Maybe he can fake shooting her?

Maybe… maybe there was still a chance for something good… Graeber shouldered his Mauser and shot, the recoil bucking back. The once seemingly light rifle kicked like a mule. He intentionally pulled, aiming right, but it happened so fast, and he was a damn good shooter, and so used to killing what moved.

Olena dropped just like Natasha had done to fool him out. Graeber fought the smirk, seeing this before.

“Adam,” Graeber’s mind worked fast. “Find the others.”

“Why? You got her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I’d like the SS to see it for themselves. I’ll find the body,” Graeber prayed that Adam would listen and that God was watching. Adam, without ****, left to find the SS troops.

“You’re crazy for choosing to be a lone,” Adam warned, hurrying off.

Graeber jogged forward, Mauser in his hands. When enough time had passed, he called out for Olena. A wet gasp sounded nearby, then a damp cry. “Derzhis' podal'she ot menya!”

Graeber didn’t know Russian well, but he was familiar with pain. He’d shot Olena. He paused, looking down at the ground. “Wo bist du?” When there was no answer, he cried out. “Where are you?!”

There was nearby ruffling in the brush, and he charged toward it. In the dark, hidden somewhat by the night’s shroud, he discovered Olena, on her belly, crawling away. He slung his rifle and knelt beside her, reaching.

She screamed and tried to push him away, but he fought her. “Let me help!” he shouted, the accented English bleeding with panic. She continued thrashing until he pinned her down. “I can help!”

His hands scrambled to the forest floor, searching for the flashlight as she whimpered, finally submitting to his control. It takes time to find the light, but when he sees it, he flips it on, and it displays a horrible exit wound torn through her dress. He stared, eyes going wide at the soaked fabric. “Oh, verdammt.”

Olena looked down and screamed louder, and it made Graeber switch the light off. “Don’t look,” he said, crawling up to her. He cradled her head, and she gripped back, her crying shooting louder than any gun in the forest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, Olena. Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to shoot you!”

She babbled and shook, holding his wrist… Squeezing it in pain. “Ty ubil menya! Ty ubil menya!!”

Graeber sat down and pulled Olena up to his chest. She wheezed in pain as he hugged her. He repeated himself over and over again. At first, Olena tried hitting him, but then she gripped him in a frightful embrace, replacing her warmth with his. Graeber felt something hard pressed against her side. His palm pressed against it, it was hard. His mind raced to the possibilities. A gun? Knife? Something? He buried his worries, feeling her starting to shake.

When Olena’s whimpering stops, and she goes still. He reaches for the item after carefully lowering her down. His hands are shaking, but he manages to grab the item and pull it out. It’s round, metal, cold… It’s his chocolate he gave her... He sniffs and blinks at the tin…Graeber bursts into tears.