A/N: Time for some Sveta

...keep looking into my eyes...

Svetlana | Silmarilz1701

For the first time in weeks, Sveta just breathed. She sat by herself in one of the pews in Rachamps' convent, eyes forward as she watched the dancing candle flames cast shadows in all different directions. A warmth settled over her, the cold from her recent stroll outside just beginning to fade from her coat. In that Catholic church, Sveta let herself relax.

The candles reminded her of better days. They reminded her of hours she'd spent in her bedroom, a space all her own. Some days she felt whisked back to 1935, back to being thirteen and scared of the world. Friend, foe, it didn't matter back then. Everyone was against her except her mother.

She'd kept candles in her room to drive away the shadows. And here, a decade later and several countries away, Sveta loved the candles in the church for doing the exact same thing. No more shadows. No more fear.

About thirty men still lounged in the safety of the church. Silence had settled around them ever since the choir had left. It soothed her nerves, just being there in the moment, reveling in the safety and solitude.

She could see Ron and Lipton chatting at the front of their pews. The latter sat wrapped in on himself, smiling a bit at whatever Ron had told him. Sveta guessed it was about his promotion.

Sveta didn't try to stop the smile from spreading across her face. She just let her eyes take in the scene, as Ron adjusted his ODs. He'd gotten the promotion nod, too. She couldn't tell if it was the heat of the candles or the warmth that just watching him gave her, but she could feel her cheeks warming. Watching the men, watching him, when none of them ran from foxhole to foxhole brought her great peace.

When Ron turned towards the door, she caught his eye. He shot her a smirk. Sveta narrowed her eyes but couldn't help smiling back as he walked past her and put his hands on the door. A gust of wind blew her hair into her face. She watched him leave. It took only half a second for her to follow.

"Running away?" she said. Sveta tried to keep her voice low as she moved into the darkness. Her grin widened as Ron turned to look at her and just rolled his eyes with a smile of his own. "Excited to run Easy now?"

Ron shrugged, but he couldn't stop the pride. She could read it easily. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and handed it to her before lighting a new one for himself. "Finally they have someone in charge that can keep up with the NCOs."

She laughed. The light of her cigarette and what escaped the church through stained glass highlighted the little snowflakes that fell around them. She agreed with him completely. Dick had the mind, the tactics of a leader. And he inspired the men. But since his promotion, they'd been missing the tenacity. Ron had that.

"I'll admit, I'm a bit sad though," Sveta said.

"Why?"

"I won't outrank you for much longer."

Ron snorted out a small laugh. Silence fell between them again. No heartbeat of war, no choir of angelic girls. Just the wind in the small town and the sound of their breathing. Sveta couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so warm, so human, so alive.

As they stood a few feet from the walls of the convent, Sveta looked at him. She couldn't remember the last time she'd trusted someone the way she trusted Ron. It scared her.

She took her cigarette from her mouth. A cloud of smoke joined her breath in wisping away. Trembling, Sveta thought about moving away. But then she looked at him. He was watching her, silent, as if nothing meant as much except her.

He was a drug. His presence, his stability and trust. She already had one addiction, she didn't need another. But she wanted it.

"Am I that fascinating?" she managed to ask.

Ron started grinning. His grin was infectious. So few people saw it, but she was one of them. And Sveta realized that he made her want to smile. Real smiles. And in the dark, away from prying ears and eyes, she wondered if she could tell him. Not just about her father's hand in her mother's death. Not just her disloyalty to Premier Stalin. But everything. She wondered if she could tell him about Zhanna's family, about how in the back of her mind she wondered if her friend really was that... a friend.

Could Sveta tell him everything about Lavrentiy Beria and his obsession, about the way he stalked her in Soviet Russia like a cat stalked a mouse? Sveta had let his name pass her lips only once since leaving Russia. Every day she regretted the way the fear had pushed her to say his name in front of Nixon, Dick, and Harry. Every day, she wondered how long it would take for that impulse to kill her, or worse.

But this desire to speak the truth to Ron didn't come from fear, from a panicky effort at self preservation. In Mackall, she'd said his name to save Zhanna from further investigation, to save her friend from falling victim to Nixon's cold, dark eyes. But here, in Rachamps as the snowflakes landed on his dark uniform and glowed white for a moment before melting forever, she wanted to explain everything out of trust.

"Cat's got your tongue, Sveta?"

She looked him in the eyes. Sveta. He'd called her Sveta. Her cheeks flushed, looking at the way the moonlight highlighted his pale skin, still covered in that thin layer of grime they all had. Sveta. He'd called her Sveta.

"Haven't seen you this speechless since the hospital," he added. He kept his voice low, never moving from his spot nearly level with her.

Sveta couldn't breathe. He was a drug. This was a drug, this trust, this heat that filled her body so different from the anger that she knew. This fire made her feel warmer than even the strongest alcohol.

"Sirs—"

Spina.

Sveta clenched her fists, but she forced herself to turn away from Ron. She forced herself to breathe. "What is it, Spina?"

"Captain Winters sent me. He wants to see you guys in the CP," he told them. "Somethin' about orders."

She nodded. Orders. They were in a war. Even though the endless heartbeat of artillery had faded, and she could just barely hear the rumble of tanks on the edge of town, they hadn't left it. So she took a breath through her nose, letting the frigid air cool her down.

"Thanks, Doc." She turned to Ron. When he just shrugged, plopping another cigarette in his mouth, she sighed. "Let's go."

"Is that an order, Captain?"

Sveta chuckled, moving off towards the house that had been emptied to be used as a base. "Yes. I can still do that. You're not a Captain yet, Speirs."

They found Dick with Nixon, Strayer, and Sink around the kitchen table. Sveta heard herself take a sharp breath. Anxiety spiked. Something was wrong. Something had come up. Why were Sink and Strayer here?

"Captain, Lieutenant." Sink nodded to them. "Sorry to cut your relaxation short, but we've got bad news."

"We're moving out?" Speirs asked.

They all nodded. Sveta felt herself deflate. Of course they were moving out. No other explanation sufficed for the mix of anger and sadness in that little room in Rachamps. Even a month of combat, of suffering in frozen wastes under the terror of German artillery could allow them rest.

Sveta glared. She didn't care who saw her anger. As Sink explained their orders for the next several weeks, she continued to glare at the map on the table as if she could destroy it with her fury.

She couldn't.

"Get some sleep, boys." Sink frowned, but nodded once at them. Then he turned to her. "You too, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir."

"It's a damn shame, but it's war," he added. "Let's make the most of tonight."

She followed him with her gaze as he and Strayer ducked out of the house. Even when the door slammed behind them, leaving a dark void where their bodies had been, she couldn't tear herself away.

"Speirs, don't tell them tonight," Dick told him. He sighed. "Give them a night."

Ron nodded. "Right."

"I might be able to scrounge together some extra food for the morning," Nixon said. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do. Svetlana?"

She turned back. "What?"

"We were digging through supplies, and found some whiskey. It's not Vat 69, so figured it'd be better for you than me," he added.

She snorted a half laugh. But she nodded. "I'll make do."

Silence fell over the room again. They heard only a buzz of damage electronics above their breathing. No one wanted to move. No one wanted to sleep. Sleep meant the morning would dawn, and with the dawn, more death.

"We should rest," Dick said.

The silence shattered, Sveta looked from the map to the others. She could see their masks slipping. Sveta had to admit they'd done well, better than she'd expected when they'd entered Bastogne. Even Nixon. Especially Nixon. But everyone had a breaking point. Like Compton.

She frowned. Looking between each of them, she just sighed. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Enjoy your last night outranking me," Ron said, lowering his voice as she passed.

Sveta broke into a grin, leaning closer. She dropped her voice too. "Don't let the fact that I didn't shoot you for calling me Sveta go to your head. I may not outrank you after tomorrow, but I do have connections to people who would love to shoot you for me."

"They could try."

Sveta laughed, patting him on the shoulder briefly, and left them in the kitchen. She took the stairs as quietly as she could, grateful to have a bed to sleep in at all. After foxholes and tents, she'd even have taken the wooden floor. But when she opened the door, she realized Zhanna already had.

She frowned. She should've had the bed. Zhanna had lost so many of her friends in Bastogne. Good men. She should've taken the bed. But she knew Zhanna would never agree.

With every day that passed, Sveta began to question if Zhanna really saw her as a friend. Was she a friend? Or was Sveta just a stepping stone to safety? She sighed. Stripping off her coat and outer layer of pants, she eased down into the covers. She had no answers. All she had were five new bottles of whiskey by her pack, a blanket to sleep under, and a fire in her chest that made her feel human when she thought of standing side by side with Ron Speirs.