Svetlana really did hate how much Anatoly had made her need him. They both knew that she lived in extremes, and she had yelled at him for what he had done to her after Katya had decided to trick her. Oh, she knew that the whole point was to push Svetlana to that point, but given how Erik had tried to protect her, given how Dmitri tried to pull her from it, the extremes were the only thing that made sense and even now, with it seeming there was nothing left for her because her family was supposedly dead, well, it was a very real concern. Though the chances of Svetlana blaming Anatoly for it again were pretty high.
Years of being together had given them both the ammunition to know how to reach the other no matter the circumstance. The ability to see what no one else could as they were both guarded, Svetlana more so. Especially now that she was in survival and ice mode. It was the only way to get through this. The pain. She'd had Anatoly and Erik when Dmitri died, Mikhail and the girls when Erik died, no one when the girls died but it had been reversed, and now, well, her entire family was gone. She had Helena but her family, they were the ones who kept her alive. And with Molokov trying to claim her once again...
Feeling the grip ease up, Svetlana had been about to try and find a way to get out, but that was quickly side railed. The motion against the back of her neck caused Svetlana to go rigid. Partially because the sensation of being touched by the bastard causing the skin to burn but also because Anatoly had known what to do to get through to her when nothing else would work. No one knew what calmed her down better than Anatoly. Which meant that her mind was going into overdrive, trying to make the two things make sense. What she saw and felt, to the fact that Molokov wouldn't know how to calm her down.
The battle within her mind was causing Svetlana to hyperventilate, trying to make sense of what was happening, shaking. But she didn't move, just closed her eyes tightly, trying to focus. She needed to focus. To think. To make sense of what was happening. It was dangerous, especially since she was still convinced Molokov had a hold on her but he was acting so much like Anatoly that her mind could not comprehend what was happening. She couldn't find an answer that made any form of sense and she really really needed one before she completely broke. Before she just collapsed from stress and confusion and thus left herself completely at Molokov's mercy.
Which meant she was murmuring different chess moves to herself, trying to visualize a chess board through the haze, trying to move the pieces in a way that made sense. If she could make sense of it that way, she'd figure it out. She had to.