So I began the fic "Still Breathing" last week. But interestingly, I decided to re-visit After The Fall as after all this time, I really couldn't remember much about it.
And now it's completely stuck in my head, so I thought I'd get some of it out while the story is bubbling away nicely…
Enjoy!
The dark streets and blurred lights flickered by from the passenger seat of the taxi Linka was riding in. She sat slumped in the back, her forehead pressed against the glass. She felt physically sick from her encounter with Grant, not to mention the fact that her head was throbbing horrifically.
"Are you sure you don't need a hospital, honey?"
The driver's voice startled her and she looked ahead, meeting his eyes in the rear-vision mirror.
"Nyet, but thank-you. Thank-you so much, I…" She trailed off as the kind man gave her a reassuring smile and wave.
"I have a daughter your age, sweetheart. Wouldn't want her out alone after being mugged on Christmas Eve."
She'd lied to him, since the truth would require a more complicated explanation than she could muster.
Linka smiled at him. Her previously limited good fortune had picked up somewhat when this particular cab had stopped, upon seeing a stunning woman shivering, disheveled and bleeding from the head. She was sitting on a bench by the side of the road when he had found her, the neon signs of the fast food outlets behind her illuminating the fact that she was both freezing and injured.
Mid-sixties with a moustache, portly frame and kind eyes, the taxi driver had immediately pulled over, jumped out and rushed over to render assistance to the sobbing woman. He'd helped her up, shaking his head and reassuring her as she'd confessed she couldn't pay him.
"Terrible what happened to you. Damn crime is becoming ridiculous in this town. Where did ya' say you wanted to go, love? Brooklyn was it?"
In truth, she wasn't sure. She was relying on memory now.
"Da. I mean yes, Brooklyn.
She considering beaming Vishaal, but quickly dismissed the idea. Shame and embarrassment at having to explain her predicament put an end to that course of action. Besides, if she wasn't successful, contacting the heart planeteer would be her final option.
"You positive you don't need a hospital? You're gettin' a mighty-big lump on your noggin'."
She smiled wanly, making a mental note to search for him in the coming days and repay his kindness.
"I'll be fine. I am hoping a friend is home," she replied
"From out of town? Russian? Ukranian?"
Linka nodded, her solemn gaze returning to the lights and traffic banked up outside. She heard muffled car horns and the dull murmur of conversation on the sidewalks from last-minute Christmas shoppers, rugged up in their coats, gloves and beanies.
It's Christmas Eve. She'd almost forgotten.
She wiped fresh tears away from her mascara-smudged eyes using the back of her hand. Her heart rate was returning to morning, but she was still unable to control the irregular bouts of shivering that shook her body. The heater was at full blast, but it didn't seem to make a difference.
She realized she hadn't responded to his question. "St Petersburg. Originally, anyway."
Linka didn't bother to clarify any further, since technically Hope Island was located within international waters and belonged to neither a continent nor a nation. Plus, she was thankful he didn't recognise her. The salacious headlines in tomorrow's paper would be too much to bear under the current circumstances, a complication she desperately wanted to avoid.
"Street?"
She glanced back towards the rear vision, meeting his eyes as the next issue presented itself.
"Um, I have no idea."
"Landmarks?"
Linka narrowed her eyes, thinking. She knew Wheeler's family home was an apartment on the outskirts of Brooklyn. She had visited only a handful of times over the years, mainly because the Fire Planeteer had done all he could over the years to avoid seeing his parents. The small apartment certainly wasn't a place of happy childhood memories for Wheeler; unlike her own.
Even after the loss of her own mother and father, Linka's beloved grandmother had imbued a sense of love and warmth into her life, something she was profoundly grateful for.
In all honesty, she doubted very much that Wheeler would even be living there, but it was a start.
Pizza.
Her mind lurched in recognition, recalling a conversation from the early days of the Planeteers. Linka closed her eyes, smiling at the memory.
Paddie's Pizza. Wheeler used to prank-call them while his mother was at work.
More came flooding back to her and she was thankful for them. She recalled one of the rare conversations centered around his family life.
Da. His mother worked nights. Nursing. His father would often pass out from drinking, leaving the Yankee to occupy himself. He would occasionally order a pizza and send it to the drug dealer two floors above him. Just for the fun of it.
She remembered Wheeler pointing it out to the others.
"There was a Paddies Pizza. On the corner near his apartment, I think."
The driver frowned. "I remember a pizza place on the corner of Fourth and Willow? It sounds familiar. Burnt down around 99'.
They cruised for another 10 minutes, the traffic becoming less intense once they navigated their way out of the main shopping areas. Sure enough, they eventually approached a familiar building. The large blackened 'P' was all that remained of the sign, the shop's doors and windows bordered up and long-since abandoned.
Her heartbeat quickened as her shivering started to subside, replaced by a nervous apprehension.
"Da, this is it. Thank you again!" She whispered, peering through the blurry perspex barrier separating her from the driver. She took note of the name on the taxi license displayed beside the meter.
"Thank you so very much, Dennis," she said warmly as he opened the door for her before she could even reach for the handle.
"My pleasure honey. Take care of yourself. And you'll report it to the police?"
She touched her hand to her head, noticing the sticky blood still issuing from the wound.
"Da, I will."
"You sure this is the right place? Do you want me to wait for you, love?"
She surveyed the building. Old-fashioned brownstone, three stories high. She turned, seeing the dilapidated park across the street and to the right of her view. The pizza place (or what was left of it) was visible from the apartment. She approached the front door and checked the tenant buzzers, able to make out the faded letters scrawled in neat, feminine handwriting. WHEELER. Apartment two.
"I'm in the right place, I'll be fine. Thank you…" she said shakily, before giving kind, fatherly Dennis a soft kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."
He waved and left, heading home to his family and the delicious egg-nog that would no doubt be waiting for him.
She wasted no time in climbing the stairs and pressing the buzzer, although soon came to the realization that it was no longer working.
Cursing, Linka crossed her arms around herself, placing her shoulder against the door. She was shivering again now as she leaned in. By some miracle the mechanism gave way, and Linka was able to access the front foyer of the building.
Relief flooded her senses as she climbed the stairs of the brightly-lit foyer, the harsh light accentuating the stained floors and damaged walls. She felt dizzy and stopped for a moment, placing two hands on the banister to steady herself. Linka willed herself to continue, gritting her teeth with a steely determination against the spinning sensation that was threatening to overpower her.
The girl sobbed as she reached apartment 2, knocking heavily and leaning against the wall as the throbbing in her head reached a new and unpleasant crescendo.
Linka didn't even notice the door open slightly, or the older woman who stood with a shocked expression as the she scrutinized her late night visitor through the small gap, the door held in place with a safety chain. Suspicion soon turned to shocked recognition as the older woman gasped, closing the door briefly while fumbling with the latch, before flinging the door wide open.
Soft, comforting hands gripped Linka's arms and she was ushered into the living room. Another sharp gasp issued from the older woman's mouth as she noticed Linka's injuries for the first time.
"Darling, what happened? Can you hear me? Linka?" Janet Wheeler's voice seemed far away and Linka wobbled slightly, overwhelmed with pain, anxiety and cold. Janet lowered Linka to the lounge, where the blonde sat frozen, staring off into space.
Wheeler's mother grabbed a throw rug of the lounge, tossing it over Linka's shoulders as she sat beside her. Alarm flooded Janet's features as she repeatedly called her name, trying to reach her. Wheeler's mother tenderly swept aside Linka's blood-stained hair, noticing the full extent of the head wound beneath it. She exhaled sharply, before placing her arms around the trembling girl.
"Sweetheart, what on earth happened? Do I need to call an ambulance?"
Linka's breath hitched as she tried to speak, but the floodgates had now opened and there was no way to stem the tide of emotions. Tears sprung to her eyes and she sobbed uncontrollably, seeking comfort, safety and familiarity in Janet's motherly embrace.
"Shhhhh, it's alright," the older woman whispered, rubbing her back in soothing circles. As the blonde's sobbing subsided, Janet gave her a gentle squeeze. "Stay here for a minute, I'll grab some bandages and more blankets."
Linka curled herself up on the lounge, her eyes glancing towards the black-and white Christmas movie playing on the television. She stared at the flickering screen, her eyes somewhat unfocused as Mrs Wheeler slammed cupboards and doors in the small bathroom, grabbing supplies and talking in the low, hushed voice of what Linka assumed was the telephone.
"Here, take this," she said, having returned after several minutes. She pushed two pills into Linka's hand. "It will help with the pain."
Linka swallowed them gratefully as Mrs Wheeler had a better look at the wound on her head, antiseptic and steri-strips in hand. The older woman exhaled nervously, having decided upon a course of action.
"Okay, Linka. You've got a deep cut, but some glue and strips should be sufficient. Then I'll make you a cup of tea. Then you're going to tell me why you look like you've gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. And during all this, I'll do my best to continue to leave messages on my idiot son's phone to get his ass over here. Sound like a plan?"
Janet smiled warmly at the blonde, wiping a tear away from her cheek with the pad of her thumb. Linka returned the smile, albeit a watery variation of one.
"Thank-you, Mrs Wheeler," she said softly, watching as the older woman bustled off again, presumably to put the kettle on and grab the glue. Linka sat up slowly, feeling warmed by the oil heater and radiator emitting waves of heat towards her thawing limbs.
Linka glanced over to an armchair sitting idle in the corner, now piled with books and photos. A discarded intravenous fluid stand lay propped against the wall beside the chair.
She recalled Wheeler's father sitting there on one of the few previous visits here, beer in hand and an annoyed scowl on his face. He hadn't even said hello to the team, just growled at them to "keep the fucking noise down". Janet had ushered them into the dining room, with Wheeler quietly seething with fury as he slammed the connecting doors, perhaps in an effort to annoy his father further.
Linka looked up as Janet returned, placing the cup of tea on the side table. The throbbing in her head was subsiding now, probably due to the painkillers she had swallowed. Janet smiled apologetically as she ripped open the steri-strips and bandages.
"You ready?"