Collaboration with @silmarilz1701
Svetlana knew how to play the game. She'd been caught in the political drama of Stalin's inner circle since birth. The only child of one of Stalin's closest friends, she grew up in the limelight, scrutinized by frie...
@Silmarilz1701 here: Hey guys, an important announcement. Due to some severe, chronic health issues, I have about 8 chapters of this fic left to write, and need to postpone it until the end of the semester. As such, this will be the last update until about December most likely. We have about 30 chapters left to go and most of them are written, but there are enough that aren't that we need to press the pause button. I'm splitting most of my time split between bed rest and classes and as such, this needs to sit on the back burner for a little while. We hope you understand.
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Little by little, Zhanna's determination melted away, pooling in the courtyards of Mourmelon. It ran, mixing with her hope, puddling in the garrison's cool depths. Sveta's skin grew pale in the darkness of the garrison and Zhanna's fingers grew colder as she scrabbled for purchase in the barren path that lay before her.
Still, she pushed on, when Winters had stopped fighting, when Nixon's drink was refilled and his interest drained, and Ron's persistence had been dulled by overuse. She didn't let them forget, either, that Sveta was behind bars.
It wouldn't be fair to say that they didn't help at all. Dick had met with Sink, though both insisted that nothing could be done. Nixon had done some digging but whatever he had found was clearly more incriminating than helpful, his eyes meeting Zhanna's with some kind of pity. Ron had held on but even his hands were tied by rank and by duty. She had thought at the very least, they would have tried harder.
Zhanna hadn't seen Sveta imprisoned, though she would have liked to meet with her. Maybe she could have come to the root of the problem, seen what Sveta would do. What would Sveta do? What would Sveta have done if Zhanna was the one behind bars?
Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered so much, if she was curled up in the corner of the cell. What would anyone have done for Zhanna?
Zhanna would do what she would want Sveta to do for her. Zhanna would keep pushing, keep fighting. Sveta wasn't dead yet, and neither was Zhanna so no debt had been paid. If their feet weren't safely planted on Russian soil, Zhanna wouldn't, couldn't rest.
"Zhanna," Dick said, again. He sounded tired, not of her but at her insisting presence. He had begun to use her name with more purpose, more urgency every time she was found on his office's doorstep. "I told you there is nothing I can do."
He really wasn't paying attention, half-expecting every knock on the door to be her small blonde head poking into his office. Zhanna had spent nearly every morning digging for news, trying to tie together some kind of support for Sveta. If there was any loyalty to Sveta in Easy Company, it had melted away like this winter's snow.
"I understand," Zhanna said. "I'm not here for you. Nixon, where is he?"
Dick shrugged, letting the flurry of papers be whisked away and replaced with more. "Officer's club? Barracks?"
"Thank you, Major Winters," Zhanna said, saluting to leave.
"Zh-" his voice caught as the orderly returned, a fresh set of papers for him to review and sign. "Casmirovna, I have put in an order for your ammunition but they are hard to come by. The quartermaster is doing his best."
