'You should marry me.'

The words are spoken so lightly, so coolly, that Helena has to turn towards the door to make sure she's heard him correctly.

'What did you say?'

'That you should marry me,' Richard replies easily, roping his tie around his neck.

'Should I now?' Helena teases, smiling at him. 'I cannot cook, I cannot sew, I cannot knit. I would make any man a terrible wife.'

But he's not in the mood for another of her playful attempts at deflection.

'I'm serious, Yelena,' he says, more firmly now. 'This has gone on long enough.'

'What has?' she asks, although she already knows the answer.

'You and I... doing this,' he replies, looking at her seriously. 'We date, we sleep together, we spend all our time together... in fact, we do everything a couple is meant to do, without ever actually being a couple. Not an official one, at least. But then, everytime I want to make things more serious, talk about moving in together, or marriage... you run. You break things off, cool things down -'

'You are the one who breaks things off, normally,' Helena interrupts, somewhat indignant.

'Only because you force my hand,' he replies calmly. He walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He runs a hand down her naked leg, sighing as he looks at her. 'I love you, you know that. That's why I keep coming back to you. Again and again and again. Everytime I think I'm cured of you, you draw me back in, and we start the dance all over.'

She looks down, at the blanket clutched to her chest, the white and blue pattern of her sheets stark beneath her fingertips. Richard sighs again, pulling her to him and running a hand through her hair.

'You're going to be what? Twenty-nine on your next birthday?'

She nods wordlessly.

'Time to start thinking about settling down, Yelena,' he says evenly. 'I'm a good man -'

'I know that,' she argues instantly, but he shakes his head.

'Let me finish. I'm a good man, Yelena,' he looks at her, his heart in his eyes. She hates that it makes her so uncomfortable to see him so open. 'I have a good job. A good salary,' he carries on. 'We're a good match, you and I. We would be a good team, as husband and wife. I'd like us to get married. Buy a house together. Maybe have a family, one day.'

She stares at him. 'You want children?' she asks in surprise, wondering why they have never had this conversation before.

'Yes,' he says simply. 'With you I do.'

She bites on her lip, looking down again, and away from the sudden intensity in his eyes.

'I know you don't love me -' he begins, and she goes to talk, puts a hand on his chest, an empty gesture of reassurance, before he stops her. 'I know you don't love me,' he tries again, 'not in the way you think love should be, at any rate. But we aren't children anymore, Yelena. Love isn't just passion and sex and desire. Love is also steady, warm, comforting, and capable of growth,' he sighs, brushing a hand across her cheek. 'I think, if you ever gave me a chance, you could grow to love me.'

'Richard -'

'I want you to think about this, and I mean seriously,' he tells her. 'I want you to really consider me as a long-term option, and if you decide against me and the future I can offer you, I want you to think about why that is, about what you're waiting for here. Kwame says -'

'You spoke to Kwame?'

There's a sudden ice to her voice that she hadn't intended, and for a moment, Richard recoils.

'Yes,' he admits. 'He knows you better than anyone else. Even me.'

'What did you tell him? What did he say?'

Richard moves closer to her again, kissing her bare shoulder. 'He thinks you are frightened of being hurt again.' He breathes out on her skin, the air warm and gentle. 'I always suspected you carried heartbreak with you,' he says kindly, 'but I've never asked you... you've never said a word about -'

'There is nothing to tell,' Helena says helplessly.

Richard tilts her chin up, so that she is forced to look him in the eye. 'If that were true, we would already be married.'

'Did Kwame tell you?' She asks hurriedly. 'Did he talk about...?'

She can't even bring herself to say his name.

Richard shakes his head. 'What do you think?' He asks her, and Helena exhales, silently thankful for Kwame's tact.

He would never tell Richard about Wheeler. Not until she has.

'I'm not going to ask you now,' he says, standing up. 'One day, I know you'll tell me. I just have to be patient and -'

But Helena shakes her head. She never talks about Wheeler. Not if she can help it. It's too painful, too raw.

But Richard sees her panic, and only nods.

'You'll tell me one day,' he says again, with a confidence Helena envies. 'One day you'll trust me enough to tell me, and Yelena, I really think that will be the point where it will start to hurt less.'

She nods without speaking.

She nods without believing him.

Because she knows she will never be able to talk of Wheeler without pain. Without feeling, once again, the acute agony at his loss, without remembering the callous way with which he disposed of her. Without missing him so much, that she's not certain how she's ever gone nearly nine years without him, or his tasteless one-liners, or his warm grin, or that damnable, adorable, infectious twinkle in his eye.

She must look woebegone, because Richard's face softens, and he sits beside her once more.

'I'm not an idiot, Yelena,' he says softly. 'It doesn't take much to look up the Planeteers, to find pictures of you from the past.' He swallows, suddenly pausing. 'He was an attractive boy. I can see why you liked him.'

She looks up at him, a stunned expression on her face. He takes one of her hands, and squeezes it gently.

'One day you'll tell me, yes?' he kisses her fingers. 'And one day, you'll marry me too.'

The way he says it, she knows it isn't a question. In his mind, Richard has it all mapped out. The quiet engagement, the quaint English wedding. The semi-detached house in a good part of Cambridge. The two children, with his sharp intellect and her fine, wispy blonde hair. The dinner parties and tennis games and day trips to London and the solid pieces of furniture, the inexpensive works of art, decorating it all.

A future entirely devoid of tasteless one-liners and warm grins and damnable, adorable and infectious eye twinkles. A future devoid of humour and passion and desire. A future written so meticulously, so prettily, that she knows in twenty years she will wake up and wonder exactly what happened to Linka Mikhailovna Orlova. She'll be sitting in her living room, Richard by her side, framed photographs of their children on the walls, and she'll realise something is missing. She'll search through cabinets and cupboards, unable to put her finger on exactly what she has lost, before rummaging through old files and bookcases, suddenly desperate to reclaim it. And then, when she passes a mirror in her hall, it will come to her. She'll turn to her reflection and her mouth will open in shock.

Because she will be what is missing.

A life with Richard would be a good life, and objectively, Helena realises that. But it would also be a compromised one, a life she settled for, rather than a life she sought or desired or even earned. Because she hasn't earned Richard's love, she knows that. She's never been real around him, not like she was around Wheeler. Richard loves the calm, measured, icily intelligent woman with her Cambridge degrees, packaged in an appealing tall and blonde package. He hasn't seen her at her worst, because she's never allowed him to see beyond the mask of Helena that she wears, the front she puts on to the world to hide the hurt beneath.

Wheeler saw her at her worst, of course. He saw her dirty and messy and unbrushed and unkempt, and he loved her anyway. He saw her in the worst of her temper tantrums, foot stamping and shouting and stalking away in a huff, and he loved her more for it, matching her in her fervour. He saw her sweaty and broken and emotionally open, and he encouraged her in those moments. He broke through her mask within only a few days of knowing her, and she never needed to wear one around him again. With Wheeler, she could be Linka, her true self.

A true self Richard has never seen, probably has no idea even exists.

She stares at Richard, at his confident tone and straight back, everything about his stance and face letting her know he has made a decision, and that he means to stick to it, and she opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that -

But Richard puts a finger to her lips. 'Don't do this again,' he tells her. 'Don't run from this. Please. At least consider it for a few days. You don't have to decide right away.'

She already has decided though, hasn't she? The future she briefly considered with Richard, the semi-detached house and nice holidays and solid pieces of furniture, has already faded quickly from her mind, along with him, and the images of the sons and daughters she will never bear him.

Abruptly she sighs, unwilling to hurt him again. 'Alright,' she agrees.

Richard's smile is blinding. 'If you say yes, I'll buy you the best ring out there. You never wear jewelry, I know... but a diamond like you deserves a diamond on her finger.'

She winces, watching as he busies himself about her room, finding the pieces of clothing he abandoned hurriedly the night before.

'I had a bracelet, once,' she says softly. Inadvertently, she traces the line around her wrist where Wheeler's gift once sat.

'Diamonds, was it?' Richard asks, still smiling.

'No,' Helena replies. 'It was made of rope. Rope, with a silver clasp.'

Richard looks at her. 'What happened to it?'

She shrugs. 'I do not know. It is probably in landfill, somewhere.'

She wishes she had kept it, now. Wishes she had not abandoned it on the step of Wheeler's cabin, the night that he finished with her. Wishes she had not immediately thrown anything and everything she had of his back at him.

She wonders if he stopped to pick it up. She wonders if he kept it, that first gift of love between them.

Probably not, she tells herself sternly. He probably crushed it with the heel of his shoe the day he left Hope Island to rush back to Trish's arms.

She looks up at Richard again.

'I will think about your question,' she tells him.

'Good,' he replies, planting a kiss on the top of her head. 'You're a grown-up, Yelena. Time to start acting like one.'

When Linka's eyes flutter open, she's in a windowless room. The bed beneath her is soft and comfortable, stacked with pillows and blankets, and she sits up, taking in her surroundings.

For the most part, it looks like a hotel room. The walls are papered in a gentle, inoffensive pattern, and the carpet is neutral, warm beneath her toes. There's a small desk and chair, a few lamps, and a bathroom, tiled and plumbed, with hot and cold running water.

She tries to hold down the rising sense of panic that has threatened to engulf her since Gi first had people manhandle her into a car, since the sedative was injected into her arm. Her hand flutters down to her stomach, a protective and reassuring gesture, and she forces herself to take a deep breath, an attempt to calm herself however she can.

She gets up, noting that she has been dressed in a pair of pyjamas that look terrifyingly familiar. Her mouth drops open when she realises they are from her cabin on Hope Island, one of the items she abandoned in her hurry to leave the place after Ma-Ti died, Gi disappeared, and Wheeler finished with her.

'Gi went back,' she whispers in disbelief, fingering the worn cotton against her hip gently.

She takes another deep breath, turning to the desk. It is stacked with her things from Hope Island... magazines and books and letters. Her keyboard is in a corner of the room, as is her guitar, and her chess set is propped against the table. Suddenly, she notes the litany of postcards and photographs above the desk. All from Hope Island, all relics of a past she has spent nearly a decade running from.

'Bozhe moi,' she whispers. She sits at the desk with a thump, looking in vain for her computer.

But Linka knows that Gi isn't an idiot. Giving her a computer here would be like handing her the keys to this prison cell, because a prison cell it is, with it's locked doors and zero access points to the outside world.

Briefly, Linka wonders what Gi intends to do with her. Strangely, she suspects harming her isn't on the agenda - not for the interim, at least. Gi had been, given the circumstances, strangely happy to see her, and, as the sedative took effect, had gently lain Linka down, stroking her hair while she fell into unconsciousness.

No, if Linka had to guess, she would put money on being here both to serve a purpose, and as bait for Kwame and Wheeler.

At that thought, she swallows hard.

'Do not follow me, Yankee,' she whispers, her hand travelling to her stomach once more. 'Do not follow me.'

There is comfort, at least, in realising that Kwame will be reasonable, and wary of Gi. Linka knows that where she is concerned, Wheeler will be all fire and fury, cutting through anyone and anything that endangers her. But Kwame? He will be earthy and methodical, with attention paid to the smallest of dangers. Linka closes her eyes, wishing she could be with them. She's the like the wind, in a way. She blows hot or cold, as her feelings or the situation dictates. She's sometimes blustery, sometimes still, occasionally nothing more than a calm ripple in a storm. She would flow between the two boys, cooling Wheeler's fire, rousing Kwame's earthy calm.

Gaia was right, Linka thinks, opening her eyes. They work better as a team. Gaia chose her Planeteers well.

Tears sting Linka's eyes, as once more, she misses and mourns the only mother she ever knew. She wishes Gaia were here now. Gaia would know what to do, how to reach Gi.

Gi, slippery like her element, capable of saving them all, or drowning them with her pain.

A sudden nausea strikes Linka hard, and she rushes to the bathroom to vomit. For half an hour, she retches up the contents of her mostly empty stomach, and by the time she's done, she's damp with sweat yet shaking with cold on the floor.

She misses her Yankee. She wishes he were there. Under better circumstances, she knows he would hold back her hair and rub her back and talk to her stomach. Under better circumstances, he would talk her through the rough mornings, his sense of humour a light she could cling to.

But, the circumstances being what they are, he doesn't know about this baby, Linka thinks.

And she can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Her hand rests on her belly, and she heaves back a sob.

'Do not follow me, Yankee,' she whispers again. 'Do not follow me.'

When the bathroom door opens an hour later, Linka is still on the floor.

'Oh my God, Lin,' Gi suddenly cries, sinking to the floor and pulling Linka into her arms. 'Oh my God, come on, get up. You need to eat something. You'll feel better if you eat.'

Linka's too weak to protest, and rests against Gi as the smaller woman leads her back to her bed. Gi fusses over her, wrapping blankets around her and pulling out an ipad, her finger tapping over it rapidly.

'What do you feel like?' Gi asks, her face full of concern. 'Pancakes? You always liked American style pancakes... or maybe eggs would be better. Protein is good for you, and the baby. Yes, eggs. Scrambled though, not boiled...' Gi smiles at her. 'Can't risk you getting... what is it? Salmonella? Or hysteria?'

'Listeria,' Linka whispers.

Gi nods. 'I have to take care of you; Wheeler will kill me if I let anything happen to you or his kid.'

Linka stares at Gi, confused. 'You sedated me,' she says lowly, her voice full of accusation.

'Well, you were panicking,' Gi replies calmly. 'I saw your pregnancy test when I came to get you. Stress isn't good for you or the baby,' she pats Linka's head, as though she were a small child. 'And like I said, Wheeler will kill me if anything happens to you or his baby.'

'Wheeler?' Linka asks, still dazed.

'He'll be here soon, don't worry,' Gi reassures her. 'He's right on schedule, as I predicted. I'm going to collect him and Kwame later, from your place.'

'Will you sedate them too?' Linka asks frostily, and Gi looks up, suddenly sharp.

'If I have to,' she replies. 'But I don't think it will come to that. Wheeler will be frantic for you. He'll follow anyone who has you. Kwame might be more...' Gi pauses. 'Problematic. But that's okay. I'll figure it out.'

Suddenly, a wave of peace seems to wash over Gi's face, and she embraces Linka clumsily.

'Lin... Lin... things are going to be so much better once we're all together again. You, me, and our boys.'

Linka shakes her head. 'No... no... things will never go back to the way they were. Deep down, you know that.'

A flicker of doubt lights in Gi's eyes, before it is snuffed out rapidly. 'No,' she says, more firmly. 'Once we're all together again, things will be exactly as they were before. Of course, there's your baby to consider... but I always figured Wheeler would knock you up one of these days, and, you know... baby makes six might be wonderful.'

Linka stares at her in horror.

'What do you mean?' she asks slowly. 'Baby makes six?'

Gi stares back at her blankly. 'You, me, Kwame, Wheeler, Ma-Ti, and your baby. Six. Gee, and I thought you were the genius here, Lin.'

'Ma-Ti is dead,' Linka says softly. 'You know that, Gi.'

But Gi only smiles.

'Lin... Lin... I can't wait for you to see him. He's beautiful. After breakfast, we'll go right to the lab to visit with him.'

A deep current of fear runs through Linka, and she edges away from Gi, her hand on her stomach once more.

'Who is beautiful, Gi?' she asks, although she already knows and fears the answer.

Gi smiles at her as though she's an idiot. And maybe, under the circumstances, she is an idiot, Linka thinks.

Because she never could have foreseen this.

'Ma-Ti,' Gi answers her every nightmare. 'He's just... well, I can't wait for you to see him. Wheeler might be cross with me at first... for taking you. But once he sees Ma-Ti... well, you'll all understand where I've been. What I've been doing all these years.' She takes a deep breath, that dumbly peaceful expression crossing her face once more. 'It's been worth the wait. Worth all of the effort.'

'I.. I do not think I wish to see him,' Linka says weakly.

But Gi shakes her head. 'Of course you do. You just need to eat something. Look, I'm going to go and get your breakfast, and you're going to eat every mouthful, if I have to feed you myself,' she laughs, but it sounds hollow to Linka's ears. 'Stay here, like a good girl, okay?'

But Linka couldn't move, even if she wanted to.

She's frozen with shock and fear.

The door opens and then closes behind Gi, and Linka blinks back tears, hugging a pillow to her chest.

'Do not follow me, Yankee,' she prays this time. 'Do not follow me to this.'