Exhaustion had hit Sveta like a ton of bricks when she had stepped onto English soil for the first time in a month. From there, hours of debriefs and meetings became her life as majors and colonels and even briefly a general joined them at the Division and then Regimental Headquarters. With each passing moment, Sveta wished for nothing but a shower and pillow. And not some crude tent with a showerhead, but a real bath of warm water.

She couldn't visit Zhanna that day. She decided to go soon though, perhaps in a few days when meetings calmed down. So as the officers droned on about successful missions, enemy casualty reports, and estimated missing and killed in action numbers for the Allied invasion, she just struggled to stay awake.

Harry and Compton split from them after dinner. But Sveta and Winters had yet another meeting. She blocked it out. She'd already told them about her part in the invasion. She'd already been assured a replacement Mosin-Nagant rifle at their earliest possible hour. So she just nodded along and added a few small contributions while Winters retold the Brass, again, of their assault on Brécourt Manor.

Sveta nearly cried when they dismissed her. She'd had only a little food and with the sun already almost gone, the Mess facilities were surely closed. Anger flared up in her, a burning sensation that made her fists tighten and jaw clench. As she stood at the foot of the steps of the HQ building, Sveta tried to calm down. She tried to breathe.

The squeaking of door hinges and footsteps made Sveta pause. She turned around to find Speirs wrestling a cigarette from his jacket as the door snapped shut. "Jesus Christ, they sure do love their own voices."

She smiled. "I've found most Americans think that way."

"The truth comes out at last." As Speirs took the five red-brick steps down, he lit his smoke and then took it out to look at her. He smirked. "I never would've guessed you hated us, Samsonova."

"Hah." Seeing him start to smirk around his cigarette made it impossible for her to stop her own. "Care to share?"

He held out his pack. "Rumor has it that you're up for promotion."

"Is that what you heard?" She looked at him in surprise. As the flame of her zippo lighter caught her cigarette, she smiled. "Well. That's been my goal in life, Speirs. Make Captain in the United States Army."

He let out another small huff of a laugh. "Yeah, well. Something to write home about."

The mask slipped at his words. She didn't write home, not when she could help it. She sent telegram reports to the Soviets every so often, part of being a liaison for them in the West. But Sveta didn't speak to her father unless he instigated. "Yes. I am sure the Red Army will be pleased."

"They should be. We're kicking the Krauts' asses out here," he reminded her.

Silence fell between them. Standing at the base of the stairs, watching as the clouds that had obscured the stars began to dissipate, Sveta focused on breathing. Their cigarette smoke blended together in the space around them. Aldbourne was peaceful. Too peaceful. Sveta longed for the war again. The war in Europe meant the war in her mind stayed silent.

"How's Lieutenant Casmirovna?"

She glanced left. Speirs had taken his cigarette from his mouth. He seemed to be inspecting her, looking for something but what, she didn't know. Sveta didn't like being in the dark. "I've not heard from her since we got back," she said. "Last report I received said she's making a full recovery."

"Good. We need soldiers like her."

"How so?"

He shrugged. "I heard about her actions at Carentan. Easy Company can't control rumors for shit. Even Dog Company's filled with stories of her shooting."

"It's true," Sveta agreed. "Zhanna is unmatched with a rifle."

She always had been. Zhanna had always had a drive that Sveta couldn't really understand. Her hands never left that rifle, her eyes never left her targets. But she didn't want to think about Zhanna. She didn't want to think about Russia, about home. When she thought about home her heart burned with pain and guilt and an aching loneliness.

But her feet wouldn't move. Sveta stayed rooted to the spot outside HQ, Speirs on her left and the shadow of a silent truck on her right. With her hair still pinned against her head, the breeze cooled her neck. "Where are Dog's officers billeted?"

"Right by Easy's," Speirs told her. He dropped his cigarette, smashing it with his foot to make sure the light went out. Then he glanced up at her. "You heading back?"

"I should." Sveta sighed and then looked at him. "I'm exhausted. Americans running their mouths all day will do that to me."

Speirs just shook his head. But Sveta could see the smile. She could see the laughter. She disposed of her own cigarette and then started down the road with Speirs.

"On the Samaria, what happened between you and Sergeant Guarnere?"

The question startled her. It came out of nowhere as they strolled past silent shops and pubs, winding their way through town in the dark. He didn't break eye contact. Sveta frowned. "We got into a disagreement."

"Your sergeants thought you were going to shoot him," Speirs corrected.

Sveta shrugged. "I thought about it."

"What'd he do?"

"He struck Casmirovna in the face," Sveta told him. She could feel the anger bubbling up, like tendrils of flames that wrapped around her chest and made her want to scream. She could remember the bruise on her face. "She and Sergeant Lipton have told me it was accidental. But the fact remains that he struck a superior officer."

Speirs didn't respond at first. They passed another street. It surprised her at first, how silent the town had become. But she supposed they all wanted sleep before partying their hearts out.

"You scared the shit out of him."

Sveta broke into a smile. She knew she had. Glancing over, she saw him watching her. "I know. That was the point." As they approached the street where the Connors lived, Sveta paused. She stood beneath a lamp post, trying to stay away from the shadows. "Fear is a weapon as much as any gun. But I think you know that."

"That so?"

Sveta looked at him in the lamp light. One side of his face more shadowed than the other, but with the same hazel eyes she had come to associate with him. He needed to shave; most of the men did now that they'd returned to England. But he held himself with an almost regal bearing. He knew how to act.

She just smiled, digging into her pocket. With a lazy twist of her wrist, she held out her pack of smokes. "Want a cigarette?" she mocked.

"Sure." He grabbed the whole pack. As she opened her mouth in protest, he just stuck it in his own pocket. "You can bill Casmirovna."

Sveta burst out laughing, shaking her head. In that moment, with Speirs beside her in the quiet street, Sveta was neither alone nor lonely. She was out a cigarette pack, though.

She had a friend. Sveta watched him as he held her gaze. Hazel eyes had always held more comfort than brown. Only when a noise in the house behind her interrupted them did Sveta tear herself away. Blonde hair flashed in the dark of a window as they both looked for who had disturbed them. But whoever it was had disappeared.

She sighed. Turning back, Sveta backed up a bit. Even in his face she could see the exhaustion they all felt, despite his best effort, probably. "Get some rest, Speirs."

"You too. Gotta keep scaring the Enlisted, Samsonova."

"Svetlana's fine."

She surprised herself as much, if not more, than him when she said it. But it was fine. He was a friend. Friends got to use her name. Speirs could use her name.

He nodded. "Call me Ron then. First names might really scare the men," he added. "Though for what it's worth, you don't scare me."

"Is that so?" Sveta said. "Neither do you."

She offered him a last smile before turning away and heading up the last few meters to the Connors' house. The shadows didn't frighten her quite as much as she passed dark hedge rows and fences. Waiting beyond those shadows was a warm bath and bed. And she had a friend.