Linka checked her watch, but it was still on London time. She had not considered arriving at Wheeler's apartment before he finished work, but the flight had landed early thanks to clear weather, and traffic had been light. She was sure he'd be working late again and she didn't want to be waiting around in the corridor all evening.

She left her bags with the doorman downstairs and asked for directions to Planet Traffic.

"Oh, it's just a short walk from here. It's on the other side of the street, four or five blocks down. It's a big glass building – you won't miss it." He smiled at her and she thanked him and headed out into the late-afternoon sunlight. Dirty snow was crusted in the gutters, but the sun felt pleasantly warm on her face, and she felt lighter and happier than she had been in years. She hurried along, her heart racing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Armstrong has been in meetings all afternoon," the receptionist replied smoothly, looking at Linka with an infuriatingly superior air. "He'll be unavailable for the rest of the day, but I can take a message for you and leave it with his secretary tomorrow morning."

"Nyet, that will not be necessary," Linka sighed. She backed away, chewing her lip, not ready to give up yet. The receptionist turned back to her computer, ignoring Linka and trying to look busy.

Linka glanced around and, making sure nobody was watching, slipped into a nearby corridor. She hurried along, glancing left and right until she came to a dark office. She slipped inside and booted up the computer, waiting patiently and keeping a sharp ear out for any approaching footsteps.

In less than 20 keystrokes she was in their system, and three minutes later, the computer was off and she was in the elevator on her way up to Wheeler's office, having discovered exactly where he was. She stepped off the elevator nervously.

The secretary's desk was empty – she had obviously gone home for the day. Several of the nearest offices were dark, and she could hear voices as other employees bid each other good night and prepared to leave for the day.

Linka found the door labelled Vice President and knocked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

She opened the door with a smile. Wheeler was standing by the window, his jacket slung over the back of his chair and his tie loose and askew around his throat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he looked tired – until he saw her.

"Linka..."

She smiled and he grinned back at her and crossed the room quickly, gathering her into his arms and kissing her.

"You're right, I do like this surprise," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

"Me too," she sighed, slipping her arms around his neck.

He kissed her again and stomach swirled with a flutter of butterflies.

"You know, I thought I loved you this morning," he murmured, "but it's nothing to what I'm feeling for you right now."

She laughed and shook her head. "Enough flattering, Yankee. Do you have to be here much longer?"

He glanced at his watch. "No." He kissed her again. "Let me grab my jacket and we can be out of here in five minutes."

He shrugged into his jacket and shut his computer off, glancing around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"Quick, let's get out of here before I'm cornered into another meeting," he whispered, grabbing her hand.

She giggled and followed him to the elevator, her fingers laced through his.

"Nick, can you sign this?"

Wheeler turned and caught sight of one of the accountants. "What is it?"

"Just an expense form." He held it up so Wheeler could see it and he scribbled his name across the bottom.

"Have a good night." The accountant whistled as he walked away.

"Nick?" Linka squinted up at him.

Wheeler rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "It was my dad's name as well. I've never liked to use it."

"You never told me."

He shrugged. "You know now."

Sensing his discomfort, she squeezed his hand and leaned her head against his arm, not pushing the subject. Wheeler's relationship with his father had been a tense one, and she could understand why he had never wanted to use the name given to him by the man who had been so violent and drunk.

He kissed the top of her head and they entered the elevator as it finally chimed open. He jabbed the button for the ground floor and slipped his arms around Linka's waist.

"Can you forget you heard that?" he mumbled.

"Nyet, I am glad I know your name," she murmured, stretching up to kiss him. "The exact same name as your father?"

"Nick – Nicholas – was actually my dad's second name," he said, staring somewhere over her head to avoid eye contact. "It's just the name he went by a lot of the time."

Linka leaned a little more weight against him. "It is just a name," she said. "You can do with it what you will. Besides, it is common to be named after your father. Mishka is named after our father." She hugged him tightly. "You are still my Wheeler."

He grinned and touched his nose to hers. "You don't have any name surprises up your sleeve, do you?"

"Polina Mikhailovna Vetrova," she answered, tipping her head back to see his reaction.

He quirked his eyebrow at her. "Are you swearing at me again?"

"Nyet. Just pointing out you could not spell my full name if you tried," she said, smirking a little.

"I don't doubt that." His hand wandered under the hem of her shirt and brushed the skin of her lower back. He kept his eyes trained on the declining floor numbers.

She took his hand suddenly and shook it with a sly grin. "It is nice to meet you, Nicholas."

He groaned. "Bitch."

She laughed, taking a rather dark delight in his discomfort. "Your full name is Nicholas Armstrong? You do not have a middle name?"

"Jordan," he sighed, burying his face in her neck. "Curiosity satisfied?"

"For now." She hugged him back. They were slowly nearing the bottom floor and she was a little sorry for it. It was nice being shut in such a cosy place with him for a while.

"Where did Linka come from, then?"

"Polina. Linka is the short version. Linka is prettier."

"Polina is pretty, too. Anyway, you'd be pretty no matter what your name was."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "And Wheeler is your nickname?"

"Mm."

"It did not come from your last name?"

"Armstrong? No. If I had a nickname descending from Armstrong, it'd be The Hulk."

"I am not calling you that," she said, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

He chuckled. "I don't really remember where Wheeler came from, babe. Something to do with a skateboard, I think."

They parted reluctantly as the elevator stopped at the ground floor, and walked through the foyer hand-in-hand.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Da, I am. I have not eaten for hours."

"Starving? Or can you wait another hour or so?"

She looked at him curiously. "I can wait."

He grinned. "Good. I'm cooking for you."

"I hope you have improved since the last time you tried to cook for me," she said, remembering a bowl of undercooked rice and over-cooked beef during their days on Hope Island.

"So do I," he said, leading her out into the evening light.


They had eaten (each of them going back for seconds) and were dozing lazily in front of the television, naked and tangled together beneath a woollen blanket on the couch.

Wheeler was stroking her hair lightly, his fingers caressing her blonde curls, and she was almost asleep.

"Tired babe?"

"Mm," she sighed. "I think everything has finally caught up with me."

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "Hope Island is going to feel like a holiday."

She rolled over and buried her face against his shoulder. "Nyet, do not forget how hard we worked..."

"But it was together," he murmured. "The five of us."

She nodded, too comfortable and sleepy to answer vocally.


She jerked awake, disorientated, her heart racing thanks to the blaring alarm.

Wheeler flicked it off and rolled over, draping his arm across her. "Morning," he smiled.

"Good morning." She raked her fingers through her hair, looking around in confusion. "I do not remember going to bed."

"You fell asleep on the couch," he murmured, his eyes closed and his hand gently stroking the bare skin of her hip beneath the blankets. "I carried you in and you slept right through until my alarm rudely interrupted you."

"Mm," she said, wriggling up close to him. "Are you sure you need it to go off so early?"

"I usually go for a run," he said, glancing to the window. The sky outside was only just beginning to lighten, grey clouds a solid blanket across the city.

"Will we both go?" she asked, sitting up.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Sure."


They kept pace together, chatting occasionally, but mostly just focusing on their breathing and the sound of their feet hitting the sidewalk. They passed other couples, dogs, newspaper vendors. The park smelled of slightly bitter fumes, cold air, wet leaves and rain.

"Do you have another busy day today?" Linka asked as Wheeler's apartment building came back into view.

"Uh-huh." He looked down at her. "You're not going to be too bored, are you?"

She shook her head. "I will find something to do."

They slowed to a walk and crossed the street, breathing heavily.

"I wish I didn't have to work."

"I do not expect you to take time off for me," Linka said. "We will be working together again soon."

He caught her hand in his. "Yeah I know." He smiled down at her. "I'm handing my notice in at the end of this week."

She smiled back in response. It was another step closer to Hope Island and the other Planeteers.

They showered, and Wheeler was running rather late when they eventually emerged into the kitchen fully dressed.

He grabbed his jacket. "Make yourself at home, babe," he said. "And there's a lot to see around here if you want to go for a wander and do some sight-seeing."

"Da, maybe." She smiled and reached up to kiss him goodbye.

"Oh, and I forgot – there's a surprise for you in the top drawer of my desk. Okay?" He winked at her and kissed the end of her nose. "Bye."

She waved to him and closed the door, feeling lonely, but a little distracted by the thought of a secret. She hurried into his study and sat at his desk, smiling as she saw the photograph of the Planeteers during their last week on Hope Island. She picked it up and looked at it, the secret in the drawer momentarily forgotten as she gazed at the photo of herself taken five years ago.

"Linka," she sighed. "If only you knew what was going to happen to you. You would have clung to that island with both hands."

They all looked so young. And so much had happened since then. She shook her head with wonder at the things they had achieved together, and her heart soared at the thought of what was still left for them. She put the photo back with a smile, and reached for the drawer.

It was an envelope with her name on it. She lifted the flap – it wasn't sealed – and blinked back tears when she saw what it was.

Gi's telephone number and address in Seoul. Wheeler had found it and intended to pass it on to her so she could contact her friend.

Her heart raced and she looked at the clock. It would be 11 o'clock at night in Seoul. Was that too late to call? She crossed her fingers and hoped not. Before she could get too nervous and back out of it, Linka picked up the phone and dialled.