Linka sleeps.

She sleeps, and she sleeps, and then she sleeps some more.

Wheeler's able to rouse her to eat and drink occasionally, and late on Sunday afternoon he walks her to the shower, washing her hair and soaping her body before wrapping her in a towel. He tries to dry her as best as he can, but it's awkward with her half-conscious weight slumping against him. She's half-asleep on her feet by the time he's done, and he takes her back to bed, tucking her under the covers and dimming the lights. He kisses her softly on the forehead, intending on leaving her to rest, when she pulls on his hand, drawing him back to her. He pauses, taking in her sleepy, half-closed eyes, warm with love and affection, and feels a tremor run through him.

'Hey,' he whispers to her, running a hand along her forehead.

She sighs. 'Hello, Yankee.'

'You've been sleeping on and off for twenty-four hours now, babe. Should I be worried?'

She shakes her head.

'You wanna get up and talk?'

'I do not want to talk.'

Now he sighs. 'We gotta talk sometime, babe. I don't know about you, but I wanna fix this. Fix you and me, so we can be you and me again.'

But Linka only sits up, nuzzling his neck and running her lips over his.

'I do not want to talk,' she says again. 'I want to make love, and then I want to sleep.'

Somewhere inside Wheeler, a bell of alarm sounds. But it's muted under a layer of gratitude and a hazy film of lust as Linka sits up, her creamy flesh bare to his appreciative eyes, and pulls him to her. She kisses him gently, her hands running through his hair, and he exhales against her lips.

'We should talk, babe-' he begins, but Linka silences him with another kiss, firmer this time, while one of her small hands plays with the waistband of his sweatpants, before burrowing under the fabric.

His defences are few, where she's concerned. Right now, she smells of his soap and his sheets and her mouth is on his, sucking gently on his bottom lip. Her breasts are soft, exposed to him, and he can't help but moan as he reaches for them, caressing her gently so that she gasps against him.

His tightly wound resolve snaps, and he pushes her back onto the mattress. She opens her legs to draw him closer, and he grinds against her, still kissing her, still groping her, always and irrevocably in love with her.

She makes small, whimpering noises, some Russian, some English, but mostly insensible, lost in translation from their origins in lust and desire.

It doesn't matter. He knows her. He understands her whatever language she chooses to speak. And he loves it, these breathy sounds, hot on his cheek. He loves hearing her beg for him, plead for him, bargain with him for his body while using hers as collateral.

The friction is good, building steadily within him, and he could come just from this, he knows. But Linka is biting at him, her nails digging into his skin, clearly needing something more.

A memory flares within him, of ropes and bindings and Linka, tied up, completely at his mercy, completely under his control, and falling apart hard underneath him.

He breaks their kiss to look her in the eye, although she's still thrusting up against him, still building pleasure in his abdomen and-

'Stop,' he tells her, his voice soft but firm. She complies instantly, and he stares at her. 'I'm gonna hold you down hard, okay?'

She nods without hesitation, her pupils blown black with desire, and he feels excitement course through him.

He remembers this game of theirs.

He loves this game.

He always loved this game. Loved playing the role of the hunter, finally catching and taking his prey.

He knows himself, he likes to chase. And he knows Linka, knows how much she likes the drawn-out act of being pursued.

But they both like it when she gets caught.

'Don't move,' he orders, standing slowly, feeling her eyes upon him as he pulls the clothes from his body. She stays rock-still and so perfectly submissive that it takes a strong dose of willpower for him not to come, then and there, all over the curves of her hips and soft flesh of her belly.

Wouldn't be the first time that happened though, he muses.

But not now, he also tells himself. For Linka, clinging and clearly searching for release, needs something different right now.

And they have the rest of their lives to play these games again, right?

When he returns to her, he gathers her wrists in his hands, pinning her to the bed and using the weight of his body to keep her still. She moans in appreciation, her body wriggling impatiently against his, and he nudges her nose with his.

'I love you,' he tells her, abruptly gentle. Her eyes soften, and she licks her lips. 'I have always loved you,' he carries on, easing inside her, his movements drawn out and deliberately slow, her breath hitching in her throat. He feels a red-hot surge of pleasure and lets out a moan of his own. 'Trust me?'

It's a question and a plea all at once, and she nods, biting her bottom lip so that indentations are left in the skin. Wheeler feels another surge of desire. She's trying so hard to stay still for him, just like he asked. Trying so hard to give him the control she carries like a weighted sackcloth in every other moment of her life.

He loves this.

He's missed this, in fact. Missed giving her relief from the burden she carries while offering pleasure at the same time. Missed feeling the satisfied slump of her body in his arms, worn-out but content, and mercifully free, if only for a few moments, of her indoctrinated need for order and control.

He draws back from her, kissing her cheek, before sliding back in, and she gasps in his arms.

'More-' she starts to beg, but he tsks at her lightly.

'Let me do this for you,' he says softly, and she nods, turning her head to the side.

But he won't allow that. He needs her eyes on him while he does this. Needs to see her love for him written in curve of her cheek while he fucks her into an oblivion. And so, he uses one hand to wrench her face back to his and begins searching her eyes frantically. It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for, and when he sees it, when he recognises that love there, honest and open and true and just for him, he loses the last vestige of his control just as he claims hers.

'Say it,' he orders, picking up pace so that her body turns to liquid around him. 'Don't lie, I see it, say it-'

But she fights him, keeping her mouth resolutely still even as he fucks into her hard.

'Say it,' he says again. 'I feel it too, so say it. Give me this moment... give us this chance...'

Still she remains quiet, and her resolute silence only feeds his determination.

'I'm not gonna hurt you, ever again,' he whispers into her ear. 'Navsegda, right babe? Say it, just say it...'

She cracks, her body arching upwards just as her lips part, the words he's been longing for rushing from between them like the gust of wind she once encapsulated.

'Yankee,' she cries out softly, 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'

That's all it takes. He forces her wrists down again, letting himself go completely and taking her with him. His behaviour is animalistic, primitive even, but her response is enthusiastic and it isn't long before she cries out beneath him, the rippling heat of her body likewise pushing him over the edge. He comes inside her with a shout, before releasing her wrists, his fingerprints bruised into her skin, the flesh tender and red. He kisses the marks before rolling off her, but wrenching her with him so that she is curled up against his side, hot, damp with perspiration, but his.

He exhales shakily, holding her close. Her eyes are fluttering closed, and he knows she wants to sleep. Knows how tired she must be, how exhausted. She isn't this thin for no reason, he realises.

But he needs to say something. Needs to ask the question that's been sitting in his heart for years now, like a lead weight of pain and regret.

'Did you love him?' He whispers quietly, into the warm still of the room.

She sighs in his arms. 'Who?'

'Your boyfriend. Doctor Cox, the one I saw you with... did you love him?'

'Wheeler-'

'Look, I'm not going to... react badly,' he tells her. 'I just... I need to know. I don't know why. I can't explain it. I just...'

She shifts closer to him, one of her fingers running along the length of his rib, tracing the bone from his waist to his heart. 'I tried,' she replies. 'I wanted to love him. I wanted to marry him, and have children with him, and not be alone.'

He swallows hard, her words like a knife through his soul.

'But that would have been the wrong thing to do,' she carries on. 'Because I did not love him, not really, and marrying him would have been easy in some ways, but more difficult in others.'

'Were you waiting for me?' Wheeler asks, hope soaking his every word, hardly daring to believe that-

'No,' Linka replies, her voice abruptly hard. 'No. You were married. I would never do that. Not even for you.'

He closes his eyes. 'You want to hear somethin' funny? I married Trish because it was the easy thing to do, and I did it even knowing that I didn't love her, not really, not like I loved you.'

Linka sighs, kissing a patch of skin on his arm. 'That is not funny at all, Yankee.'

'Just wait till you hear the punchline,' he continues, with a grim smile. 'The week before my wedding, I spent everyday waitin' for you guys to turn up. I said to myself, 'just one of 'em, any of 'em, and I'm outta here,' like the Planeteers were gonna swoop in and save me from the fucking mess I was makin' of my life.'

At this, Linka props herself up on an elbow, gazing firmly into his eyes. 'I sent a reply saying I would not be able to attend.'

'Yeah,' Wheeler exhales bitterly. 'Yeah, you did. You and Kwame both, ganging up on me with your 'unable to attends' like-'

Linka throws the sheets back, swinging her body away from his and trying to pull her arm from his. Wheeler swears, holding her tight, pulling her back to him.

'Shit, no, no, don't go- I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please, babe, please...' he says frantically, his head resting on her shoulder.

'You honestly think I was going to attend your wedding?' Linka spits at him. 'You wanted me to sit in a room with all your friends, while your mother looked at me like I was... was... Russian filth? She must have been so pleased that you got away from me and made the right choice in the end, yes Wheeler?'

Wheeler flushes, and Linka nods sadly.

'She must have been so happy when you married Trish,' Linka brushes a tear from her cheek. 'So happy when you ended it with me. And you really wanted me to go? To sit there and watch you marry another woman? And not just any woman but Trish? You really wanted me to do that?'

'No,' Wheeler shakes his head, his voice just as strained. 'No, I didn't want you to come to my wedding and watch me do that. I wanted you to come to my wedding and stop me from doing that.'

Linka stares at him. 'I do not understand.'

Wheeler collapses back onto the bed, resting a hand over his face. 'I snuck that note into your invitation, babe, because I wanted you to turn up and stop me.'

Linka inhales sharply. 'What note, Yankee?'

He stares at her from between his fingers. 'What do you mean, 'what note'? The note with my address... my phone number... I put it into the envelope with the wedding invitation and-'

'I did not see it,' Linka replies. 'There was an invitation... but I did not see any note...'

Wheeler looks at her sadly. 'Trish and her Ma did all the invitations,' he reflects. 'Got the bridesmaids over... made a real girl's night of it. The next day I went through them... all three hundred of them... and dug yours out. It'd been sealed up tight and I had to steam it open with a kettle to put the note in, tampering with my own fucking wedding invites like a reprobate. I snuck a note in, with my number and address and 'please, babe' written on it. I then resealed the invite and waited for you to... well,' Wheeler sighs. 'I was waitin' for you to do something I should've done myself.'

Linka is quiet, her body still. Wheeler closes his eyes, reluctant to face her. He's naked, and so is she, but the exposure of his soul to her makes him feel shame, hot and harsh to his core.

Suddenly, Linka is next to him, moving his hand from his face and stroking his fingers with her own.

'I promise you, I did not see that note,' she tells him.

'Would you have come, if you had?' he asks, a pleading note to his voice.

She pauses. 'I do not know,' she says honestly. 'With you, now... I am always second guessing myself. When we were the Planeteers, when we were you and me... I did not doubt you, not ever. But after you broke my heart, so horribly, so terribly, I lost faith in you. I lost faith in myself. I told myself, 'he asked you to marry him, but then said it was a joke... how can you trust anything he says again? How can you trust yourself, your own judgement?'... and you were so cold, so cool...' with a strangled kind of gasp, Linka breaks off. Wheeler is next to her in an instant, holding her close, rubbing her back.

'I meant it, I meant it,' he says fervently, 'I wanted to marry you. I meant it all.'

'You told me you did not,' Linka replies, her face pale. 'It was a joke, you said-'

'I only said that to get you to go,' he mutters, hating himself. 'You were never goin' to leave me otherwise.'

Linka's body is soft in his arms, and he feels her relax against him. 'It does not matter,' she says suddenly, and there is a hint of decisiveness to her voice which makes him nervous. 'It is all done, now. It does not matter.'

Wheeler feels a flare of panic build within him. Because there is an element of finality to her words, and to this day, which worries him. And suddenly, just as horribly, it occurs to him that tomorrow Linka's going to go the U.K embassy and get a travel document away from here, and away from him. He can hold her and fuck her and apologise to her all he wants, but there's nothing here to hold her to him, no promises of a shared future beyond the next few hours.

'Marry me now,' he blurts out, and she stares at him.

'Wheeler-'

'No, listen, marry me, babe,' he says, more confident now. 'Tonight even, or tomorrow. You'll be a U.S citizen and then the Russian government can go fuck itself. You can stay with me and we can be together forever, just like we always should have been.'

As he speaks, he can't believe he hadn't thought of this earlier. Because marrying Linka, he decides, is not just a good idea, but a great one, and he feels himself fill with a kind of contented peace at the thought of it. In his head, it's a solution to all their problems, an easy way to fix the gaping hole the past bore into their lives.

Marry Linka. Leave New York. Have children.

Colorado. Ma-Ti's voice, as clear as Wheeler remembers it, suddenly sounds in his mind and he feels a shiver run down his spine. Is it approval from beyond the grave? Or only a memory, a promise finally fulfilled, a bargain made good on?

Marry Linka. Leave New York. Have children. Colorado.

Wheeler breathes a little easier, feels a weight lifted from his shoulders.

But Linka is still staring at him, her face still, her lips unmoving.

'Wheeler,' she says again, and then, softer, gentler, 'James. James... you know we cannot-'

But Wheeler is indignant. 'Course we can, babe. It's you and me. Navsegda, remember?'

'James, I do not think-'

But Wheeler stands, pulling his sweatpants on and squeezing her hand. 'Wait there,' he tells her. 'Don't move. Don't go anywhere.'

Linka nods, watching him disappear into his cupboard, and then return with a box in his hands. He sits next to her on the bed, opening the box gingerly and handing her a small package, wrapped in tissue paper.

'I don't have a ring for you,' he says, his voice mournful. 'But I have this.'

He watches as Linka unwraps the tissue paper. When her hand locks around the bracelet within, her face pales. She brings both hands to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

'You kept it,' she whispers, and he nods.

'Since the day you threw it back at me,' he reflects sadly. 'Wrapped it up and haven't let it go since.'

Linka takes a shuddery breath, reaching down for the bracelet and handling it gently between her fingers.

Four strands of rope, held together by a silver clasp.

'I missed this,' she tells him, one hand tracing her wrist. 'Sometimes I would wake in the morning and feel for it, and my heart would stop when I realised it was gone. I was always so sad, so desolated, when I remembered and-'

'You mean devastated,' Wheeler remarks with a bitter smile. 'Like me, every time I saw this thing in that box rather than around your arm where it should've been.'

He reaches out, pulling the bracelet from her fingers and securing it safely to her wrist.

'That's better,' he says with a sigh. 'That's right.'

Linka nods, but her eyes are still woebegone, her cheeks still streaked with tears. 'James, look, I...'

But Wheeler presses a finger to her lips. 'Don't decide anythin' now, babe. But promise me you'll think about it, okay? You and me, together forevermore.'

'Navsegda,' Linka breathes out, and Wheeler nods.

'Navsegda,'

She sighs, suddenly turning away from him, laying her head back on the pillow. 'I'm tired,' she tells him. 'I would like to sleep a little more, I think.'

'Sure babe,' he says, running a hand down her arm. 'I'll be here when you wake, okay?'

But her eyes are already closed, and she makes no reply.

Three hours later, Wheeler's cellphone rings. He picks it up on the fifth ring, and smiles when he hears Kwame on the other end.

'Hey, Kwame,' he grins, filled with the kind of joy that only a man with the woman he loves in his bed can feel. 'What's up?'

Kwame's voice is serious. 'What is up?' he asks in disbelief. 'I have not heard from either of you in over a day, Linka is in trouble with the Russian government, marooned in your country and you are asking me what is up?'

Wheeler shrugs, even though Kwame cannot see the movement. 'Look, she's okay, you can relax. She's been sleeping, mainly,' he says by way of explanation, and he hears Kwame give a relieved sigh.

'That is... that is good,' Kwame decides. 'Linka works too hard, she never rests. These last few months, she has been like a ghost, always working, always busy. I am glad she feels safe enough with you to rest.'

'Yeah,' Wheeler agrees, thinking of her fondly. 'She's been in bed on and off for the last day and a half.'

'She eats though?' Kwame asks.

'Yeah, I've been feeding her when I can,' Wheeler replies. 'Take out, mainly. You know how bad New York is for home cookin' and-'

'Remember she is vegetarian,' Kwame interrupts, and Wheeler feels a spark of annoyance.

'I know,' he says. 'Look, I know you've had her for the last ten years, and I haven't, but I'm gettin' to know her again and we're gettin' along okay. I'm takin' care of her, Kwame. I really am.'

Kwame is silent for a moment, before he gives a deep sigh.

'I know you are,' he says slowly. 'But Sam and I, we worry about her. She's been so alone these past few years. Cut off from Mishka. Cut off from Russia, with only work to sustain her.'

Wheeler exhales, long and hard. 'I'm takin' care of her,' he says again, before adding, without thinking it through: 'I love her, Kwame.'

Kwame gives a sharp intake of breath, but says nothing. Wheeler decides to change the subject, before he can be grilled further on that comment.

'Look,' Wheeler says suddenly. 'Linka told me about Sam... anyway, I just wanna say that-'

'What did she tell you about Sam?' Kwame asks abruptly, his voice curious.

Wheeler clears his throat. 'About him being... you know. A him.'

'Ah,' there is a hint of amusement in Kwame's voice. 'You did not know?'

'Nope,' Wheeler admits. 'Last I remember, you were all about a particular scientist named Georgie and didn't at all swing that way.'

Kwame laughs good-naturedly. 'I was but a teenager, old friend. We all were. I admired Dr. Carver... I still do. But even back then, I knew there was something about myself that I could not put a name to. Something inside me, different from you, different from Ma-Ti, that I did not understand. It took many years for me to realise what that was, and to be okay with it.'

'I'm okay with it,' Wheeler tells him, and he can almost hear Kwame's smile.

'I decided a long time ago that whatever anyone else thought did not matter, so long as I was happy,' Kwame replies, 'But I am glad to hear you say that.'

'I can't wait to meet Sam,' Wheeler says. 'And your little girl.'

Kwame pauses. 'Haya, yes. She is a handful,' he pauses again. 'Speaking of Haya, when Linka wakes, will you get her to call me? I need her... advice.'

'Sure, man,' Wheeler responds. 'Anythin' I can help with?'

'No, not unless...' Kwame sighs. 'Wheeler, your ring... does it ever... ever light up? Or work?'

Wheeler freezes, his phone pressed tight to his ear.

'My ring? You mean...'

'Your Planeteer ring,' Kwame confirms for him. 'Does it ever... work?'

'No,' Wheeler exhales tightly. 'No. It hasn't worked since... since Ma-Ti...'

'Same here,' Kwame cuts in, clearly unwilling to let Wheeler say the words that still hurt them both. 'For years it has been silent. But yesterday, quite unexpectedly...'

'What?' Wheeler breathes.

Kwame sucks in a breath. 'Haya found it. She was playing with it. She often plays with jewellery. Linka gave her a jewellery box for her last birthday and..'

'Kwame,' Wheeler interrupts. 'Get to it.'

'Haya used my ring,' Kwame says simply. 'She was holding my ring. It lit up, and our home shook. She was using it. The power of earth.'

'Fuck,' Wheeler breathes out. 'Fuck.'

'Yes, indeed,' Kwame says. 'I was hoping to speak to Linka about this.'

'Yeah,' Wheeler nods, still stunned. 'It's times like this I wish Gaia was still around.'

'Me too,' Kwame agrees. 'But she told us before she left that one day our rings would work again, when the power of heart chose a new carrier. Remember?'

Wheeler feels a flutter of excitement in his stomach. 'Do you think this means the heart ring has chosen a new... a new person?'

'Maybe,' Kwame muses. 'But I tried using my ring, and it would not work. I think... I think my ring has chosen Haya.'

'She's just a kid,' Wheeler protests.

'Yes, for now. But perhaps, when she is older, she will wield the power of earth.'

Wheeler lets this sink in. 'Who has the heart ring?' He asks.

Kwame sighs. 'Gi took it.'

'Fuck,' Wheeler breathes out. 'She's long gone.'

'Yes. But if the heart ring has chosen a new host, it will find a way to them. Gi will not hold it for long.'

'Who could the ring have chosen, do you think?'

Kwame pauses, sighing across the phone line and four thousand miles of ocean. 'I do not know. Earth has clearly chosen my daughter... but I am the only planeteer with a child. Unless you and Trish...'

'No,' Wheeler says flatly. 'No.'

'Gi perhaps?'

Wheeler shakes his head. 'There's no way of knowing.'

'I will speak to Linka,' Kwame decides. 'She might have some ideas.'

Wheeler nods but remains silent.

'Get her to call me when she wakes,' Kwame says. 'She is... she is definitely okay?'

'Yeah,' Wheeler smiles. 'Yeah, like I said, she's just sleepin' lots.'

'Well,' Kwame's voice is suddenly brighter. 'So long as she is sleeping well, and not with you, I will have nothing to fret over.'

It is meant as a joke, clearly. But Wheeler says nothing, his face turning red, and he hears Kwame give an exasperated sigh.

'Wheeler...'

'Look, you don't have to worry,' Wheeler explains. 'There's nothin' here for you to worry about. I'm treatin' her right, okay?'

'You did not last time.'

The words hang heavy in the air, and Wheeler inhales deeply, wondering just how much Kwame knows

Probably everything.

'No, I didn't. Not last time. But I am this time. In fact...' he pauses. 'I've asked her to marry me.'

Kwame sucks in a breath. 'Forty-eight hours,' he says quietly. 'I leave you two alone after ten years for less than forty-eight hours, and you're already sleeping together and getting engaged? Wheeler...'

'She hasn't said 'yes', not yet,' Wheeler tells him. 'But I want to marry her, Kwame. I really do. I can't lose her again. Not now.'

Kwame sighs. 'You, out of all of us, should know that marriage is no way to bind someone to you. I knew I should've flown over, the moment Linka was detained. Or that I should've insisted Sam go. I knew this, between the two of you, would not go well.'

Wheeler straightens, feeling stung. 'Hey, we're talkin', and workin' things out, Kwame. And I love her, and she loves me. We're meant to be together. We always were.'

'I do not want to argue with you about this,' Kwame says, and there is a hint of finality to his voice. 'You two...' he sighs. 'You are a hopeless case, the two of you. Well.. get Linka to call me when she wakes. I have much to say to her.'

'I will,' Wheeler promises. 'But I don't want you upsettin' her. She's been through enough.'

He hears Kwame laugh. 'Wheeler?'

'Yeah?'

Wheeler hears a hint of a smile in Kwame's voice. 'It is good to talk to you again, old friend.'

Wheeler smiles. 'Yeah. Yeah. You too, man.'

When he ends the call, he goes back through to his bedroom, sliding into bed next to Linka. He loops a hand around her waist, pulling her to him, and closes his eyes.

Everything, he decides, is going to be okay.

He sleeps.