Water always calms him: the sound it makes as he cleaves a path in the pool, the smooth resistance as he pushes forward, the weightlessness of his body as he turns on his back, closes his eyes - floats.

Wolfgang exhales slowly, deliberately. He permits himself to simply enjoy the moment. He's alone this early in the morning: The two hotel pools won't open for another two hours, but it was easy enough to slip into the less popular indoor pool.

Kala was asleep when he decided to go for a swim, his mind too restless after everything that's happened: Despite his logic, a part of him worries that the Rasals - Manendra, Rajan, both - can still fuck things up for everyone; can still fuck things up for Kala and for him.

Wolfgang reaches the other end of the pool and flips abruptly to his front; pushes forward in quick, long strokes more suited for a race than a relaxing lap.

He had been surprised by Kala's suggestion to use the outdated drugs as leverage in the negotiations, unconvinced that it will work on an ambitious man like Manendra Rasal. Wolfgang knows the type well: wealthy and condescending, attracted to power, full of his own self-importance. Likely not above doing whatever he deems necessary to protect his business.

That Rajan was responsible for the decision to sell the expired drugs was a shock.

Wolfgang breathes out, pushes faster through the water, muscles straining. It was a shock, but it was followed by petty relief: Rajan Rasal is notperfect,not immune to the same temptations as Sergei and Hassan and even Anton. Wolfgang almost wants to laugh at the irony. The drive to succeed, to squeeze every bit of profit without thought to consequences: a business-self kept separate from the private - as if that's possible, when they're just two sides of the same coin. Wolfgang knows these people; he understands them. And suddenly, he can make some sense of Rajan.

Wolfgang reaches the other end of the pool and flips onto his back again, arms wide, eyes fixed at the sky beyond the glass ceiling, barely hinting at the dawn.

He wonders for the hundredth time if Rajan will tell his father about the drugs, about Kala's threat. From Rajan's reaction, Manendra might actually have disapproved of the practice - something Wolfgang is mildly surprised to consider.

And for the hundredth time, logic tells him that Rajan will tell his father, and that Manendra will not risk the company for research that may later prove worthless. Manendra will give up Kala's work.

But if Rajan tells his father, and Manendra refuses? If the Cluster's identities are released, they will be subject to public scrutiny; their families, maybe even their friends, could be, as well. But it is more than a mere inconvenience, as Kala had told Rajan: it makes all of them vulnerable to those who might have furtively supported the former BPO agenda. Wolfgang has no doubt they still have some enemies.

He frowns, takes a steadying breath.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't fantasize how much easier things could be if he just hired some people (his people) to take care of the problem.

A word in the right ear, and Kala could walk away with her work and her freedom, unchallenged; the Cluster, safe. A King would have picked up the phone and gotten rid of a minor inconvenience by now.

He is tempted. Wolfgang still has people that belong to him, that owe their allegiance to the Bogdanows. He can reach out to them, maybe ask Felix to do it for him. Or he can call Fuchs, have Fuchs fix things as a gesture of goodwill. Or he can fix the problem himself.

Wolfgang exhales. He closes his eyes, focuses on the muted sound of the water that runs through his splayed fingers, that buoy his weight as he floats.

Violence is familiar and easy for him. It's always solved his problems expeditiously, even if the jury is still out on its efficacy. He smiles a little, picturing Kala argue the point.

But it has no place in the life he wants for himself; for the life he wants to have with Kala.

Wolfgang sighs deeply. He opens his eyes, blinks in surprise that dawn has arrived so quickly. He takes a deep breath and flips again, swimming swiftly under the water.

He is tired of living in the shadows: hiding in them, cautious of them; a life on the fringe, even if he rulesa kingdom of shadows.

He wants a chance to live in the light.

Wolfgang returns to the room to find Kala still asleep. He takes a quick shower, gets into bed beside her when he's done.

He's surprised when he wakes up several hours later, the room bathed in soft sunlight. He looks up, slightly disoriented to be alone: The bathroom door is closed, silent for several seconds before he hears the rush of water. Wolfgang groans a little, reaches for his phone to check for any more messages from Fuchs. He sets it aside and gets dressed as he waits for Kala.

When she is done she repeats her determination to make the day solely for them: spend it doing something other than waiting for a phone call from Rajan, or retelling yesterday's events to someone for the benefit of al-Sadaawi.

Instead, as they eat breakfast in a nearby cafe, she suggests they first see the apartment she leased. "It's my very first flat," she says, slightly embarrassed by the admission. "It will be good to have my own place, not to move back home, especially if you are here for a bit." She smiles a little. "I know you'll be there anyway after tonight, but would you like to see the flat now?"

Wolfgang can feel her mixture of anxiousness and excitement just beneath the surface. He returns her smile. "Sure," he says.

She drives them to a neighborhood of older apartment complexes in the south; a ten-story building not dissimilar from its neighbors, near the sea. She lets them through the entry with a set of keys that makes Wolfgang roll his eyes.

She quirks an eyebrow at him in question.

"Twenty seconds. Tops," he answers. "Ask Lito."

"Mmm," hums Kala, uncertain whether to be amused or alarmed. She shakes her head but fights a smile as she leads them through a clean but outdated lobby to a bank of elevators. Wolfgang's brow ticks up when she pushes the button to the 8th floor, and both brows rise in alarm when the elevator groans loudly before moving.

"Scheiße," he mutters. Kala doesn't bother to stifle her laugh.

When the elevator stops, they get off and walk to one end of a long hall, stop at the last door on the right. Kala unlocks the door and lets them both inside.

The flat is not very large by any standard. The open space they enter doesn't look more than 50 square meters, including the small kitchen and eating area already furnished with a small wooden table and two chairs. There's a small sofa of deep red cloth, a matching chair, a floor lamp. With just the stock furniture, the place is admittedly cozy.

But Wolfgang knows the moment he walks inside why Kala is drawn here: The room is bright with natural light pouring from large windows and a glass door that leads to a balcony. The walls are a cheerful pale yellow, and the floors a worn, light wood. Although bare of personal touches that she will add to make the flat her home, it is warm and inviting and very much her.

Kala walks the perimeter of the space, looks around with a critical eye. "It isn't very big," she says apologetically, "but the kitchen is almost new, and so is the furniture. I know this is - mmm - brighter than something you would like, but maybe if we repaint, or change a few things-"

Wolfgang watches her gently. He moves to stand in front of her, look down into her anxious face. "Suße," he says, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "If you like this, why change? This is your place. Do what you like."

Kala catches her lip against her teeth, gives a huff as she lays her hands against his chest. "I want this to be for me and you," she says. "I want this to feel like home for you, too."

"Kala," he murmurs, moved by her earnestness. He doesn't care where he stays or what it looks like. Home for him has always been just a transient space to lay his head.

But home is important to Kala: sanctuary and fortress, comfort and succor. And she wants to give that to him.

Wolfgang gives a faint, almost self-deprecating smile, struck by the thought that the hotel room he never wanted feels more like home than his place in Berlin. "Kala," he murmurs, "if you're here, that's all I care about. You are home."

She is silent, still for a moment; her expression stricken. Then her deep brown eyes grow wide, liquid: She glows, unabashedly moved. "Mere jaan," she says softly. She cups his face, touches her forehead to his before her arms slide to wrap around his waist. She hugs him tightly, lays her head on his shoulder.

He is bemused why she is overcome by a simple truth. Wolfgang wraps his arms around her, lifts her off her feet. Kala laughs, and when he brings her back down, she merely smiles, face upturned.

They kiss gently: unhurried, soft. He holds her waist, her hands on his hips, steady. They lose themselves in each other.

She shows him the rest of the flat with open eagerness. Wolfgang pays more attention to her than to the things she shows him: her delight in the modest view from the balcony; her wistful sigh at the Very Small Bathroom (just enough space for a shower, toilet, sink); her excitement over a multi-purpose spare room for Felix when he visits, or for her when she finds a new job.

His attention only returns to the flat when they come to the last room: a bedroom with a tall dresser and two single beds with slatted headboards, an arm's length or two apart, separated by a night stand.

Wolfgang's eyes light in amused disbelief. He chuckles, shakes his head. "Suße...," he says gently, walking into the room with open curiosity.

"Oh god," she says quickly, teeth catching her bottom lip. "I forgot. We need a new bed." Kala's brows furrow, slightly annoyed, before her expression twitches in humor. "Or we can just push these two together," she suggests.

Wolfgang moves closer to examine the identical, low- lying beds with plain yellow sheets, a single pillow on each bed: the kind of bed he would have had as a kid.

He stands at the foot of the nearest bed, presses a hand on top of the mattress. "They wouldn't last the night," he observes flatly, eyebrows raised. She grins back, face flush, expression arrested.

"Oh?" Kala stands beside him, leans over to push against the mattress. She steals a glance at Wolfgang, folds her arms primly. "I suppose we should test it," she says gravely. "Just the one bed. For science."

His eyebrows raise, surprised and immediately intrigued. Wolfgang's mouth ticks into an appreciative smirk. "Now?" he asks.

"Well yes," she says, wide-eyed. "While your hypothesis is still fresh in your mind."

Wolfgang nods thoughtfully. "Of course," he agrees. He turns her to face him, schooling his features to look more serious. "For my hypothesis." He wraps his arms around her, kisses her temple, down her cheek. "I wouldn't want to forget," he murmurs against her throat. He tugs her blouse free from her shorts, fingers working nimbly on the buttons.

"Exactly." Kala smiles as she lets her blouse slide to the ground. "For Science." Her hands run appreciatively over his abs before she grasps the hem of his shirt. She lifts it almost completely over his head although Wolfgang pulls it off the rest of the way.

He inhales sharply when she places her hands on his bare chest. She sweeps along the plane of his torso, thumbs gently over the indentations. She pauses. He can feel a subtle change in her, not quite so playful. He brushes a curl from her forehead.

"What's wrong, Suße?" he asks.

She shakes her head, fingers trace the faint scars that mark his pecs, along his abs. "Sometimes," she says quietly, "I realize how close we were to losing each other. And I thank Ganesha that we have another chance." She smiles up at him, and his heart stops at the expression on her face, vulnerable and soft and more than anything he deserves. "I love you, Wolfgang."

He holds her tightly, presses a kiss against her hair. "I love you, too, Suße," he says, overwhelmed by her, aware that he should be the one paying homage to her deity. "I almost lost you, too," he whispers. She nods. His mind touches on the past and shies away, unwilling to say more.

So much could have gone wrong. So many things conspired against them and still do. Yet here they are, together in an apartment in Mumbai, and he thinks for the millionth time, since the day he knew Kala really wanted him, that he doesn't give a shit about anything else.

He buries his hand at the nape of her neck, his fingers swallowed by thick, dark curls, and tilts her head up to kiss her. He is rougher than he intended, but Kala doesn't protest, sighing her approval as he kisses her with an intensity that matches his own.

Her arms reach around his back, trail fire as her hands skim down his spine, rest along the waistband of his jeans. She shifts against him, her fingers moving to unbutton his pants as Wolfgang deftly unclasps her bra. They break apart to take off the rest of their clothing.

"Shall we test my hypothesis?" he smirks.

She nods her head.

He kisses her, snakes one hand to cup her nape, the other to curve firmly around her bottom. He lifts her just enough to turn and lay her gently on the low-lying bed, feet touching the floor. Kala hums her surprise, shifts her head to look up at Wolfgang as he braces himself over her with his elbows, not quite on the bed. "Oh," she says, impressed and faintly accusing at the same time. "You've definitely done this before, Wolfgang Bogdanow."

He smiles down at her, eyes warm with mischief and want. "Never for science," he tells her. "You're my first."

She shakes her head, but reaches for him, smiles a little against his mouth as he puts a tentative knee on the bed, leans his weight against it. The bed creaks but does nothing more. He lifts his head, eyes meeting Kala's, and puts a second knee on the bed, straddling her. The bed makes another noise but holds them. Wolfgang's brows raise. They inch cautiously forward, breath held, until they are both fully on the bed.

The bed squeaks but bears their full weight. Wolfgang flashes a grin; Kala chuckles softly.

He shifts to lie on his side, next to her; he sweeps the hair from her face, brings their foreheads together. She smiles softly, kisses him with gentle lips until his hand moves over her body. He traces her pelvis, follows the jut of her bone to skim across her groin. She hitches her breath, kisses him deeper as she mirrors his touch: palm glides over his chest, his waist. Her fingers coast over his pelvis, stroke the sensitive area of his groin.

They hardly notice the bed creak as they adjust to touch each other more intimately: as his finger curls inside her, as her fingers curve around him. Kala arches into his hand, murmurs his name; he moans low, hips jerk against her fingers. They kiss heatedly, sloppily. He takes her hand away, pins it over her head with his own as he shifts, braces himself between her legs. She tilts her hips up, impatient.

They ignore the plaintive squeaks of the mattress, dimly aware that the headboard strikes the wall with each frenetic move. Neither care enough to stop.

It's only later, when they are sweaty and sated and half asleep, that they notice the damage: a dip (maybe two) in the mattress that wasn't there before, scuff marks on the wall from the headboard. Kala is only grateful no neighbors are on the other side; Wolfgang is amused by her embarrassment.

"And my hypothesis is right," he says, drawing her into his arms.

Kala doesn't bother to argue, just hums noncommittally as she settles against him, closes her eyes.

"I love science," he tells her.

She laughs quietly.

They are slow to get up when they wake, lazing in bed until noon when they mutually agree to get lunch before they shop for a new bed. There is no soap or towels in the bathroom, but they shower, rinse away the heat and sex, get dressed.

They check their phones before they leave: Wolfgang finds a voicemail from Sanyam, a reminder about dinner, at six.

There is no message from her lawyer, Magda, or from Rajan for Kala.

There is still no word from Rajan by the time they arrive at the Dandekar residence for dinner, 20 minutes early. But Wolfgang has other distractions.

Kala parks her car on the street. Wolfgang stares idly out the window.

"Hey."

He glances at Kala. Her face is soft and reassuring, a faint smile on the corner of her lips. "There's nothing to worry about," she tells him confidently. "You've charmed my father, and that's more than half way to getting my mother to like you. Everything will be just fine."

Wolfgang gives a rough exhale, his face stern, more tense than he thought he'd be. He's faced down mob bosses with more sang froid, but he hadn't wanted to impress them nearly as much as he wants Kala's family to like him.

Kala looks at him steadily, her manner quiet and firm. "Wolfgang," she says, "I want them to accept you. I think they will try. But if they don't, it doesn't matter."

He stares back, searches her face. He nods, sure that she is certain, but worried it may come to exactly that: He knows her family will always love her, but they may never trust or welcome him as they had Rajan. He gives her hand a slight squeeze and they get out of her car, walk the next few steps to the entrance.

Daya lets them in with an encouraging smile. "You're early," she says, "Auntie Ina isn't even here yet."

"She's not?" asks Kala, optimistic.

Daya throws her a telling look. "Don't get your hopes up," she murmurs, leading them into the front room. "She will definitely be here."

A/N: Thank you for your patience; this chapter took longer than expected. Many thanks to Kinoglowworm for beta duty. One more chapter and this fic is done :-)

As always, thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated!