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. ❤️

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 it—his last chance. If he didn’t 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 didn’t 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 too—he was sure of it now. It wasn’t just in his head. It wasn’t 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 confession—a 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 himself—that despite all his resistance, he was falling for her.

But just as he started to draw his hand away from the door, Dmitry sensed someone’s 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 moment—the 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 him—not 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 deliberate—an 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 couldn’t. Not after someone had interrupted their moment. It was a simple gesture, nothing more, he told himself—but his heart pounded faster when she didn’t 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. Dmitry’s jaw clenched as he noticed the way Greg’s 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 didn’t. She remained close. Unable to meet Greg’s 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.

Greg’s expression faltered, disappointment flashing across his face as he realized Lane had chosen Dmitry’s 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, "I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I thought something had happened to you." He was trying to make her feel guilty.

Dmitry could sense Lane’s internal struggle—she 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?"

so hi i kind of wrote some dmitry x yan fanfics and i decided to start posting them. they are standalones but at the same time interconnected. the first one is already up on ao3! :) Click here

Summary: After a quiet night of sitting down and having drinks, Yan decides to escort a tipsy Dmitry to his room. Conversations and arguments ensue. And some memories and emotions resurface.

Preview:

“You got this from here?” Lester asks.

“Yeah, I’ll just walk him back to his office,” Yan replied.

Dmitry wasn’t exceptionally drunk. He had consumed enough alcohol to bring out the aspects of himself he normally kept hidden in dark corners and beneath shadows. It became noticeable once he started conversing with Cain without rolling his eyes. It became crystal clear when he’d spill innocent truths and information about himself. The funny thing was, it was only crystal clear to Yan. As someone who had high alcohol tolerance, Dmitry wasn’t one to lose his sense of self while drinking. To everyone else he was a relaxed version of himself, to Yan his guards were evidently down.

“Fancy some company?” he asked, attempting to disguise his anxious stance with nonchalant words.

Dmitry scanned his face. He wasn’t questioning or analyzing his offer, he was just observing him. “Always. Walk me to my room?”

Yan ignored the lie behind the first word and walked beside Dmitry, joining him.

The silence rang loudly in Yan’s ears, his hand fidgeting around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He gave in and pulled it out alongside his lighter.

“Thought you got rid of them.” Dmitry watched as he lit a cigarette up and brought it to his lips.

Yan exhaled. “Am I tempting you?”

“More than you think.”

The rest of the smoke came out of Yan’s mouth with a chuckle. “Did your parents not warn you about bad influences or were you not listening?”

“Unfortunately for me, they never included you in the list of things I should be wary of.”

“For a general, I’d think you’d have better judgement,” Yan cocked an eyebrow.

Dmitry’s hands brushed over Yan’s, fingers untangling his cigarette and freeing it from his hold. Yan let it happen, unexpectedly in awe of the action.

“For a hunter, you’re squirming like prey.”

Dmitry came to Lane to give her dinner. He was feeling bad about scolding her and worried about her not having dinner like the others. But when he found Anna there, he didn't know what to do to explain his sudden appearance and he didn't want to admit that he was worried about Lane. So he stood awkwardly at the door thinking about escaping but when they caught him, he covered it up by overreacting even more and scolding Lane again! 😭😂❤️ Ahhh! My heart... 😭❤️

Anna was so confused... 😂❤️

Lane grew up completely deprived of love. Her parents made her feel unwanted, like a burden too heavy to carry. The world judged her harshly for being different, ever since she was little. She felt unloved, unwanted, and as if she had no worth. That emptiness led her into a toxic relationship with someone who only used her to satisfy his own needs. He tortured Lane in order to satisfy himself and never showed any interest in her comfort. People constantly took from Lane until there was nothing left of her. She was a lost soul, searching for belonging—until she found the book of the Apocalypse.

In Season 1, when Lane read Romanov’s diary, everything changed for her again. After the squad constantly accused Lane and suspected her, suddenly, they started noticing her. They got closer. This happened right after Dmitry and the squad accused her of Noah’s disappearance. In that moment, Lane thought:

"Everyone present moved closer. They looked at me differently now. I remembered that look well from childhood—it was recognition. It marked a victory: shaky and short-lived, but so necessary. If you make progress, you are loved. If not, you're a useless burden… Everything is conditional and has a price, even the brightest of feelings. If one forgets this simple truth, one will wallow in regret, feeling like a weak- willed victim. And even though I vaguely imagine that there might be another option, it's still better to look at things from the outside."

The Book of the Apocalypse gave Lane something she never had—self-worth. For the first time, she felt needed, important. To Lane, giving up the information in the book feels like giving up the last piece of her identity. The book of the Apocalypse = Lane's value as a person. Without it, she believes no one will care about her anymore—just like before. It's as if she’ll disappear.

If you’re romancing Dmitry, it’s even more complicated. He’s the one who pushed her hardest to translate the book. Lane probably believes that once she tells him everything, she’ll lose her value in his eyes, and she'll become a burden. To her, love is conditional: as long as she’s offering something, she is loved. But if she stops? She fears she’ll be discarded, reduced to a burden with no purpose, no identity.

Because Lane has been conditioned to believe that love must be earned, she constantly feels the need to give in order to be accepted. In relationships, she goes above and beyond—doing everything she can to please her partner—because only then does she feel safe, valued, and secure in the idea that he won’t leave her. Especially now that she is done with the book which gave her the sense of being important for most of her life.

I had been working on the book late into the night. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and every word on the page blurred into the next. I needed to stop—my body was begging me to—but each time I looked toward the cold, empty side of the bed where Dmitry usually lay, the ache in my chest deepened. His absence drained me more than the sleeplessness ever could.

The door creaked open softly, and there he was.

The General stepped inside, his frame silhouetted by the soft golden glow of the desk lamp. He looked utterly worn down—his posture heavy, his eyes shadowed. Without a word, he sank into the leather chair across the room, letting his head fall back against the headrest and closing his eyes. He didn’t interrupt me, as always. Just… existed in the room with me.

That was Dmitry. When the weight of the world pressed down on him, he came here. To me. And even if we never spoke a word, I knew my presence brought him the peace he craved. Tonight, though, he seemed aware of my gaze. Perhaps worried he was disturbing me. He tried to retreat into himself, but I saw him—all of him.

I smiled faintly.

The top buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his strong chest. His stubble was longer than usual, a sign of long days weighed down by responsibility, too burdened. I ached to touch him—to run my hand over his jaw and feel the familiar prickle of roughness, to trace the veins and the soft hairs that lined his forearms where they rested, relaxed, on the chair. And more than anything, I longed to feel the rough strength of the General’s hands closing around my waist—claiming, grounding, his.

Before I realized it, I was standing.

Drawn to him by something deeper than thought, I moved across the room and gently straddled his lap, my legs settling on either side of him. Dmitry’s eyes opened, surprise flickering there for a moment before they softened into something that stole my breath. That look—full of unguarded affection and passion—always unraveled me. I wished he’d never stop looking at me like that.

His rough hands found my waist and pulled me closer, his touch grounding. I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of my emotions. What I felt for the General scared me. It wasn’t just desire—it was something vast, burning through the numb corners of my heart I thought I’d lost forever. It made me feel alive and terrified at the same time.

My fingers drifted to his stubble, brushing over it as I studied his face. He watched me with wonder, as though uncertain if this was real or just a trick of the dim light. I had never looked at him like this before… maybe he was afraid to believe what he saw in my eyes.

But I leaned in, and he didn’t hesitate.

He kissed me like he’d been holding back a storm.

It wasn’t soft—not at first. It was raw, consuming, desperate. His lips crashed into mine with all the force of the silence we’d suffered, the ache we’d buried, the nights we’d spent trying to forget how badly we needed each other. I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, his kiss deepening, His arm curled around my waist with a possessive urgency, pulling me so close it felt like he wanted to fuse us together.

I melted into him, my hands trembling as they gripped his shoulders, sliding up into his hair. His kiss deepened with a hunger I’d never tasted before—feral, beautiful, real. It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t perfect. It was everything we were—bruised and burning and alive.

A soft sound escaped my throat as our mouths moved together in perfect chaos, as though we’d spent lifetimes apart and only now found our way back. He kissed me like he feared I’d vanish. Like this was the only chance he’d ever get to show me how much he felt.

My chest ached with how much I loved him. The thought surprised me. I love him.

And in the midst of it all, the kiss shifted—still intense, but slower now, reverent. Like he was memorizing the shape of me, the taste of me. Like he wanted to write an apology and a promise into every press of his lips.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

I wrapped myself around him, arms draped over his shoulders, and buried my face in his chest as if it were the only place in the world I belonged, breathing in the scent of him—masculine, warm, uniquely his. His hands stroked my hair gently, and his breath tickled the top of my head as he pressed his lips there with aching gentleness.

And then—without warning—my eyes filled with tears.

They slipped free, silently, one after another. Not from pain. From release. From a love so deep and fierce it left no room for fear. I felt happy. Safe. Home. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I was at peace.

Hearing me sniffing, Dmitry tensed slightly, feeling the shift. He pulled back to look at me, his voice laced with concern. “Lane? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head and gave a shaky laugh, suddenly shy. “No… no, you didn’t. I’m sorry—I don’t even know why I’m crying…”

How could I explain it? That I felt more alive in that moment than I ever had?

He wiped my tears gently with his thumbs, cupping my face as though I was the most delicate and precious to him. He pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, then kissed away the tears still clinging to my cheeks. Overcome, I leaned in and kissed him again—soft, deep, and full of everything I couldn’t say.

As the kiss slowly faded, Dmitry's lips curled into a smile, his eyes flickering with something unspoken as they met mine—mirroring all the emotions I couldn’t say aloud.

Then he scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing and cradled me in his lap, holding me close to his chest. His warmth surrounded me.

“Sleep,” he whispered, brushing his lips over the top of my head.

Pairing: Dmitry x Lane.

Words Count: 2630.

Summary: Another squad member falls, and the squad, consumed by grief, unleashes their pain on their General. The weight of their loss drags Dmitry down like an undertow, pulling him deeper into the abyss of his own demons. As he sinks further, lost in the darkness of his mind, Lane fights with everything she has to reach him, before he drowns completely.

Another squad member had fallen, a crushing loss that weighed heavily on everyone. The General had faced the agonizing choice of sacrificing him to save the rest, but the decision left the entire squad reeling.

Anna screamed in anguish, tears streaming down her face as she relentlessly pounded her fists against the General's chest.

"How could you do that to him? How could you sacrifice him like that?! I never imagined you could be this heartless! I hate you! I hate you so much!"

The General stood motionless, allowing his sister to vent her pain on him. He didn’t meet her gaze, it was too terrifying. Her eyes burned with hatred. Anna had hated him before, many times, because of the brutal decisions he had to make for the squad’s survival. But this time was different. This time was worse.

Dmitry had long come to terms with the reflection of the monster he saw in his sister’s eyes - the monster he had become while fighting against monsters. He had accepted his fate. Yet now, for some reason, it felt harder than ever. What had changed?

Greg stepped forward and pulled Anna away from Dmitry, but not before casting a sharp, judgmental glare at him.

Lane watched silently from the sidelines, her heart breaking as she watched the squad turn on Dmitry for a decision he had no choice but to make. She understood their pain, their anger - she truly did - but it didn’t lessen the ache she felt for the man who had carried them through hell, bearing more than anyone should.

She hated how grief made people blind to the weight others carried. The way it made them selfish. Strength didn’t mean endless endurance, and just because someone bore their burdens without complaint didn’t give others the right to add to them. This was why responsibility was so feared, it demanded impossible choices, risks, and sacrifices that often came at an unbearable cost. And not everyone can handle the weight.

While they enjoyed camaraderie and warmth within the squad, Dmitry bore the brunt of making impossible decisions - decisions that kept them safe, and endured their anger and hatred silently. He never complained once.

Lane knew one thing for certain: he didn’t deserve this.

Yan stepped forward with a smirk that was anything but friendly. "You know, General," he said mockingly, "I’ve always wondered what you’d do if you found yourself in that situation again - with Pavel. Well, now I have my answer. You never disappoint... General." He bumped Dmitry’s shoulder roughly as he walked past him.

Yan clung stubbornly to his resentment toward Dmitry. He still couldn’t forgive him for sacrificing their best friend Pavel, even though deep down Yan knew Dmitry had no other choice back then either. But pain and anger are relentless, they don’t easily yield to reason or understanding. Yan didn’t want to understand, he only wanted to judge. And Dmitry had grown used to this hatred from everyone around him.

He understood that his position as General meant he couldn’t expect friendships or warmth from others, loneliness came with the territory. Yet deep down, disappointment lingered, because now more than ever, he needed his friend’s support. But Yan had always been powerless against his own anger.

Lane felt paralyzed as she watched them tear Dmitry apart all over again. They thought he didn’t feel anything, that his stoicism meant he was immune to pain. That’s what happens when someone stands strong for too long without complaint: people stop seeing them as human. They forget they suffer just like everyone else, regardless of rank or title.

The General avoided Lane’s gaze entirely, he feared what he might see there. He could endure Anna’s hatred and the squad’s collective judgment, but not hers. Lane - the one woman who truly understood him - had always seen through his walls with just a glance into his eyes. She never judged him, she always understood.

The thought that she might hate him now, that her warm eyes might reflect the same monstrous image, was unbearable. If Lane saw him as a monster too, Dmitry knew he’d never be able to see himself any differently again.

He reminded himself not to hope, not to allow himself the luxury of believing someone would always understand him, believe in him, or be his sanctuary when the weight of the world grew too heavy on his shoulders. Hope was dangerous; it wasn’t something he could afford, not as a General.

Lane’s heart sank as she noticed how dark his expression became, how he seemed to retreat further into himself with every passing moment. She took a hesitant step toward him, desperate to stop him from shutting down completely, but his sharp voice froze her in place:

"Get back to deciphering the book, Lane! Don’t get distracted!" His voice was cold and commanding as he turned away from her without meeting her eyes.

He was pushing her away - she could feel it - and retreating into his own demons again. Lane wanted desperately to help him, to stop him from losing himself, but Donovan’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts.

"Now, Lane," Donovan ordered firmly before following Dmitry herself, leaving Lane standing there in frustration and agony.

__________________________

Two days passed since Lane last saw Dmitry in such a state, and she was so worried. Donovan had sent him on a solo mission after everything that happened, likely hoping it would give both Dmitry and the squad time to cool off and process their emotions rationally.

But Lane knew better than anyone that Dmitry didn’t need distance or distraction right now, he needed support, and no one was giving it to him. He was left alone with the demons inside his head again. Her worry consumed her entirely, she couldn’t focus on deciphering the book at all.

When Lane heard from one of the soldiers that Dmitry had returned hours ago, she waited impatiently for everyone else to go to sleep so she could sneak into his room unnoticed.

Finally, Noah and Lester stopped bickering and retreated into their rooms for the night. Quietly slipping out of hers, Lane made her way toward Dmitry’s quarters as stealthily as possible - aware that Donovan had been keeping an eye on her movements lately.

Reaching his room successfully, Lane knocked softly on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before slipping inside.

The room was dimly lit by a single desk lamp, cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air alongside scattered whiskey bottles near his desk. The spacious room was divided into two sections - a workspace and a bedroom - and Dmitry stood by his desk, his back to her with a cigarette in hand.

As her light footsteps drew closer behind him, Dmitry tensed. He couldn’t face her - not now. He probably looked terrible, he hadn’t dared look at himself in the mirror since everything happened. He couldn’t bear to see the reflection of the monster staring back. He hadn’t slept at all, and the thought of meeting her gaze, seeing the disappointment - or worse, the hatred - in her eyes, would be the breaking point. It would destroy him completely. Without thinking, he quickly started sorting through the papers on his desk, distracting himself from the inevitable.

"Not now, Lane... I’m busy," he muttered tiredly without turning around. His voice lacked its usual commanding confidence - the tone that always made Lane’s heart flutter - and instead sounded dull and lifeless.

Lane felt an ache deep in her chest at hearing how broken he sounded. Slowly and cautiously, she stepped closer to him. Her heart pounded in her chest - she had missed him so much. She missed the way he would carry her in his arms when she was too exhausted, tucking her into bed with such care. She missed the warmth in his icy blue eyes, a warmth reserved only for her. That look was hers alone.

She missed his prickly stubble that always tickled her whenever he kissed her, the way his hair fell over his eyes when he was asleep, giving him a boyish charm that softened his otherwise commanding presence. She missed his embrace - the way it made her feel safe no matter how chaotic the world around them became. With each step closer, the ache in her chest deepened until it became almost unbearable.

It was in that moment Lane realized she wasn’t afraid anymore - not of her feelings or of what they meant. She understood now just how much this man - who had carried her on his back when he found her at the rift - had brought her back to life. Dmitry had become everything to her, and she wasn’t going to run from that truth any longer.

Dmitry tensed further with every step she took toward him. He took a long drag from his cigarette, bracing himself for what he feared would be far more painful than the smoke burning his lungs or the demons clawing at his mind.

But instead of words or accusations, soft arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Lane rested her head gently against his back, listening to the rapid thudding of his heartbeat. Dmitry froze at the unexpected tenderness.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy but comforting in its own way. Finally, Dmitry turned slowly to face her and leaned tiredly against the edge of his desk. Even with them now at eye level, he still couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze.

"You... you don’t hate me? You don’t think I’m a monster?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked the question that had been tormenting him for days.

Lane’s heart shattered at the sight before her. He looked utterly exhausted - dark circles shadowed his red-rimmed eyes, and his hair was disheveled from running his fingers through it repeatedly. His stubble was longer than usual, and his posture sagged with weariness. Yet what broke her most was the pain etched across his face as he avoided her gaze.

"Never," Lane whispered without hesitation, her voice soft but firm. "You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. If it weren’t for you, none of us - none of the squad - would still be alive."

She cupped his face with both hands, cradling his rough stubble with delicate fingers as she gently coaxed him to look at her.

Reluctantly, Dmitry’s eyes met hers - and what he saw there made him feel as though he could finally breathe again after days of suffocating under guilt and despair. Her gaze wasn’t filled with hatred or judgment, instead, it overflowed with worry, compassion, warmth, tenderness... and understanding.

How could he have doubted her? Lane didn’t just understand him - she felt his pain as if it were her own. With one look into his eyes, she saw everything he tried so hard to hide from everyone else. And in that moment, Dmitry didn’t see a monster reflected in her eyes, he saw himself - the man who had done everything in his power to make the best choices in impossible situations - to save as many lives as possible.

Because sometimes all it takes is one person - just one person who truly believes in you - to remind you of who you are when you’ve lost sight of yourself in a harsh and unforgiving world. It's more than enough.

Lane’s heart ached at the desperation she saw in Dmitry’s tired eyes - they were silently pleading for someone to pull him out of the darkness threatening to consume him entirely.

Leaning forward until their foreheads touched, Lane whispered softly but firmly: "The world needs people like you right now - strong and reliable. Not emotional and weak, that's exactly why you're the General, not someone else."

She gently draped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, her body pressed against his, and the warmth of his presence enveloped her. The masculine scent of him - musky, sharp, and undeniably Dmitry - filled the air between them. Lane had never realized how intoxicating his natural scent could be. It was a mixture of raw intensity and something uniquely him, something she had unknowingly come to crave. It was the scent of comfort, of protection, and of everything she had come to love about him.

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly close as he buried his face in her hair and neck, breathing in her scent like it was the very air he needed to survive. He held her with a desperate intensity, as though she was the only thing holding him together. If he let go, he feared he would shatter and lose himself forever.

Lane smiled softly as she ran her fingers through his dark hair, whispering soothingly: "Anna needs time... She’ll come around eventually. She loves you more than anything, she just needs space to process everything."

Her words were like balm on an open wound - soothing and healing in ways nothing else could be. Dmitry continued holding onto Lane as though letting go would cause him to fall apart completely.

After several minutes of peaceful silence, Lane pulled back just enough to press a soft, tender kiss to Dmitry’s lips - a kiss meant to offer comfort and reassurance. But before she could pull away, Dmitry deepened the kiss, his lips claiming hers with a quiet intensity, pouring all of his unspoken emotions into it as if expressing gratitude without a single word.

Lane’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of his passion, her breath catching as she felt every ounce of feeling he poured into that kiss.

When they finally broke apart for air, she was left breathless, her heart racing, as though the world had stopped in that single moment of connection.

"You should get some sleep" Lane said softly after catching her breath. She tugged lightly on his hand toward the bed.

"I can’t sleep... I’ve tried," Dmitry admitted quietly - but even so, he allowed himself to be led by her without resistance.

"We’ll fall asleep together," Lane promised gently as she intertwined their fingers and guided him toward the bed.

Within minutes they were lying side by side on their backs before turning toward each other instinctively - faces just inches apart as they gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. This moment felt raw and intimate - stripped bare of all pretense or walls they had both built around themselves for so long.

For once neither ran from their feelings or hid behind duty, they simply existed together in this fragile yet powerful connection they had found in one another - a connection neither wanted to lose ever again.

Lane reached out hesitantly but affectionately touched Dmitry’s stubble with trembling fingers before whispering: "Close your eyes."

Dmitry caught hold of her hand gently before pressing a deep kiss into her palm - a gesture so tender it sent butterflies fluttering wildly in Lane’s stomach - before wrapping an arm securely around her waist again and burying himself against her warmth once more.

Lane smiled softly as she combed through his dark hair soothingly while listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing slow into peacefulness for what felt like the first time in days. For once she felt confident that she could give him what he always gave others: comfort and strength.

This is a Dmitry appreciation post! 🫠😍❤️🔥

When Dmitry reaches for her waist and locks the door, it’s a signal that he’s allowing himself to break the boundaries that have been holding him back. The locking of the door, in particular, is symbolic—he’s shutting out the world, even if for a brief moment, so he can have her attention all to himself. His smile, coupled with the comment, "Do you always make men fall at your feet?" feels like a mix of playful teasing and a deeper acknowledgment of the effect she has on him. It’s as if he’s admitting that she has disarmed him, made him vulnerable in a way no one else has before. He wants her to acknowledge the power she has over him, maybe even admitting to himself that he's falling for her, despite his resistance.

Dmitry placing his hand on Lane’s waist is a physical manifestation of his desire to bridge the gap between them. It’s intimate and possessive, a deliberate move to test her reaction while also claiming the space around her. By doing this, he's not only establishing physical contact but also subtly asserting his feelings for her, feelings he’s struggled to express. It’s a moment where he allows himself to act on his emotions, even if just for a second.

The heat in his gaze reflects the depth of his desire, longing, and the frustration of having kept it hidden for so long. His feelings are overwhelming him, and for the first time, he’s letting her see just how much she affects him.

This is a turning point for Dmitry. He’s no longer hiding behind coldness or distance; his eyes burning with emotion show how much he wants Lane, and how close he is to letting that desire take over. There’s a possessive undertone to this—the fear that if he doesn’t act now, she might slip away from him.