A Crash of Feelings
Pairing: Dmitry x Lane.
Content Warning (18+): This work contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content. It is intended for adult audiences only. Reader discretion is advised. By proceeding, you confirm that you are 18 years of age or older.
Writer's Note: I realized that many people were confused by the medical car diamond scene. Some people didn't understand certain parts in it, while some others felt like Dmitry and Lane were acting out of character in this scene and they didn't understand why. So, I decided to write this diamond scene but from Dmitry's point of view, to make certain moments clearer for everyone, and at the same time, to experience what was going on through Dmitry's head throughout the scene. I wish you a Happy read. ā¤ļø
It had only been a few hours since the General had woken up, still human. He hadn't died, nor had he turned into one of the infected. It all felt too good to be true. When he had decided to shoot himself in the head, he had already made peace with death. He had accepted his fate. Yet now, finding himself alive - and still human - felt nothing short of a miracle. It felt like a dream, a fragile one at that.
He lay on the bed in the medical car, his body weak, his mind swirling with disbelief. From a distance, he could hear the familiar sounds of the squad- laughter, voices, movement. He hadn't expected to ever hear those sounds again, and the realization filled him with an odd sense of peace and comfort. The noises lulled him, pulling him in and out of sleep for the last half hour. His body ached, the wound still raw and painful, but the feeling of not being in control - the loss of it which had plagued him ever since he woke up - kept dragging him back to wakefulness. As a General, that lack of control gnawed at him. It made him feel vulnerable. Alert. Sleep had always been a luxury he could not afford, especially now.
Just as he was drifting off again, he became aware of someone in the room. The footsteps were soft, careful. Then, that scent washed over him. Her scent. For a moment, he was sure he must be dreaming of her again. She had no reason to be here in reality. Why would she? She had been a constant presence in his fevered dreams, always searching for something he couldn't quite grasp.
What did she want from him? Why her, of all people? Why did his subconscious cling to her?
Her scent lingered, and something within him stirred. A sudden warmth, an ache, blossomed in his chest. Then he felt it - a gentle touch on his wrist. Her fingers, delicate and familiar, brushed against his skin, drawing him fully awake. There she was. Leaning over him, close, her face soft with a quiet smile. There was something about her expression focused, almost fascinated - that made her even more alluring. He had seen that look before, back when she was immersed in her work, oblivious to his quiet observations. He had memorized it very well.
Why did she always find a way to cross his boundaries, both in his dreams and in reality? She was invading his space again, and this time, he wouldn't let her slip away without understanding why.
"Again..." he muttered softly, resigned. The dreams were painful, leaving him raw in ways he couldn't explain. Her head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto his. She looked exactly as she had that day he caught her sneaking out of his office in Rotkov.
"What do you want?" he asked, though his voice lacked the usual strength. She had a way of softening him, weakening him. She flushed, her body tensing as if she were about to leave, but he reached out quickly, grabbing her elbow. No. She wasn't slipping away this time. Not without answers.
"It's the same thing every time" he said, narrowing his eyes. "What are you trying to get from me?" He wouldn't be distracted this time, not by her innocent big eyes or her silence. He needed to know why she always haunted him.
Her eyes widened, confusion flashing in them. "What are you talking about? I just wanted to see the bite scar." Her voice was soft, disarming him again.
"Scar? Wait..." she knew about the bite. She knew. But wasn't this just another dream?
Without releasing her elbow, he sat up freeing his other hand from her fingers to gently cup her cheek. Soft. Warm. Real. She was real. This wasn't a dream.
"Sorry," he muttered, his voice thick with awkwardness. "I imagined it." He leaned back into the pillow, sighing heavily. She finally stepped back, and with her, the closeness that had clouded his mind. His feelings churned, hot and chaotic, harder to control when they were alone like this. In the squad's presence, he could keep them at bay, but here? Injured, vulnerable, confined to this small medical car? He couldn't push them down as easily.
She moved to sit in the chair beside his bed, drawing it closer. As if her proximity wasn't hard enough to handle already.
"What were you imagining?" she asked, her voice as direct as ever. That was one of the things he admired about her - she never beats around the bush.
He answered honestly, "It's like this whole thing is a dream." Great. Now she knows that he dreams about her. Let her think it was the effect of his feverish coma. It was easier than explaining the truth.
The silence between them was tense, electric. The underwater kiss, where their emotional and physical connection was laid bare, is still fresh in both of their minds. Dmitry has been grappling with those feelings ever since, and this moment feels like a continuation of that unresolved tension. The kiss left him questioning the boundaries he had put in place, making it harder to suppress his desire for more. He couldn't take it anymore and decided to break the silence first, it's his way to feel more in control of the situation "So, you know about the bite?"
"Yes," she answered simply, and there was sadness in her eyes. Was it sympathy? Or something more? Did she know the bite had been meant for her? That he sacrificed his life for her again?
"Who else knows?"
"A few. Anna, Kira, and Greg."
So, not the whole squad. And not the immortals. The more information he knows, the more back in control of the situation he feels. He glanced at her, unable to fully process the fact that she was here, sitting so close. He had truly believed, in that moment when he had shielded her from the infected, that it would be the last time he saw her. And yet, here she was. So close. Yet so out of reach at the same time.
"It's strange to feel alive after coming to terms with death," he said softly. He hadn't spoken about it with anyone yet - not even Anna. But Lane? With her, it was different. He felt like he could tell her anything. A trust that had grown between them over time, in a way he never imagined possible.
"I wanted to thank you for that," she said, tucking a strand of her blonde golden hair behind her ear. So, she knew. She knew he had sacrificed his life for her, again. His walls shot up, quickly guarding his emotions.
"We all do what we have to do. We couldn't lose you." We, he said, clinging to the professionalism of it all, pretending it was normal. Pretending that anyone in the squad would have done the same thing. But they both knew deep down that it's a lie. He couldn't lose her.
Her expression faltered, just for a second, but it was enough. He needed to shift the conversation, fast.
"I noticed Greg taking command, right?" he said.
"Yes. He's doing a good job," she replied.
He chuckled. It was obvious Greg hadn't been thrilled about him waking up. The man had enjoyed his taste of power. He wasn't expecting Dmitry to wake up. Dmitry trusted Greg though. He knew he would be able to take care of the others in case something happened to him, and that's all that mattered to him.
"This is a great opportunity for him to prove himself. Greg did right to take advantage of it. And to take care of the others" He told Lane honestly.
But the way she said it - he's doing a good job - stung. Was Greg better than him? Had he gotten closer to Lane in his absence? Does she prefer Greg to be in command over him? Question marks filled his head and kept nagging at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Dmitry gave up and decided to probe, though indirectly. "Does he remember to load you up with tasks?" He teased.
"Actually, I don't have much contact with him," she replied honestly. Relief. Sweet, soothing relief. He nodded.
The silence returned, heavier this time. He could feel the tension between them, palpable. She avoided his gaze, her leg bouncing nervously. She bit inside her cheek, a tell he knew all too well. She sucked in a deep breath, looking like she forgot how to breath. He wondered what was going on through her head. Did she feel it too? This suffocating tension between them...?
Then, suddenly, she decided to break the silence. "While you were gone, General, the guys really missed you. No one said it out loud, but they all missed the person who could unite all of us."
Her words caught him off guard. She had never spoken to him so openly before. She was always guarded around him, especially when it comes to her feelings. Was she trying to reassure him? Was she trying to tell him something? Did she feel this way as well? Did she miss him when he was gone?
After a short pause, he looked at her again. He smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Are you joking now? Are you sure this isn't a dream?"
She smiled back, their eyes meeting. "This is the first time I've told the honest truth." She admitted, holding his gaze.
Her smile, her closeness, the warmth of her words - it stirred something deep inside him. He wanted more. No, he needed more. This was the first time she had let her guard down, the first time she had spoken from the heart. And it made him feel things - things he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.
"Do it more often," he said with an affectionate smile on his face, staring deeply into her eyes. Realizing that he had exposed his feelings more than he meant to, he made the poor decision to tease her about her work again. He changed his expression quickly, and in the tone usually reserved for giving orders to soldiers, he asked: "How many pages have you managed to translate?". A very poor decision to change the subject and avert her attention from his feelings.
She raised an eyebrow, puzzled. He had ruined the moment. With an irritated frown, she answered sharply, "I'll get to work."
"Wait, I was joking," Dmitry said, panic rising within him. She had just opened up, revealing a glimpse of her true feelings, and he had ruined it. Again.
Lane stood up from the chair, her expression unreadable, and took a step toward the door.
"Lane!" he called out desperately. She took another step, her hand reaching for the door handle. She was really leaving. His fear of vulnerability had destroyed everything once more. She would walk away and never make the mistake of opening up to him again. Never check on him, never sit by his side with that genuine concern. She would never smile at him that way again. Never cross the line into his guarded world. He had ruined the fragile connection they had just started to build. This was itāhis last chance. If he didnāt act now, she would slip away forever. The only woman who had ever broken through his defenses.
Dmitry leaped up from the bed. His legs, numb from inactivity, buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor, entangled in the blanket. She paused at the door and slowly turned around, watching him with a stunned expression. Great. He had made a fool of himself. Twice in one day. But at least he had stopped her.
Struggling to his feet, Dmitry gathered the fallen blanket and tossed it onto the bed. He looked at her, regret in his voice as he said, "Sorry." Anger simmered inside him. He could feel his wound reopening, blood trickling, but that didnāt matter now. He had to fix this. Or he would lose her forever.
They were standing so close now, the tension between them thickening with every second. Her gaze lingered on his face, tracing the contours of his features as a spark of attraction flickered in her eyes. A soft blush colored her cheeks, and that was all the sign he needed.
Dmitry stepped forward, towering over her. He placed his hand gently on her waist. She pressed her back against the door, holding her breath. She felt it tooāhe was sure of it now. It wasnāt just in his head. It wasnāt one-sided. Her body language screamed what words had not.
He locked the door with a soft click, his gaze smoldering as he looked down at her. She stood, pressed against the door, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide and her lips parted slightly with anticipation. Her scent filled the air between them, intoxicating. His cold blue eyes burned with longing, desire, and frustration. In that moment, his carefully constructed walls crumbled. Everything he had suppressed for so long surged forward, relentless and undeniable.
With a slight narrowing of his eyes, he leaned in with a soft smirk on his face, his voice a rough whisper "Do you always make men fall at your feet?" It was an indirect confessionāa mix of teasing and a deeper acknowledgment of the power she held over him. He was admitting she had disarmed him, made him vulnerable in ways no one ever had. He wanted her to know, to feel it. Maybe even to admit it to himselfāthat despite all his resistance, he was falling for her.
But just as he started to draw his hand away from the door, Dmitry sensed someoneās presence on the other side. He exhaled sharply, frustration tightening his jaw. He unlocked the door and moved his arm around her waist, pulling her gently away from the door. She looked confused.
"Wait," he muttered, irritation in his voice, "we have guests."
Whoever was on the other side of that door had interrupted the momentāthe private moment he had finally decided to show her his true feelings. The moment he had chosen to give in to his desires, even if only for a few seconds. But, as always, life reminded him that nothing belonged to himānot his time, not his life, and certainly not moments like this. There are always unwelcome guests at his door.
A knock echoed through the room.
"Come in," Dmitry said, his arm still securely around Lane's shoulders. It was deliberateāan unconscious display of possession. She always stirred something in him, a fire, a need to claim her. Every time another man stood too close, jealousy gnawed at him, his chest tightening with the desire to pull her back to his side. But he always held back. Now, though, he couldnāt. Not after someone had interrupted their moment. It was a simple gesture, nothing more, he told himselfābut his heart pounded faster when she didnāt pull away.
Greg stepped through the doorway, he looked from Lane to Dmitry in confusion.
"General, I wanted to talk," Greg said, his raised brow and disapproving look aimed particularly at Lane. Dmitryās jaw clenched as he noticed the way Gregās gaze lingered on her. A primal urge to assert dominance surged in his chest.
Dmitry expected Lane to step away, to create distance between them. But she didnāt. She remained close. Unable to meet Gregās intense stare, she dropped her gaze to the floor. Dmitry felt a surge of protectiveness and satisfaction. With a subtle, possessive touch, he massaged her shoulder, making it clear where she stood.
Gregās expression faltered, disappointment flashing across his face as he realized Lane had chosen Dmitryās side. Her decision to stay near him was a silent declaration of where her heart truly lay.
"Lane," Greg said, his voice tinged with frustration, "Iāve been looking for you everywhere. I thought something had happened to you." He was trying to make her feel guilty.
Dmitry could sense Laneās internal struggleāshe wanted to respond but couldn't find the right words. His protective instincts kicked in again, stronger than ever. He stepped in, his voice firm but calm.
"You were thinking of going to rest, right? Thank you for coming." Then, turning to Greg, he dismissed the previous conversation with a curt, "Greg, why did you come? Has something happened?"
The door closed behind Lane as she left, and with her, the warmth she always brought into the room. Dmitryās chest tightened, his mind spinning with what could have happened if Greg hadnāt interrupted. What could have been theirs, even for just a moment longer.














