nicks, he was far more tidy than their compatriots.

And after she had acted- now that they were, in fact, passionately kissing like they were going to die tomorrow, (and as far as either of them were concerned, that was a likely possibility) she was weighing such variables.

And after the variables come the inevitable outcomes. A superior officer could separate them for an inappropriate relationship. She, Karov or both of them could die. Or, they left the military and lived a civilian life. But that was out of the question entirely. No option sounded pleasurable, despite whatever short term arrangement they may conjure up.

So, she parted from her lieutenant, lips swollen and eyes alight with some form of adrenaline, and allowed her logical mind to take over once more.

"This will not be spoken of," she decided aloud after a moment's thought, her cigar back between her teeth. Karov had reclaimed his dusty shirt. "Are we clear, Lieutenant Karov?"

His voice was as hard as hers; he had obviously foreseen the same obstacles to their affections for one another. If someone had entered the room right then, they could not have guessed as to what had happened seconds previous.

"Clear as day, Captain Spalko."

I did get a bit indulgent at the end. Reviews brighten my day! Make potato chips, not air :)