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...
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0600 Hours
Her entire body ached. Darkness surrounded her, a cold chill running up her spine and infecting her chest. Her head spun, a pain behind her eyes keeping her frozen. She struggled to breathe.
"She's waking up."
Who. Her eyelids wouldn't open. Who was waking up?
"Sveta?"
She knew that voice. She knew that name. Sveta realized they were talking about her, the dark voices. She tried to sit up, tried to force open her eyes. The world still spun. But as a hand touched the back of her neck, Sveta flinched away, scrambling despite the dizziness. Shouts went up around her, and Sveta felt her stomach churn.
"Captain calm down! She's gonna throw up again."
Sveta didn't remember throwing up, but the vile taste that coated her mouth proved he'd spoken the truth when the world stopped rotating. No one touched her again, but her entire body shook.
"Hey, Captain."
She tried to focus again. Sveta squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing away the pounding in her skull. Roe. That was Eugene Roe, medic. What had happened? Why was she with the medics?
"Doc?"
"Yeah."
He moved a bit closer. Sveta realized she was sitting at the edge of a bed. The lights were off, but the curtains pulled back allowing what seemed like early morning sun inside. She forced herself to focus again. Roe knelt down in front of her, inspecting her. She saw someone near the door. Sveta raised her head a bit despite the pain. Ron.
"What—"
But Roe cut her off. "Drink more water." He stuck a canteen in her hand. It felt oddly familiar, like she'd done it many times. Roe frowned. "What do you remember, Captain?"
What did she remember... Sveta paused to let the water go down her throat. She took the canteen away from her lips. Sveta froze.
She remembered a lot of blood. She remembered flickering candles and a half finished note in Russian. She remembered the moldy wooden floorboards and cold air. She remembered roses and vodka. No, not vodka. Schnapps. Sveta closed her eyes. It all blended together, Rostov-on-Don, Stalingrad, Sturzelberg.
"Uh," she paused as the words seem to ring in her ears. Cotton seemed to fill her mouth. Sveta gripped her head. "Shit."
"Sveta. We found you in your room, unconscious."
Ron. She looked up at him. Ron had found her. She remembered that, bits and pieces. She remembered the schnapps, the coldness of her skin as she'd slumped to the floor. She remembered the bedsheets, how she wanted them unstained.
Then she remembered why. Her eyes widened. Zhanna. She'd killed her. Nixon had said so. Winters and Welsh hadn't corrected him. She'd killed Zhanna. But it didn't make sense. She didn't remember blood. She didn't remember pulling a trigger. All she could remember was him.
