Longest chapter I've written. Thanks again to my beautiful regular reviewers! Keep 'em coming. Enjoy, guys xxxx

Only Shadows Ahead

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Hello?"

"Privyet," a male voice answers. "You have not returned any of my calls, little sister."

She grins, delighted to hear her brother's voice. "Oh, you have no idea how busy we have been. It is so good to hear from you."

"Do they not have a phone signal in… wherever you are?"

"Da, they do," Linka scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I am in —" she pauses, looking around in confusion and scratching her head with her free hand. "Actually, I do not know where we are."

"This does not fill me with confidence, Little Linka."

"We are on the move," she admits, glancing around the near empty twenty-four hour transit lounge, attached to the main airport. "Maybe Germany?"

"Belgium." Gi's voice floats over from the cafeteria seating area. She's slumped over a cold drink, her chin in her hands. Linka smiles fondly, taking a seat opposite her best friend.

"Gi says we are in Belgium."

"Belgium?" Mishka asks. "Working?"

"Nyet, not here," she answers. "The borders have become stricter. We now need to clear passport control through some European countries. It was already midnight by the time we cleared customs. We have stopped for a rest."

"Oh. All right," Mishka says. He's not quite himself. Almost guarded, forcing himself to remain pleasant. The knowledge troubles Linka.

"Sometimes I think domestic passenger flights would be easier," she laments. "It is not so bad. There are showers here. Restaurants. Gives us a chance to — what is the word? Rebuild?"

"Revive?" Gi offers. Her voice is muffled against the cool aluminium table. The soft drink lays discarded to her left. "Re-energise?"

Linka chuckles, leaning forward and running her fingers through Gi's hair fondly. "Gives us a chance to rest, Mishka."

"Are you looking after yourself?" Mishka's tone is still strange. Quiet and detached, and she wonders if she's forgotten a birthday or missed an event. She's been doing that a lot, lately.

Linka sinks back in her seat but leaves her hand resting on Gi's head. Gi is breathing steadily, eyes closed and dozing. A sound diverts her attention and Linka glances towards the empty gift shop. A dry cleaning machine is whirring quietly, guided over the floors by a bored staff member.

It passes Ma-Ti, seated at an internet station, tapping away at the keyboard. Kwame is chatting to a young couple who have missed their connecting flight and are stuck overnight. Wheeler's feet are just visible and he's out cold, stretched out on the floor in front of the wall-to-floor windows that look out at the twinkling lights of the airport beyond.

She remembers Mishka's question. "Da. I am looking after myself."

"You sound tired."

"You do not have to worry about me, Mishka," she begins. "I know how —"

"I have no one left to worry about, Linka," he says quietly and she knows now that something is up. "You of all people should know that."

"I am so sorry, Mishka. I know I have not —" She shuts her mouth abruptly, feeling tears welling. Years of familial intuition is telling her that he's upset about something. "Are you all right?"

"I have not seen you in nearly twelve months." He pauses and she hears his sigh over the crackle of the connection. "There was a news report on the Russia Today channel. You were mentioned personally."

"Oh?" They've all worked hard to keep certain details about their recent missions out of the press and she hopes — she prays — that he remains oblivious to one incident in particular. "What did you hear?"

"Were you attacked, Linka?"

"Bozhe moy," she breathes. Her fears are confirmed — he knows about Kroi. "When did this news report —"

"You have not answered my question!"

"Who filed the report? There was a media black —"

"Chert poberi, Linka." He groans, and she tilts her head sideways, away from the crackle over the line. "What worries me most is that you are not denying it."

"Mishka, I did not know how to —"

"HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME!" Mishka explodes. He sounds furious and Linka recoils, her cheeks burning. "You spend all of your time reassuring me that your work is safe. That you are in no danger and everything is fine —"

"I am fine, Mishka," she pleads. "I —"

"I have to hear on the 6pm news that my sister was sexually assaulted on a rural property! I have had reporters ringing the house all day for a comment. Our uncle is completely beside himself. Did you know this was out?"

"Nyet," she whispers, wiping away tears and gazing miserably at Ma-Ti who is watching the exchange with a concerned look on his face. "No, I did not."

"Is it true?"

She shudders, humiliated that her brother had to find out this way. "Da."

"Oh God, Linka." He sounds devastated. "Why would you keep this from me?"

"It happened a few months ago." She sniffs, running her hand through her hair and propping her chin in her hand. "I did not want to worry you."

"I cannot believe —" he starts, his voice breaking. "What happened?"

"It was a man working for Looten Plunder. He had made threats against me before." She shrugs, staring miserably at the beads of condensation dripping down Gi's discarded Coke. "He followed me. I am sure by now you know the rest."

"God, Linka." There's a clunking sound over the line and she guesses he's switching hands. "I heard the words 'sexual assault' and I just panicked."

"I am fine. It could have been a lot worse."

"Are you sure you are all right?"

"It was not as bad as it could have been. Kroi was interrupted."

"You are not just saying this? You are not just telling me what I hope to hear?"

She swallows, closing her eyes. "I had a few bumps and bruises. He… he got a little rough. Slapped me a few times. That is all, I promise. Wheeler found us before he could finish what he started. He broke Kroi's nose…. amongst other things."

"And yet again, your Yankee is in the right place at the right time." The mood has lifted a little and Mishka seems to have calmed down, now that the details have been clarified. "I am going to have to surgically graft that Amerikanskiy to you."

"He takes good care of me… of all of us." She gives a shaky laugh, leaning back in her seat. "Sometimes I am glad he is a little over-protective."

"Over-protective is an understatement, Linka," Mishka says fondly. "But that is a conversation for another time. I am glad you are all right. I just wish you would have told me. Nona would be rolling in her grave."

"I know," she whispers. "Honestly, I am fine. You do not need to worry."

"I am your brother, it is my job to worry," he says, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "But I believe you."

"How are things there?"

Mishka sighs. "The same. Unemployment is terrible. The jobs have dried up since the mine closed. I may need to move on from here."

"What will you do with the house?"

"I do not know," he confesses. "I am thinking of selling it. It grieves me to do so — it is the only link we have left of them."

"I know," she repeats. She twists the strap of her handbag, in no way prepared to discuss such heavy topics at two in the morning. "But they would want what was best for us."

"There is nothing here now but death and memory… and you are no longer around to brighten the place up." He pauses. "Would you be upset if I did so? If I sold the house?"

She knows he's asking for permission. Nona's will had left everything to them and the cottage was fully paid off. "Nyet. Do what you need to do. It is fine."

"I would split the proceeds down the middle, I can deposit your half to wherever you —."

"I trust you, Mishka." And she did.

"All right," he says and his relief is evident. "I will start making arrangements. An opportunity may have come up for work, too. I have an interview next week. It is in St Petersburg."

"That is wonderful, Mishka. If you move, will you take Lidiya?"

"Oh, Linka," he laughs, amused at how out of touch she is. "We broke up months ago."

"Bozhe moy," she moans. "Really? I liked her. She was lovely."

"Da. She left to find work. It was mutual, but we are on good terms."

"I am sorry you had to find out —"

"It is fine," he reassures her. "Not exactly an easy topic to bring up to your brother, is it?"

"Nyet," she whispers. Her eyelids are drooping and exhaustion is settling over her like a warm blanket. "I had better go."

"Do not be a stranger, Linka," he says. "You are the only family I have left. I worry about you."

"I know," she says faintly.

"And ring Uncle Dimitri. He is worried sick."

"I will. First thing tomorrow."

"Do svidaniya."

Linka bids her brother goodbye and ends the call, tossing the phone into her handbag. She leans forward and massages her temples, a little overwhelmed by the heavy conversation. Wide awake and alert now, her mind is working overtime.

Most distressing for her is the fact that her altercation with Kroi is out in the open. The knowledge is humiliating and she wonders what exactly has been reported. She rubs her eyes briefly before glancing around the empty lounge area again.

Gi is snoring softly opposite her. The transit couple are gone and Kwame is asleep, curled up against the wall. Ma-Ti is still at the internet station. His eyes are just visible above the monitor and he's watching her with sympathetic eyes. He cranes his neck further, giving her a reassuring smile.

Rising to her feet, she grabs her handbag and trudges towards Ma-Ti, sinking into the seat beside him. He's surfing the web, scanning articles and getting himself up to speed on federal and international human trafficking laws.

"Hey," he says, giving her a brief, one-armed hug. His eyes never leave the screen. "Are you all right?"

"Did you hear all that?" she asks quietly, nodding towards her handbag and the phone hidden inside.

"I heard enough," he says, tapping his head and giving her a wink. "Your brother is just worried about you. The media reports are not as bad as you think, though. The details are vague."

She nods, comforted by the thought. "You should get some sleep, Ma-Ti."

"Sleep is over-rated," he replies, resuming his scanning and note-taking. She squeezes his shoulder and stands again, heading towards the windows.

An aircraft outside is powering up, beginning the slow taxi towards the runway. Linka drops to the floor beside Wheeler's sleeping figure and crosses her legs, watching the plane get towed away out of her sight.

There's moisture collecting on the inside of the window. The temperature has dropped outside and the ground crew are rugged up and looking decidedly cold. She can just see the Geo-Cruiser's distinctive gold wing at the far end of the terminal.

She turns, glancing down at the Yankee. He's curled up on his side, looking peaceful. She envies his ability to sleep on whatever surface he's capable of collapsing onto.

A thick blanket covers his body. Messy, flame-colored hair is sticking up in all directions — stark red against the white pillow he's dragged in with him.

She raises her hand without thinking. The urge has returned and this time she doesn't resist it. She settles her hand against his forehead, stroking her fingers slowly through his hair. He mutters something incomprehensible and cuddles closer, pressing his face against her hip. His breathing steadies again.

Removing her jacket, she settles herself down beside him — wriggling back until she can feel the broad expanse of his chest pressed up against her spine, moulding herself to him.

She's careful not to wake him, adjusting the blanket around their bodies and snuggling down, sharing his pillow. Warm and comfortable, she watches the planes pass by until her eyelids start to lull and the lights and shapes beyond the window begin to blur and lose focus.

"Hey."

Linka felt several light slaps to the cheek. She mumbled under her breath, flicking the hand away with mild annoyance.

"Wake up, Russki."

Her eyelids fluttered, aware that someone was shaking her gently. Stifling a yawn, she dropped her hand and it flopped downwards, coming to rest on someone's warm thigh. Daylight was filtering through a small vent in the ceiling and she stared up at it for a moment, collecting her bearings.

Her body stiffened. "Wha —"

"Back in the land of the livin'?"

She turned, glancing up over her shoulder and saw Wheeler peering down at her. The relief on his face was apparent.

She groaned, rubbing her face. "How long have I been —"

"Couple of hours, maybe," he said as she sat up, looking around in confusion. "You were startin' to freak me out."

"Did I do it?" she whispered, twisting around to face him. "Is your power back?"

"Yep." He smiled again, flicking his thumb over his ring and a small flame appeared above the stone. Linka watched it flicker and dance, her mouth agape as the implications sunk in. "Back in business."

"Bozhe moy," she breathed. "We did it."

"You did it," he said proudly. "Don't know how, but you did."

"He needed a physical reconnection with a wind-bearer to reactivate," she said, echoing Captain Planet's words. She sighed, settling back against Wheeler's chest and shaking her head in wonder. "I have just had the strangest meeting with two people I assumed were long gone from this earth."

"You did what now?" Wheeler replied with a frown, probably thinking she'd suffered a bump to the head in the resulting chaos. "Huh?"

"You would never believe it." Her eyes swept over his face and it was then she spotted the blood. "Wheeler, you are bleeding!"

"Oh," he said, pressing his hand to his forehead and observing the blood staining his fingertips. "Yeah. I'll live. Do you remember anything?"

"All of it," she replied tiredly. His arms tightened around her and she tipped her head back, closing her eyes and enjoying his closeness. Knowing it probably wouldn't last long. "What now?"

"Ma-Ti said there are supplies in Barstow. My bike isn't far from there."

"There is a lot I need to pass on to you," she said softly. "Gaia was —"

"Let's get outta here first," Wheeler replied. He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, stretching out the kinks in his muscles before offering her his hand. "You can tell me on the way."

She nodded, gripping his hand as he hauled her to her feet. "Do you have our bags?"

"Back at the truck. We'll need to to grab 'em first, but we'd better make it quick." He melted the lock and pushed the door open a fraction, glancing out into the grounds. "There's still loonies roamin' around and they're pretty pissed off."

"All right." She ran her hand through her lank hair, before glancing down at her dusty and sweaty clothes. "What I wouldn't give for a bath right now."

"Suck it up, buttercup," Wheeler replied, and she couldn't help but smile. "Gonna have to wait. C'mon."

After walking for most of the morning, the sign advertising Silverwood Lake was too good to pass up. They made a detour, heading in the direction of the reservoir. Hoping to replenish their water supply and rid themselves of the grime coating their clothes and bodies.

The mid-afternoon sun was beating down on them by the time they reached the turn-off. Linka had rolled her jeans up and stripped down to her singlet, but it had done little to curb the sweat beading on her forehead and down her chest.

She walked quietly, content to listen to him reminisce about past missions. She added her own recollections and memories, but for the most part she remained distracted.

Wheeler had removed his shirt due to the blistering conditions, and she couldn't help glancing shyly at him every now and then. Still comparing him to the version she'd left behind.

He wasn't as toned as he used to be, but he certainly remained in good shape. The same broad shoulders, flat stomach and his arms were still well-defined. Two small, puckered scars were visible on his torso — one near his collarbone and the second about two inches below.

She squinted, shielding her eyes against the sunlight, realising that he'd stopped talking. He was watching her quietly, one eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face.

"What?" she croaked, embarrassed at being caught out.

"Never mind," he answered, shaking his head with an wide grin. He tapped his chest, looking down at the scars. "First one didn't do too much damage. Fractured my clavicle. Some bone fragments dislodged. Second one was the killer. Had me breathin' blood bubbles."

"Oh God," she said, peering at the innocuous marks on his skin. "How bad was it?"

"Knocked me off my feet," he replied. "Second shot punctured my lung, bullet became lodged in my chest. Lung collapsed. Paramedics had to drain the air and blood usin' a needle. Wasn't pretty," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Were you conscious when they —"

"Out cold." His face hardened for a moment. "Never knew what hit me."

"God Yankee," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off the wounds. "Plunder?"

"Yeah."

"Why —" she asked, but she already knew the answer. "Plunder despised you in the end, didn't he? You would anger him intentionally so that Ma-Ti could —"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his brow. "Did my job a little too well."

She nodded, stepping around a pothole in the road. "How long were you in hospital for?"

"I dunno. Bout a week and a half maybe?" He flicked his gaze towards her. "I was discharged just after those idiots uploaded the package."

"The package?" she asked, fanning her flushed face with the back of her hand. "Do you mean the virus?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding towards the trees. "I think I see water."

He increased his pace, weaving through the trees and Linka hurried to keep up. She wet her lips in anticipation, her eyes following the random objects Wheeler was offloading, flung carelessly to the ground as they approached the water's edge. His back-pack was the first to go — discarded beside a picnic table, followed by his hat. He did an ungraceful one-legged stumble as he removed his shoes and Linka's face turned bright crimson as he stripped down to his boxers.

"Yankee!" she cried out. "Really?"

He waved her off, striding out and wading through the flat water until he was waist-deep. He knelt down, submerging his chest and shoulders while she stood on the shore, twisting her hands nervously.

"You comin' in?"

The water looked appealing. She tilted her head, considering what her options were. She wasn't wearing a bra and she desperately needed to wash her clothes. She only had two sets and both were filthy.

"All right," she called back, fixing him with a hard stare. "Do not look."

"Seen it all before, honey," he replied, gesturing towards her with raised eyebrows. "Intimately."

Wheeler turned around all the same. She stripped down quickly, pushing the heavy denim down her legs and stepping out of them. The singlet came off next, however she clutched the fabric to her chest, nervous about exposing herself. She left her cotton briefs on for now.

The water was cool against her flushed skin. She ambled into the lake, feeling the sand and sediment moving between her toes. Wading out to meet him, she glanced around, watching the way the light reflected off the water's surface.

"Got soap in my bag," he said, nodding towards the shore. "We can clean up a little. Clean our clothes too."

She nodded, ducking under the water and submerging her head for a moment, before removing the elastic band from her tangled hair. Running her fingers through the long strands, they snagged several times and she gave a grunt of annoyance. "I do not suppose you have a brush in there too?"

"Nah." Wheeler shook his head. "Got a fishin' line though. Might be able to cook up some trout."

She nodded eagerly. "Will you be able to find bait?"

"I dunno. More worried about cookin' the damn thing. Got any matches?"

"No," she said, disappointed. "Can we not search the cars here for a light —"

She shut her mouth abruptly, watching him snickering quietly to himself.

"Pridurok," she muttered, splashing him, and he sent a decent wall of water back.

They floated in silence for a while, enjoying the solitude. Basking in the afternoon sun — aware that this was indeed the calm before the storm.

"Crushed lavender. Coconut oil. Sometimes Elena will throw in some home-made butter if supplies are runnin' low. She was using somethin' called lye but we can't get that anymore."

"Oh," Linka replied, eying the makeshift clothes line — a low timber fence dividing the carpark from the shoreline. She prodded the shirts and underwear with her fingers, checking on their progress and satisfied that they were drying.

She tip-toed barefoot back through the carpark feeling clean and refreshed, treading over the gravel and handing back the soap. Wheeler dried it, tossing it back into the backpack by his side.

"Not a fan of the lavender, though," he mused. He stood with his back against an old, beat-up Ford Taurus, one of several vehicles lying discarded throughout the parking area. "It's a bit girly."

"I guess it is better than nothing," she said.

"Seriously?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Love smellin' like a ninety-year-old's underwear drawer."

She giggled, unable to help herself. Wheeler still had a way with words. "I suppose you have to use whatever is available."

"Yeah." Wheeler opened the back passenger seat door and she climbed inside, scooting over to allow him room. He settled down beside her, hunching down in his seat and propping his knees up against the seat in front. She felt a strong surge of affection for him. "We do all right, though."

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains and a chill had descended. She shivered, wishing that her singlet had dried properly. It was still quite damp, along with the shorts she was wearing. Her jeans were still sodden, drying over the drivers seat head-rest.

Goosebumps dusted her arms and chest. It was too risky to start a fire inside the confined space, but sleeping out in the elements was not an option. The signs warned of mountain lions and coyotes that roamed the area at night. She smiled, though as he pulled out his sleeping bag, tossing it into her lap.

"Spasiba," she whispered, pulling it over her shoulders and wrapping it tightly around her. Twisting to face him, she watched as Wheeler silently swept his other hand back and forth over his ring, lighting and extinguishing the flame with each pass. "How do you do that?"

"Huh?"

"Your ring," she said, pointing at the flame. "You are not saying the word."

"Oh," he replied, understanding her question. "Towards the end I could summon my power without verbalising it."

"Really?" she said, surprised — and a little impressed. She watched the flame flicker for a moment, enjoying the way it cast a soft glow over his handsome features. Tucking her feet underneath her, she leant her cheek against the back of the vinyl seat. "Tell me more about where you live?"

"Uh… big property. Middle of nowhere, about a hundred and fifty acres. Belonged to an old couple who died, their daughter inherited it. Was a dairy farm before… you know. Before it all went to shit."

"Who else lives there?

"There's about forty of us, all up. A lot of sheds and barns that've been converted into living quarters. We're all spread out."

"What do you do for food?"

"We all have an agreement. Everyone grows and tends to their own stuff. We swap and trade goods. We all share the care of a few cows and goats — they're good for milk. Works well for us, we have it pretty good compared to the cities."

"I thought nothing grew above the —"

"We've got mirrors set up to reflect what little light there is. Basic hydroponic systems. We don't have to worry about our stuff gettin' stolen or damaged like Kwame does."

"Does it work?"

"The crops are pretty small but better than nothin'." He inspected the sunburn breaking out over his arms. "Guess we don't have to worry 'bout a lack of sun anymore."

"So long as we can find my replacement," she said, glancing down at her ring. She smiled gently at him. "Are there other groups of people living like you? Living near you?"

"Yeah," he said. "There's little communities all over the place. Each one kinda keeps to themselves."

"And Mishka and his wife are also there with you?"

"Yeah. They're on the same property, on the other side of the valley. Bout a fifteen minute walk down a dirt road."

"Oh." She played with the ends of her hair, still damp from her earlier swim. "You called him after I died?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing down at his hands. "Yeah I did."

She stared past him, out the window. "How did he take it?"

"Shattered," Wheeler replied, wincing at the memory. "Outta all the phone calls I had to make, that one was the hardest. Absolutely shattered."

She bit her lip, tears welling up. "He had no-one left."

"Yeah, he did," he said, giving her a sad smile. "He had a niece and nephew. They're the reason he left Russia — had no idea they even existed until then."

"Oh," she replied. "That would have been a shock."

"Yeah."

"Mishka always liked you," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. Her finger passed over the car window, trailing through the moisture accumulating on the foggy windows. "Are there other children living there? Where you live?"

"Yeah," he said, frowning and looking upwards, doing a mental calculation. "Seven… maybe eight in all."

"Do they play together?"

"Yeah. Get up to a lot of mischief." He smiled, tipping his head back. "Eli's usually in the middle of it."

She grinned at him, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. Questions or discussions focussed on her future self or the kids thus far have tended to be redirected, or avoided entirely by him. She'd respected him enough to let it go.

"Does everyone get along?"

"Everyone gets on well. Mostly everyone — there's a cranky ol' guy who gets on our nerves. Whines about the kids bein' too loud. Accuses everyone of stealin' his shit. He can be really aggressive. Lost my cool with him a few months ago, though. Got up in his face and told him to fuck off." Wheeler smirked. "He's been pretty quiet since then."

"Losing your temper, Wheeler?" she said quietly, eyeing him with derision. "Never."

"Meh. I've never tolerated idiots well."

"What of your parents?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "What are they —"

"No idea," he said dismissively.

"You do not know?"

"Nope." He shrugged, clicking his fingers in the direction of her backpack. "Got your sleepin' bag in there, babe?"

She jolted, mumbling an apology as she fumbled inside and pulled the object out. "Here."

"Thanks."

"You do not know where they are?" she pressed gently as he settled the fabric over his legs. "Your parents?"

"No contact meant both of us, Lin." He looked away, fingering the locking mechanism on the side of the car and Linka was suddenly struck by how much he had sacrificed to be with her — both before and after her death.

"But surely you —"

"Barely heard from them towards the end of the Planeteers. Always in their own little world. Replaced me with beer and cigarette smoke."

"Oh Yankee," she whispered, squeezing his hand again. "I —"

"S'alright. No real loss. They never returned my calls after I was shot. Never answered the phone before we left together." He shrugged, eyeing the faded vinyl headrest in front. "By the time I returned to the US, they'd moved on from their apartment. Phone numbers disconnected. Never bothered chasin' 'em."

"I am so sorry," she whispered. Depressed and guilty about dragging all the memories up. "I will stop asking questions. I keep making things worse."

"S'alright." He patted his thighs and flicked his ring again, lighting up the interior of the car. "Wanna lie down?"

Linka nodded tiredly, shuffling down and lowering her head onto his lap. She pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin before turning over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Rolling the polyester outer-lining between her thumb and forefinger, she blinked up at him sleepily.

"You said we were not together before we left the Planeteers?"

"No."

"I have memories," she said, trying hard to phrase her thoughts correctly. "I remember little moments. A movie theatre? I think you kissed me."

"Yep."

"I think that maybe…" She swallowed, forcing the words out. "Maybe I wished to be closer to you towards the end."

"Yep."

He hunched down further, trying to find a position that suited his long legs. Her head lurched with the movement and he settled his palm on her forehead, as if to steady her. "We used to cuddle together at night sometimes?"

He smiled down at her. "Yeah."

"But we were not together?"

"Nope." He chuckled, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I don't know what the fuck we were, in all honesty."

She rolled onto her side, folding her arms up and pressing her face against his stomach. His sweatshirt was warm and soft against her cheek and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his fingers threading gently through her hair.

"Do you regret being with me?"

He didn't answer straight away. Linka held her breath, tipping her forehead against him — worried now about the potential answer.

"I regret…" He trailed off, resuming the ministrations that were causing tiny sparks of pleasure to burst through her scalp. "I regret a lot of things."

She bit her lip, a lump forming in her throat as sat quietly, considering his response. "You do not to have to… I will understand if —"

He sighed heavily. "I regret havin' to drag you away from Queenstown — away from our home and all the friends that we'd made because Kroi was still trackin' you. I regret movin' you to London that final time. I regret the fact that you were unhappy there. I regret that I wasn't there for you and that you died alone."

"Oh God, Jake," she said, stunned. "That is not a burden you should have to —"

"I regret that we didn't get to say goodbye. I regret that our kids are growin' up without their Mom. I regret the fact that no one had the balls or the ability to put Blight away before she could cause all this damage."

She wiped her eyes, clutching his sweatshirt in her hands as his fingertips grazed the ridge of her ear.

"But I don't regret bein' with you."

She nodded tearfully, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.