Howdy! The views on this fic are kinda blowing me away. Thanks again to my regular reviewers — Miss Mango, Becks7, RRL24, Arya169 and OzQueene. A big thanks also to OzQueene who is still wading through the questionable tense and punctuation minefield that is my writing. Patience of a saint, girl!

Think I'm enjoying writing the flashbacks more than the current/future events... much like the feedback I'm getting from people reading them, I suspect!

Have a great week, everyone xxx

Only Shadows Ahead

Chapter Thirty-One

Ma-Ti is waiting for her in the foyer, sitting on a leather sofa and reading a magazine. She steps out of the elevator and steam might as well be issuing from her ears. She's so angry. She feels utterly betrayed by the men's club upstairs.

Ma-Ti is up and on his feet as soon as he sees her face, startled to see tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What happened?" he calls in a worried tone. Clearly not expecting to see her in such a state.

She strides past him and pushes through the glass doors. They swing open, rebounding against the door buffer and Ma-Ti barely makes it through behind her before the momentum slams them shut again.

Linka wipes her face, crossing her arms in front of her as she hurries down the street. Ma-Ti is struggling to keep up, slightly out of breath as he grabs her arm and tugs gently. She halts outside of a deli, glaring back in the direction they've just come from.

"What happened, Linka?" He's still holding the magazine. It's rolled up and clutched within his fist, forgotten in the moment.

"They will not listen to me," she cries. She shakes her head, her ears still ringing from the almighty argument that had erupted. "I tried… they shouldn't have… he saw me."

"Just calm down." Ma-Ti leads Linka to a bustling alfresco-type cafe on the corner, weaving his way towards an empty table setting. He reaches for her hand, concerned. "Who saw you?"

"MAL!"

Ma-Ti blinks. He sits down heavily, considering the implications. "Did he recognise you?"

"Of course he recognised me!"

"I do not understand, Linka. Why was he even —"

"SAIP's programming is dictated by MAL! He finally showed his face to them."

She shudders as she slumps into the seat opposite him, recalling the room's shocked reaction to the electronic entity appearing on the main screen. They were spooked to say the least.

MAL's voice dripping with sarcasm as he addressed them. A malicious grin as he regarded Linka, referring to her by name and greeting her warmly — almost as if greeting an old friend.

She drops her head into her hands, and Ma-Ti moves seats, sitting next to her and placing his palm on her back.

"What happened?"

"They were in a panic. They were talking about uploading the virus before it is ready."

"Would that be a bad thing, Linka?" Ma-Ti frowns, glancing at the waiter bustling past with an armful of dirty plates. "Is it ready? The virus?"

"We need more time. I begged them — I begged them not to be hasty." She wipes more tears away. "They should not underestimate Blight. MAL said he had inbuilt defence mechanisms. An executable malware file, in case anyone tried to take him offline."

"Do you believe him?"

"Da," she whispers. She regards Ma-Ti with bloodshot eyes and sinks back into her chair, throwing her handkerchief to the table. "The CIA do not, however. They think he is bluffing."

"If they were to upload it… how long before —"

"It is a slow-release payload." She shrugs. "Only time will tell. We specifically designed it to infect MAL's CPU, removing every trace of SAIP in the process. It will be several days before we would know. Maybe a week."

"I am sure everything will be fine, Linka." Ma-Ti says reassuringly, reaching for her hand again. She squeezes gently, giving him a watery smile.

"I do not understand why they asked me to consult to begin with," she says quietly. Tearfully. "To them, I am just a dumb blonde with an accent who owns a nice laptop."

"You are anything but a dumb blonde, Linka," Ma-Ti replies. "You are the smartest person I know."

She sniffs as she composes herself. His words cheer her up somewhat. "Spasiba."

"Cheer up. Things cannot be as bad as they seem." He grins, looking up as a waiter arrives to take their order. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee. You will see. Everything will be fine."

"A cup of coffee," she murmurs. She rubs her forehead and does her best to shake off the anxiety. Ma-Ti orders the drinks and a small smirk appears on her lips. "A piece of cake too?"

"Do not push your luck, Linka!" Ma-Ti laughs. They settle into their seats as the waiter returns inside the cafe. She feels a little calmer, propping her hands within her lap and glancing at her reflection in the window. She's pale and looking quite dishevelled.

Linka's eyes wander over her wrists. The red, angry welts are still present. They are now the only evidence remaining courtesy of her ordeal with Kroi… other than the memories. She passes her fingers over the indentations, finally able to look them without succumbing to the feelings of rage and humiliation that had been present just a few days prior.

She sighs, glancing down at the table and grazing her nails over the timber grain. "I looked up his record while I was there."

Ma-Ti raises his head, looking confused. "Who?"

"Kroi," she says softly.

"Kroi?" His expression darkens as he leans forward, alert. "You said the preliminary checks didn't come up with any —"

"I dug deeper. I had access to the database. He has several aliases. They are linked by the same Ukrainian identity card number and bank accounts. I missed them, I have no excuse."

"What did you find?"

"Theft. Grand larceny." She pauses, swallowing before continuing. "Three convictions for aggravated sexual assault. Two incarcerations — one in Russia and one in Belarus."

"Linka," Ma-Ti breathes. He looks ill. "It could have been so much worse."

"I know," she says, pushing her hair away from her face and barely able to meet Ma-Ti's troubled gaze. "I saw the evidence photos. She was black and blue."

"Oh God, Linka."

"Do not tell the Yankee," she whispers. "He is still so angry about it."

"I won't."

They sit back for a little while, watching the world go by. A group of men in business suits wander past and a couple of them glance back, looking her over. She sniffs, hunching over the handbag clutched within her lap.

"They are all the same."

Ma-Ti frowns. "Who?"

"Them," she says, gesturing towards the business men. "Kroi. The CIA. I am just a woman to them."

"That is not true, Link —"

"Only good for warming a bed and cooking a meal." Her expression hardens and for a moment she feels an irrational flare of anger. "I will never be equal."

Ma-Ti regards her silently. His eyes are sympathetic as he reaches forward and grips her hand. "For someone like Kroi — for someone as twisted and narcissistic as he is — NO woman will ever be his equal. You cannot change that. You have no control over that."

"Da." Linka nods, squeezing his hand. "I know."

"As for the CIA," Ma-Ti says, smiling at the waiter as he brings the coffees out, "People fear what they are threatened by."

"Why would they be threatened by me? What is the purpose? They have the same skills and the same goal in mind." She rolls her eyes. "They also have a better paying job with better conditions," she grumbles, and Ma-Ti can't help but laugh.

"It is because you conduct yourself with integrity and a fierce intelligence that frightens them. It is a fault with their personality, not with yours."

She nods again, stirring her drink. She know's he's right. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," he smiles, raising his eyes to meet hers. "You also live and work with three guys here who certainly adore and value you — more than you will ever know."

"Da," She smiles shyly, flushing as she takes a sip of her coffee. "I know that, too."

The museum and its grounds were showing no signs of quietening down. A constant stream of people were bustling around outside and Wheeler was unsure how many were currently going about their business within.

The sun was sitting low in the sky. Wheeler was restless, pacing around the area where they were hiding out. Wanting to move but frustrated by Kwame's reluctance to start their approach.

"It's not gonna get any better, Kwame. We have Linka's ring."

"I realise that," Kwame sighed, turning his attention to Sam. "Got your little bag of tricks?"

"Yep." Sam dropped his bulky bag to the ground. He rifled through the contents and withdrew several tan-coloured cylindrical sticks wrapped together with duct tape. "Ready to roll."

"What the hell?" Wheeler began, stepping forward and eyeing the device nervously. "Are you kiddin' me?"

"Sam used to work in stone quarries," Kwame explained, nodding towards the pond and surrounding buildings. "That's why I brought him. Blasting. Detonations."

"No kiddin'," Wheeler said, looking a little uneasy.

Kwame shrugged. "We could do with a few diversions."

"Gimme half an hour," Sam replied, digging around some more and pulling out a few timer devices. "What do you need?"

"A few controlled blasts. Maybe ten minutes apart. Enough to get their attention. Give us time to get inside."

"Three all up? It'll be a pretty minimal detonation but it should be loud enough to send them running."

"Do it."

"We goin' in after you?"

"Lay low outside. Keep an eye on things."

"All right. Wait for the big boom, then." Sam motioned to one of the other men. Together they jogged off in the direction of the gardens.

"I remembered him talking about the blasting process a while ago," Kwame said. "Thought he might come in useful."

"Handy dude to have around in an emergency," Wheeler muttered. "Seriously, I just wanna get this over with."

"So do I, my friend."

The roller-door had been raised somewhat, just enough for a body to squeeze through. He hoisted himself up and slipped inside, taking a seat next to Linka.

"Gotta wait for the big bang," he said, drawing his knees up and staring at the crates stacked neatly in front of them. "Pipe bombs are bein' laid."

She looked slightly perturbed by that thought. "What if Captain Planet is not in there?" she whispered. "What if it is a trap?"

The same thought had occurred to him. "Then we hightail it outta there."

"Bozhe moy." Linka rubbed her templed with a groan. "This was never part of our job description."

"Hell, no," he answered, doing his best to reassure her. "You shoulda seen some of the shit we had to put up with towards the end. This is a walk in the park."

She sat quietly, slumped against the wall. She seemed tense. Fretful.

"You all right?"

"Da," she said, looking down at her hands. "Just tired."

"Thought you said you were sleeping better?"

"Strange dreams," she replied. "I… I do not know. I am dreaming a lot."

Wheeler raised his eyebrows, watching her turn slightly to face him. "Dreamin' about what?"

"What happened to Kroi?"

"Kroi?" Wheeler found himself clenching his fists. "That fucking bastard? No idea. Why?"

"No reason." She looked away, her blonde hair framing her face prettily, and Wheeler felt a sudden urge to run his fingers through it. That maybe it was okay to let his guard down around her.

He'd caught himself a few times moving to wrap an arm around her waist, or reach for her hand. He hadn't even thought about it. An automatic reflex, a byproduct of the life he'd lived with her.

He sighed. She was still playing with her hair — lips slightly parted, wrapping blonde curls around her index finger, just as she used to when they were Planeteers.

Part of him had grieved the loss of her hair almost as much as she had, but she hadn't had a choice. The CIA had strongly advised that she modify her appearance before leaving.

He'd never forgotten the look on Linka's face on that last day; Gi mumbling that she'd done the best she could. The shade had been far too dark against her pale skin. Still beautiful, though - in all honesty, he would have loved her with a brown paper bag permanently attached to her head.

Linka had looked utterly bereft at the loss of her hair; the last remnants of her pride and joy lying discarded in thick piles on the bathroom floor.

Tear-stained face and vacant eyes, he'd watched her reach the limit of her monumental patience as chaos had erupted around her.

It had been anything but a typical final day on the job for Linka. The short notice she'd been given had seen to that.

No going away card signed by her team mates. No quiet dinner. No murmured well-wishes and pats on the back, as was the practice with other work places. No generous recommendations or references to carry over towards the next 'job.'

Those final twelve hours had been mayhem. Lot's of tears. Panic attacks. Packing. Emotional phone calls home to Russia. Gi's horrendous dye job and cut. A few Kwame/Gi screaming matches and finally, Linka's mad dash out into the rain when it all became too much for her to bear.

And he'd followed, swallowing his nerves and sprinting out into the night; intent on finding her and owning up. Years of ingrained swagger and bravado washed away by the downpour — stripped bare and replaced by the urgent need to convey those three little words that he hoped would make all the difference.

The day hadn't started well, but it had ended spectacularly: culminating in a frantic, heaving throw-down on a soggy pile of wet towels on the bathroom floor. She'd clung to him, fingernails dragging across his skin as she'd whimpered and panted beneath him. For such a reserved and controlled girl, she'd sure made a hell of a lot of noise that night.

He'd pulled a few muscles. She'd ended up with friction marks on her back and shoulders from the tiles, plus a few other mystery nicks and bruises that were unable to be explained away by conventional means.

But fuck, the wait had been worth it.

Just thinking about it got him hot under the collar. He shifted uncomfortably, distracting himself with visions of Doctor Blight riding unicorns while stuffing her face with Twinkies.

But as he watched her now, continuing to twist those golden highlights, it occurred to him that she wasn't his Linka. This Linka was most probably at the ambivalent stage of their relationship. Counting him as a close friend but too wrapped up in her work and her life to even consider a future with the smart-ass she'd left behind back in her own time.

It didn't matter, though. She was still perfection. Although now that he thought about it, perfection could be a problem for someone who needed to blend in for the next few hours. He frowned, sweeping his eyes over her.

"Here," he said, removing his cap and placing it on her head. He leaned forward, gathering up her hair and tucking it as best he could under the sides. "Don't want anyone recognising you."

"Do you think I will stand out?"

"You're a tall, blonde Russian who would have given most Victoria's Secret models a run for their money." He smiled, caressing her cheek affectionately. "You can't help but stand out."

She gave him a radiant smile, green eyes sparkling beneath his cap. Wheeler's eyes settled on her fingers; poking and prodding the seam of her jeans. He could tell she was nervous. Recalling their earlier conversation, he pressed forward again.

"Did Gi tell you what happened with Kroi?"

"Just that he attacked me."

"Yeah. Cornered you near a wheat silo. Genetically modified wheat with suspected carcinogens. You'd taken off to —"

"Collect a sample," she whispered, finishing his sentence, her face paling somewhat. "I had a test tube. Glass."

"Uh, yeah. I guess."

"Crushed it with his boot," she whispered.

"Huh?"

"Was I studying?"

"Studying?" He took a moment to recover from the confusion. "Uh, yeah, you finished your high school —"

"Did I end up at University?"

He shook his head. "No. Blight's death threats put a stop to that."

"Why?"

He gave her a sad smile. "All your prior knowledge and qualifications were under your old name. You had to leave them behind."

"Oh," she said softly. She scratched her head, looking thoughtful. "I guess my mind is trying to fill in the missing pieces. I am dreaming about a lot of… what is the word? Obtuse things?"

"Obscure?" he said.

"Yes. Obscure things. Strange details."

"Like what?"

She crossed her legs and leaned forward. "Oh, just small things, I guess. Studying. I dreamt about Kroi. I saw you find me and stop him from… you know." She raised her hand to her face, touching her cheekbone. "He grabbed my hair. Punched me and slapped me."

"Uh, yeah, and I rearranged his face on your behalf. Sick bastard," he spat. He frowned, regarding her with curiosity. "Did Gi tell you?"

"You gave me your jacket." It wasn't a question. Wheeler opened his mouth to reply but closed it again. She was peering down at her wrists. "Cable ties."

"Huh? How do you —" Wheeler gritted his teeth, making a mental note to give Gi a verbal serve when he saw her next.

"You burnt through them." She stared at her wrists. "The marks took a long time to heal."

"Did Gi tell you, babe? There's no way in hell I wanted you goin' back with that information."

"No." She sighed, shaking her head. "No one told me. I seem to be waking up with more and more images that were not there the day before."

"Like what? What else?"

"I think I —" She shook her head, frustrated, pulling the brim further down over her eyes. "It is nothing, Yankee. Just dreams about assignments and accountants. I cannot remember the —."

"Accountants?" Wheeler's ears pricked. "Wait a minute, you —"

"Liam? Logan? I remember a coffee stand in a foyer," she said, narrowing her eyes, trying to recall the details.

"You went on a date with an accountant, once," he said, staring incredulously at her. "Don't remember his name. You kept it to yourself, though."

"I did?"

"I only found out because you told me later on, after we left. The guy would chat you up over coffee when you were in —"

"Luke!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "Washington!"

"Yeah," he said, stunned. "Jesus."

"I am not dreaming, am I?" she said quietly, raising her eyes to his. "They are not dreams."

"No." He shook his head in wonder. "They're her memories."

"I don't want th —"

A loud explosion interrupted them, causing Linka to squeal in fright. Three loud bangs on the metal sides of the truck and Kwame's face appeared in the gap, motioning for them to exit the vehicle. They slid forward towards the roller-door, Wheeler making a mental note to discuss the dreams at a more appropriate time… if and when they made it out.

"Here we go," Wheeler muttered, grabbing Linka's hand and helping her out.

They ducked their heads around the side again. The sun had just set but the blaze was huge, lighting up the grounds on the other side of the property. People were beginning to file out of the museum, weapons ready as they hurried towards the blast site.

"Let's go," Kwame said, ushering everyone left towards the main section of the museum. They stayed close to the gardens, following the path and sneaking in through the service entrance around the back.