A/N: Who loves fluffiness? I do! ;)


Chapter 8

Wheeler shoved some clothes into a small suitcase, before a little voice inside his head told him he probably needed to fold those if he didn't want to appear like an incredible slob tomorrow. He sighed, wondering if hanging out with Linka fed that little irritating voice in his head that told him how things ought to be.

He thought about dinner and how his friends had been supportive of his game plan, but a small part of him still felt unsure. He was accepting a big responsibility, huge, pretending to be Anna's father, and there was no telling it would work, anyway. He'd gone from annoying little punk kid to suddenly having a daughter and being all grown-up. He was still struggling to wrap his mind around the change, the metamorphosis, but his conscience pushed him to do better, to do some good for this child. Wheeler believed it was no coincidence it was them who found her; it must mean something. Anna needed their help and this was the right thing to do. He knew what it was like growing up with unreceptive caretakers, and he did not wish that on Anna. Distracted care, he would call it, it could border on neglect how he'd been brought up, and he knew all too well the sharp pain it caused even now.

"You are deep in thought," came the observation from the doorway, and Wheeler looked up, distracted.

"I was wondering when you would notice me."

His eyes focused on Linka and he ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, babe."

Linka walked over to him and sat down on his bed. She smiled at the fact that he had started to fold some clothes instead of shoving them full-on in the suitcase, and this heartened her. There was hope yet for the Yankee.

"Are you having second thoughts about going home?" She leisurely watched as he shook his head.

"Nah. I'm just processing all that's goin' in. It's a lot to take in, I guess."

Linka nodded, then tentatively reached for his hand. Wheeler sat down next to her and she blinked up her big, green eyes at him.

"You would feel better if I came with you? I mean… I want to."

"You do?" Wheeler arched an eyebrow and examined her face, which was sincere as she nodded.

"I would be worried if you went alone, I guess."

"Why? Think I'm gonna hook up with some girl from Brooklyn?"

Linka folded her arms over her chest and looked at him more sharply, her warmer disposition momentarily misplaced.

"Do not be an idiot! I am trying to say I will miss you and you have to go and put those kinds of thoughts in my head! Thanks a lot!"

She made to stand indignant, but Wheeler held back a laugh, a little surprised at her outburst, and pulled her back down to him. Linka lost her balance and fell over him on the bed, swearing at him in Russian whilst doing so. He was so damn frustrating! She tried getting up by placing her hands on either side of him for leverage, but he was laughing and holding her waist in place.

"Don't get so touchy, babe," he teased her a little, enjoying the length of her body against his. It was rare she let him so close physically, he knew she wasn't yet comfortable with that kind of intimacy, but little by little he felt progress being made on that front. Her body language around him had started to soften, to invite him closer, despite what her mind was suggesting. And this pleased him a lot.

Wheeler let his hand run down her back in a slow caress and met her eyes. She was a little breathless over him, studying his moves closely.

"I'm glad you think you'll miss me, and I would love it for you to come with me. I'm not very good at sharing my past with others, but I already feel like you know all there is to know about me, and if that doesn't scare you off, well, we're more than halfway there! And this way you'll get to see there's no one else for me but you."

Linka's heartbeat was reacting crazily to his nearness and his earnestness further hypnotized her. And slowly, she sensed his lips seeking out hers, and more slowly, she felt herself giving in to him. And just like that, they were kissing. On his bed, in the most compromising of positions. Her mind was too clouded over to worry about anybody walking in, so Linka let Wheeler pull her closer onto him, the kiss deepening, her reasoning lost. It was the rare time her thoughts fell silent and her physical instincts took over. They were telling her to kiss her Yankee back with sweet transport, and all she could do was obey.

Wheeler was feeling quite bold, for he ran his hands over the curve of her hips, tracing her outline, before travelling up to her breasts. Her hands were on his chest and a soft moan escape her lips at his exploration.

"Yankee…" she breathed a little, opening her eyes to meet his glance.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Wheeler replied in a steady tone, not wishing for her to be upset with his heady actions.

"Are you really sorry?"

"No." The nonchalance in his tone mixed with a shrug caused Linka to laugh out loud.

Unenthusiastically, she pushed herself off him and made to stand, hoping she wasn't blushing. Not missing a beat, Wheeler stood, as well, and took her wrists to bring her closer once again.

"I thought you said you were going to miss me, so why are you leaving?"

"Bozhe moi! I did not mean every second of every day! Do not become clingy, Yankee!"

"Watch me become cling wrap," he laughed, circling her waist from behind and holding her close to him. Laughter erupted out of Linka as she pretended to squirm out of his arms, squealing.

This was the position Kwame found them in as he entered the bedroom. The young African felt a small pang of jealousy at their happiness, it was in the air like oxygen, and he wondered if he would ever find such intimacy with someone. It was so easy for Wheeler and Linka, and sure, sometimes they clashed like lighting and antennas, but it was tangible how right of a fit they were.

He stood in the doorway, clearing his throat, and quickly the pair placed some distance between them. Linka was blushing a little and Wheeler could only grin, but in the end Kwame knew those two were acting according to the wishes of almighty Love.

Linka was the first to recover, quietly voicing a soft "good night", eyes turned to the floor, before swiftly exiting the room.

Kwame could only pat Wheeler on the back before making his way over to his own bed. It could be interpreted as a compliment for a job well done.