Rated M for scenes of violence. Disturbing content. Discretion advised.

Only Shadows Ahead

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Sorry?"

Gi's lips are moving, but Linka can't hear a thing she's saying. She moves closer, gripping Gi's arm and leaning in as they weave their way through the noisy crowd.

"I said — I don't think Kwame has a clue where we're going." Gi finishes crunching the shaved ice in her mouth and swallows, tilting her head in Linka's direction. "He looks a little frazzled."

"I noticed that," Linka says. Her eyes travel over a wooden cart on the street corner, just visible through the swarming sea of people. "Ooh. Fresh fruit, Gi. Shall we get —"

"If we wanna lose Kwame? Then yeah," she says. "The guy's walking like his pants are on fire."

"But you got your icy-colored cone thingy," Linka says, unhappy as she glances back at the appetising fruits on display.

"It's good, too," Gi grins; taking another mouthful. "Raspado. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"Der'mo," she mutters under her breath. "Remind me to get some on the way back. I am getting tired of all this fast food and —"

Linka gasps as she's barged aside by an impatient older woman. She rubs her shoulder, glaring at the woman as she hurries away with her produce.

"You all right?" Gi asks.

"Da," she says sullenly.

The market is packed, bustling with locals and tourists browsing the fresh produce and handicrafts. If they weren't so time-poor, Linka would have loved nothing more than to browse the cobble-stone alleyways, but another tip from yet another contact has put an end to that particular dream.

They are already fifteen minutes late and dark clouds are rolling in. The rain hasn't started falling yet, but the market customers all seem to be in a hurry regardless — wanting to avoid the impending downpour.

Gi points to a landmark. "I'm sure we've passed that clocktower before."

Linka scratches her head, looking around the crowded market. "We are lost."

"We're not lost, babe," a voice says from behind as an arm settles around her shoulders. "We're logistically challenged."

"I thought Kwame said he knew where the meeting place was?"

"Gotta look for a street corner with a Starbucks. Guy's in a stall runnin' parallel, apparently." Wheeler shrugs, skirting his way around some local street urchins, and Linka is pulled along with him. "Hope the intel on Plunder will be worth it."

"It seems suspicious to me," Linka says, ignoring the slurping sound Gi's making as she drains some of the liquid from the base of the cone. "We have never even had dealings with this man before. How do we —"

"Contact seems legit," Wheeler says. He dodges several child beggars; their hands outstretched and tugging at his shirt. "Watch your pockets, ladies."

Linka clutches her bag close to her chest. Tijuana is a colorful place, bristling with energy but Linka knows she needs to have her wits about her. One moment of distraction is all it takes for a cell-phone, purse or wallet to go missing.

She folds her arms, feeling the crowd pulse around her. She leans in towards Wheeler; his arm still draped across her shoulders, angling up to say something but a street vendor beats her to it. An old woman in a red tunic is hurrying along by Wheeler's side, surprisingly sprightly for someone of her advanced years.

The woman has an assortment of silver rings and necklaces encased within a timber frame and she's desperately trying to peddle her wares.

A silver chain is shoved towards him. "You buy? You buy? Pretty wife want necklace?"

"How much you want for it?" he asks. Linka smiles, biting down on her thumb, unable to keep herself from watching the exchange.

"Real silver," the woman says, jingling the object and nearly getting wiped out by a telegraph pole. She recovers herself and hurries to catch up again. "Thousand pesos."

"Aw, hell no!" he exclaims, jacking his thumb towards Linka. "My freakin' wife ain't worth that!"

Gi snorts, spraying shaved ice everywhere, and Linka can't help but grin at the woman's confused expression.

"Five hundred?"

"Nope."

They press on, leaving the street vendor behind, still calling out offers.

"Nice," Gi laughs. "Real romeo we have here."

"Hey, I'm a man of action. Don't need no trinkets to show —"

"Man of action, huh?" Gi retorts, a little incredulous at his choice of words. "Yeah. Okay. That's a good one."

He releases Linka and aims a playful slap to Gi's thigh. It hits the mark and Gi reaches across to whack him back. Wheeler winks at them and strides away.

"You're like the annoying older brother I never had," Gi calls after him.

"You're like the bratty little sister I never wanted," he calls over his shoulder in a sing-song voice. He disappears into the crowd with a wide grin.

"He has you there," Linka commented drily. She smiles to herself. "I thought I was going to gain a new necklace for a moment there."

"Not your lucky day," Gi laughs. "I say we give it another ten minutes and give up."

"I think I see Kwame turning," Linka says, increasing her pace. The scent of coffee grounds waft past and the Starbucks is visible on the corner. "I say we stop for a coffee, too."

"Uh huh."

"Wild caboose chase."

The girls step into the alley. It's crowded with people here too — vendor carts are lining both sides of the sidewalk and shanty-type stores are housed within the buildings behind them. There's not a lot of room to walk. Motorbikes are also passing back and forth at regular intervals, making the street difficult to negotiate.

Linka passes her way through, shoulder to shoulder with shoppers. Kwame and Wheeler are no longer in sight, and Ma-Ti is somewhere behind them. Linka slows, coming to a sudden stop and waiting for the flow of pedestrian traffic to start moving again.

The sound of acoustic music can be heard, perhaps street performers somewhere in front of them. Guitars and clapping. She rises to her tiptoes, craning her neck to see over the crowd and catching a glimpse of the band. The back of Kwame's head is just visible, bobbing along in front and she lowers back down again.

Another motorbike. It slowly weaves it's way through the throng and disappears ahead. She wraps her arms around her bag again, hearing the engine rev and sputter. It idles somewhere nearby.

A loud crack sounds, and she flinches at the noise. The crowd halts again — suddenly on edge, wary. People are whispering and looking around in confusion. Like deer in the headlights.

Something isn't right.

A scream issues from somewhere ahead and a second crack reverberates, louder this time and it's at this point that all hell breaks loose.

The sedate crowd suddenly turn rabid.

Linka shrieks as she's knocked to the ground; flailing limbs and panicked people running in all directions. More screams and the sound of a motorbike engine firing up again.

She looks around wildly, trying to raise herself to her knees, hearing Gi screaming her name and Ma-Ti in her head, pleading with her to stay down. To stay away.

The bike is louder now, zooming back past with two passengers and people are diving for cover in an attempt to get away from it. She winces as someone treads on her hand and she reefs it towards her, tears springing to her eyes. People are tripping and falling on her in their haste to escape.

Her second attempt to get moving is successful. She scrambles behind a Tamale cart and clutches the wooden wheel, desperate for a glimpse of her friends. Ring outstretched, ready to face danger but unable to distinguish where the danger might be originating from.

She spots Gi straight away — inside one of the stores and she's beckoning to Linka frantically. The crowd is clearing and she chances a peek around her hiding spot.

She can see Kwame on his hands and knees; his face a mask of anguish. He's yelling towards the people still remaining behind. Ma-Ti bolts past her, legs pumping and Linka actually feels the gust of air produced by his sheer momentum. Her attention is redirected — focused upon the figure Ma-Ti is hurtling towards.

It's the sneakers that give it away.

The shoes are untied. They're attached to legs; belonging to a body that lies barely moving on the cobblestone road. She stumbles to her feet. A high pitched keening can be heard and her brain barely registers the fact that it's coming from her own mouth.

"No, no, no, no," she whispers. She breaks into a run, barely noticing Gi following close behind her. "Oh God, no —"

"What happened?" Gi cries. "Is he breathing?"

"Two bullets," Kwame says. He's hunched over; hands pressing hard against Wheeler's chest. Blood is spreading between Kwame's outstretched fingers and a light sheen of sweat has broken out on his forehead, but he makes no move to wipe it free.

Linka skids to her knees, positioning herself at Wheeler's head. She reaches out with shaking hands, supporting his neck with one hand and checking his pulse with the other.

"Yankee, can you hear me?"

His eyelids are fluttering — he appears semi-conscious, fingers clenching and unclenching but not at all responsive to her attempts to communicate with him. She lowers her ear to his mouth. His breathing is labored and there's a rattle in his lungs.

"Yankee? " she whispers, dashing tears away. "Oh God, don't —"

"I need help," Kwame grunts, and Ma-Ti moves immediately to help stem the blood. "Pressure here."

"Gi, you need to —" Ma-Ti starts, but she's already gone, sprinting into the crowd that's started to gather now that the gunman has vanished. There's a hint of panic rising from Ma-Ti's usual calm exterior. "He's losing a lot of blood, Kwame."

"Have you beamed for help?"

"I've put the call out for someone with medical training," Ma-Ti says breathlessly, leaning his body weight forward; readjusting his hands and pressing tighter against Wheeler's chest. "I do not know —"

Linka takes a shuddering breath; oblivious to the fat tears dropping off her nose and eyelashes. She cradles his head in her hands, tilting his chin in an effort to keep his airway clear. She presses her mouth against his clammy brow. "Oh God, wake up, Yankee. Do not leave me."

"Turn him over." Kwame's eyes are focused on the blood spreading onto the stone beneath them. They heave him onto his right side, holding him there as Kwame inspects the damage. "Only one exit wound. Must be a bullet lodged inside."

They drop him gently onto his back again and Linka re-checks his breathing. The rattle has increased and she notes with alarm that his lips are turning blue. Blood has appeared in the corner of his mouth and his freckles are standing out more than they should be.

She's frantic — bordering on hysterical. The methodical, analytical side of her brain has simply ceased functioning. All she can focus on is the blood and the deep rattle resonating from Wheeler's chest.

"Kwame? I do not know what else to —"

"Is he still breathing?"

"It is shallow," she cries, wiping her eyes and looking around desperately for help that was not forthcoming. "Where are the —"

"Do we move him?" Ma-Ti says. "Kwame, he doesn't look good, he needs —"

"We need to roll him over again," she interrupts, tilting his head gently to the side as more blood trickles from his mouth. "He's going to —"

Wheeler's body shudders, involuntary spasms wracking his body. She knows he can't breathe. His lungs are filling with blood, and air is filling his chest cavity. He's choking now; a fine red mist spraying from his mouth.

"Roll him over!" she yells as she grips his shoulder, helping the men to heave him onto his side again. "Bullet side down, he is drowning!"

His body is completely limp now. She sobs quietly, smoothing his hair, his face, trying to make him comfortable — a redundant effort but it's all she can do for him now. She watches Kwame adjust his grip on Wheeler's shoulder blade while Ma-Ti maintains pressure on the chest.

"Hold on, Yankee," she whispers, eyeing the red and blue lights in the distance, illuminating the alleyway. "Do not even think about leaving us."

"He's bleeding out," Kwame says. His brown eyes are wide and unfocused — frantic — scanning the crowd and pressing harder on the wound.

Linka eyes search the crowd that has edged forward again. Curious onlookers. A wave of anger hits her and she wants to scream at them, beseech them to do something. To do anything other than stand there gawking; pointing and whispering to one another.

The sound of running footsteps. Gi is sprinting back, skidding to a stop and watching her teammates. She looks grief-stricken, pacing nervously and wiping away tears.

After what seems like an eternity, the crowd parts to make way for the paramedics. Linka catches a glimpse of the vehicle and her heart sinks.

The ambulance is a beat-up panel-van. It looks woefully old-fashioned, and the thought occurs to her that the medical technology at their disposal will be anything but modern. The paramedics are talking to Ma-Ti who has his ring raised, using his power to communicate in firm but urgent tones.

Linka crouches over Wheeler again, whispering to him. Reassuring him — though she's acutely aware that he can no longer hear her. His face is turning an ashen-grey colour. Even as the paramedics drop to the ground and cut his shirt away from his body, she refuses to leave.

The man quickly works to cover the wounds with a plastic bandage — sealing three edges and leaving the fourth loose. The female paramedic produces a large needle with a valve mechanism, and Linka looks away, knowing the procedure required for a collapsed lung.

"Linka?"

"What?" she says harshly, focused on the pool of blood forming underneath Wheeler's body.

Gentle hands press firmly upon her arms, urging her upwards. Kwame is crouching behind her. "Let them do their job."

"Nyet," she says, shaking him off as she cradles Wheeler's head in her hands. "I am not in the way. I want him to know I was here when he —"

"There is nothing more you can do for him," he says, gripping her under the armpits and lifting her to her feet. "You need to —"

"Get off me!" she suddenly shrieks, shoving him away angrily and resuming the same position. She can hear Gi crying in the background. "Just leave me be!"

Kwame pays her no heed, hauling her off the ground again. Her feet scuff the bloodied pavement as he drags her clear. His arms tighten around her waist as she tries to fight him off, slapping and clawing at his arms; fingernails digging painfully into his skin.

"Linka."

His voice is hushed and soothing in her ear; at odds with the pandemonium going on around them. Linka finally slumps in Kwame's arms, burying her face in her hands and sobbing quietly. He wraps his arms around her; holding her tightly, keeping one eye trained on the scene on the ground.

The aspiration is complete and they're draining the air from his chest cavity now, pulling out plastic tubing and bandages, as well as getting an IV set up. A second ambulance has arrived and a stretcher is being brought out. It's laid down alongside his body and they shift his weight onto the rigid plastic.

They lift Wheeler into the nearest ambulance and one of the paramedics approaches Ma-Ti again, talking quietly. Linka raises her head, peering over Kwame's shoulder and watching Ma-Ti's face tense up with each passing moment. He passes a hand over his head, unknowingly streaking blood through his hair as he walks towards them.

"He's critical. They are going to try to stabilise him at a hospital here, then transfer him up to Florida. They want someone to ride along for identification purposes and to provide next of kin details on the way."

"Oh God." Kwame glances down at the top of Linka's head. "Do you want —"

He doesn't even need to ask the question. Linka has already stepped away, wiping her eyes and hurrying towards the waiting ambulance.

"You only had to look at me with those goddamn puppy-dog eyes," Wheeler said with a wry smile. "And you'd be like Nathan, do not even think about buying this stereo, we do not need it. I'd fold like a fuckin' accordion."

"Nathan? That was your new name?"

"Yep," he replied. "Nathan Bennett. I wanted Mike Wiener, but you wouldn't let me."

She snorted. "What? Wheeler, you —"

"Harvey Wallbanger was on the list. Zeke Falafelbutt."

She collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Oh God," she gasped. "You cannot be —"

"Maximus Overkill. Duke Manrod was up there. Manly names."

Linka's face flushed red as she got herself under control.

"Bozhe moy," she whispered, wiping away tears. "You are inedible."

"What?" he laughed, squinting at her. "Nah. Can't even begin to decipher that one, babe."

She grinned back at him, nudging his bare feet with her own; her lower body already tucked snugly into her sleeping bag. She looked around the cramped compartment, thankful that they'd come across the truck stop before the bike's broken lamp failed to light the way any longer.

They'd been on the road for several days. An unhitched cab belonging to a semi-trailer was serving as their shelter for the night. The cabin was obviously designed for long-haul journeys, with a sleeping compartment behind the drivers seat.

She reached for a graham cracker, courtesy of yesterday's trip to Walmart and she chewed on it thoughtfully. "My name was Rachel, da?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. You dream that?"

"Nyet," she said. "Ma-Ti mentioned it."

"Oh," he said.

"Did I always call you Nathan?"

"Only in public," he said. "It was pretty much 'Yankee' and 'Babe' in private. Nothin' much changed in that respect."

"Did we keep the same names? At least until…" She gestured helplessly, unable to vocalise the rest of the sentence.

"Yeah. Kept the same first names, anyway. Changed our surnames when we moved to England, though."

"Because we —"

"We were compromised. We'd hoped that maybe they'd given up, but…" He shrugged, looking away.

"How did you find out that Kroi had found —"

"You knew his pseudonyms. He had several aliases and you tracked his movements. Blight's too. His name was flagged as soon as he entered New Zealand."

"Auckland," she murmured to herself. "How long were we there for?"

"Four years."

"Mmm." She popped another graham cracker into her mouth, watching him slip inside his own sleeping bag and shuffle himself down; stretching out on the thin mattress. She mirrored his movements, rolling onto her side and watching his profile, illuminated by the light coming from his ring. "Why Auckland?"

"Cuz it was on the other side of the world. Guess I hoped they wouldn't find us."

"How did we end up there?"

"Got a job offer when you were around six months pregnant, so we grabbed it." He shrugged, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. "Needed somewhere to call home, anyway. We'd spent the twelve months prior on the road. No real fixed address, just bummin' around."

"Oh." She brushed away some cookie crumbs from the corner of her lips, clutching her sleeping bag to her chest. "Did you like it there, too?"

"Yeah, it was great. New homes. Our front yard looked out over the mountains. Really beautiful. Hot in the summer, and we'd get snow in the winter. Just about the whole street would get out there on the weekends and sled down the hills."

"It sounds lovely."

"Couldn't ski though — too many hidden rocks and obstacles." He reached for the end of her messy plait, flicking her cheek lightly. "Found that out the hard way."

"I am sure you did."

"Took a tumble into a creek-bed." He tickled her nostrils with her hair and she sneezed, slapping him lightly. He didn't let go, his blue eyes focussed on the bound tresses. "That's one thing I missed."

"Annoying me?" she asked in a low voice, and he scoffed, tugging gently.

"Nah," he muttered. "Always loved your hair."

"Really?" she whispered, eyes bright. "Why?"

"Used to sit there in the Geo-Cruiser day-in, day-out. Day-dreamin'. Wondering what it would be like to…" He didn't finish, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Don't mind me. Gettin' all sentimental."

Rolling over onto her stomach, she braced herself on her elbows as she observed him. He was staring up at the ceiling, looking lost in thought.

"Has it been as difficult as you thought it would be?" she asked softly. "Having me here again? You seemed so angry with me at first."

"Gettin' easier. Didn't think I could do it. Dragged up a lot of shit. I spent a lot of time…"

Linka watched his face as he struggled to verbalise his feelings. "Time?"

"I dunno," he said with a sigh. "I guess at first I held a lot of anger towards you after you died."

"Anger?" She blinked, not expecting that. "What do you mean? Surely you did not blame —"

"I guess in the beginning I did."

She stared down at him, confused. "I did not poison myself, Yankee? I do not understand, how could you blame —"

"Gi had no clue of knowing where we were. You knew that. You were always so careful. So clever. I guess I wracked my brain as to how you could fall for it. The letter should have raised a lot of red flags."

"Are you serious?" she asked, incredulous. "How can you —"

"How can I what, Linka?" he said, glaring at her. "Be entitled to my opinion? I'm just supposed to —"

"I did not ask for this, Yankee," she said, her emotions rising. "She did not ask for any of it, you cannot —"

"And you don't get to have any input into the way I feel, Linka," he said sharply, and she recoiled. "You didn't live this. You can't ask me to validate —"

"You are lying there, blaming my future self for dying!"

"I never said I blamed you for dying. I said I blamed you for falling for it!"

"It is the same thing!"

"It's not the same fuckin' thing," he said, exasperated. "Spent six years bustin' my ass to keep you safe and you waltz out into the rain — with the kids in tow, mind you — without even a second thought!"

"Chert voz'mi, Wheeler," she moaned. "I cannot believe you are —"

"And once again — I have no control over the way I feel, Linka," he snapped. He was struggling to calm down. Jaw tense, and she could see his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. "You haven't lived this — I have!"

"I didn't get to live this either!" she said angrily. "How can you be angry with her for —"

"I had every right to be angry — I'd just lost my wife! I was pissed off with the world! Pissed off with her. With Blight and Gaia. With Kwame and the rest of 'em. Wanted nothin' to do with them. Kept my distance, no matter how hard they tried to contact me. Only thing that kept me goin' were the kids!"

"Oh Wheeler," she whispered. Guilt was hitting her hard. "I am sorry, I should not have —"

"Fuckin' hell," he said, rubbing his brow and glaring out the window. "Yeah, I was angry. I was bitter, but I was also grieving. Can't blame me for that, too."

"I know." She nodded, embarrassed and ashamed, because he was absolutely correct. She had no right to question his feelings. "I am sorry, Yankee. It is none of my —"

"You haven't lived this," he repeated, softer this time. "You haven't had to tell a devastated five year old that her Mommy's not comin' home. You haven't had to raise two kids as a single parent. Haven't had to close bank accounts and notify people. Haven't had to plan a funeral. Choose a fuckin' coffin."

"I am so sorry," she whispered.

"Haven't had everything you've worked so hard for literally disappear overnight. Haven't had to take responsibility for two little people. And I honor and cherish that responsibility and bein' here takes me away from that."

"It is why you have stayed away," she said, having a greater understanding of his complex reaction to seeing her again. "Why you were hesitant to come."

"I won't make 'em orphans," he said. He glanced up at her, reaching out and tracing her cheek with his fingers. "You grew up up without your mother. Lost your pop young. All those dreams —all the studyin' and the plans you had — they went out the window from the moment you fell pregnant. All you wanted was to be home with them. To be there with them. To give them the childhood you never had, and in the end it didn't matter anyway. You're still not here."

She laid her head back down on the mattress and nodded, tears prickling her eyes.

He rolled over to face her, settling his unflinching gaze on her. "And then there's you. Comin' from a point and a time in your life when I was just the smart-ass crackin' jokes in the seat behind you."

"That is not true," she whispered, but her heart told her otherwise. "I did not know —"

"Yeah, ya did," he said, but he smiled all the same. "You knew how I felt about you. You told me everything."

She cleared her throat, her face heating up. "All right."

He drew the sleeping bag up around his chin. She reached forward, gliding her thumb over the stubble covering his face.

"Will you be all right when I am gone again?"

"I think I'll be okay, you know." He sighed, closing his eyes at her intimate touch. "But I do miss you."

She smiled, stroking her fingers tenderly through his hair.

"I miss the smell of your shampoo on the pillows. I miss your hair cloggin' up the drain. I miss the weird shit you used to do when you were pregnant."

"Like what?"

He chuckled. "Cleaned your teeth with moisturising cream. Lost your car keys for three days — ended up findin' them in the freezer. Locked yourself outta the house multiple times."

"Oh God," she laughed, her curiosity piqued. "Really?"

He smirked. "You cried a lot in the third trimester of both pregnancies. Really emotional. Cried if the dinner was a little overcooked, or when you were watching your documentaries. I remember you bawlin' your eyes out when a lid wouldn't fit on it's container. Broke down if you were cutting sandwiches and one half looked bigger that the other."

"Really?"

"Came home and found you on the floor one day, sobbin' over a broken egg."

She scoffed, grinning at him. "That does not sound like something I would do."

He smiled back, snuggling closer and nudging her forehead with his own. "I miss you fuckin' up the words to the kids nursery rhymes."

"Oh," she said, laughing. "That I can believe."

"Hannah would go to playgroup singin' these weird variations. Got into a punch-up with an older kid who dared tell her she was singin' Mary had a Little Lamb wrong."

"So she has both our personalities, I see?" she said.

"Mmm," he said, tugging her plait gently. "Anyway. If we get you back? Won't have to worry about any of this."

"I do not mind some aspects of this future," she admitted. "I could get used to some things."

"No more Blight. Nothin' will go to shit. You can re-write your future."

"If I can get back," she said. "But —"

"Won't have to disappear and leave everyone else behind. Wont have to seduce me in a random hotel bathroom."

"What!" she laughed, flushing bright red. "I did what?"

"Won't have to marry me on a beach in Santorini," he said softly.

"Santorini?" she whispered. "Really?"

He rolled over without warning, settling his warm weight on top of her. She blinked up at him wordlessly as his fingers skated through her hairline, trailing down her cheek and under her chin. She closed her eyes, feeling his mouth brushing her cheek.

"Won't have to put up with my bad jokes and constantly puttin' my hands on you."

"I do not mind your bad jokes," she offered with a shy smile.

"Hmph," he said, reaching around and removing the elastic band tying her hair. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him easier access as he raked his fingers through the strands until they lay loose and tousled around her. "You can go find yourself a doctor, or a lawyer. Move on with someone who has brains and a better temperament."

"I do not want that," she whispered. She grinned, hugging him as he buried his face in her hair with a heavy sigh. "I guess I have a thing for smart asses who cannot keep their hands to themselves."

"Hmph," he said, slipping his hand underneath her and squeezing her bottom. She yelped, laughing and wriggling beneath him.

"And maybe you can take your own advice, Yankee," she said. "Maybe it is time for you to also move on."

"Easier said than done," he said.

"What is stopping you?" she asked gently, turning her face towards his, her nose nudging his cheek. "Other than my being here again? I — she would have wanted you to move on. To meet someone else."

He smiled sadly. "Datin' scene ain't what it used to be."

"I like Grace," she said slyly, raising her eyebrows. "She wishes to return to her home eventually. Maybe she could return with you?"

"Christ," he muttered into her hair. His breath tickled her ear and she couldn't help but laugh. "Is that the little brunette chick who acts all weird around me?"

"Da," she replied. "That would be her."

"I dunno." He paused, withdrawing from the soft comfort of her hair, seeming to considering her words. "It feels unfinished with you, ya know? I guess I felt denied… never got the chance to say goodbye. That's been the hardest, I think."

"Gaia said I had been given a second chance. Maybe this is your chance, too?" she said solemnly. "Maybe having me back is a way to say goodbye?"

He stared down at her for a moment, teeth pressing upon his lip and an unreadable expression on his face.

He nodded slowly, pressing a kiss against Linka's cheek before abruptly rolling back off her. He settled down beside her, tugging the sleeping bag up over his shoulders and flicking his ring off. The cabin went dark and the cold air rushed back in, settling over the places their bodies had been touching. She shivered, missing his comforting warmth and the hard line of his body on hers.

I'm gonna catch some shut-eye before I do somethin' I might regret."

"Would you regret it if we did?" she asked quietly, a little stunned that the words had come out of her mouth to begin with. She swallowed nervously, turning over and settling her hand against his chest. "Would it help?"

Wheeler didn't respond. She waited in silence, hearing nothing but the sound of her own heart beating rapidly.

"I mean, I just… I think," she stammered, blundering on awkwardly, self-conscious about his lack of response. "I am just saying that I am happy to… I want to… uh, what I mean is that I am open to it. Wait — that did not come out right," she whispered, shaking her head. "If it will help."

"Uh huh," he finally said, and even in the darkness, she knew he was grinning at her discomfort.

"I understand if you do not wish to… But if it helps you to… Oh, I am no good at this," she said, feeling her face heating up. "Ugh, I keep making it worse."

"Yeah," he said, highly amused.

"Shut up, Yankee," she grumbled, flipping onto her back again and folding her arms across her chest. "That is the last time I offer —"

The rest of her sentence came out as a muffled gasp as he leaned over and captured her lips with his own; cradling her face in his hands, deepening the contact. His mouth was warm and soft, and she gave a shuddery breath as he eventually broke away. He looked down at her quietly, pressing the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip.

"Thank you for the kind offer," he said, grinning. "I appreciate it."

"You are welcome," she murmured, still equal parts embarrassed by her proposition and dazed from his kiss. "I think."

He rose up and unzipped his sleeping bag, patting the spot beside him. "I'll settle for a cuddle, though?"

A moment's hesitation and her mind was made up. She wriggled out of her own bag and shuffled forward, settling herself into the crook of his arm until she was snuggled comfortably against him. He pulled the covers up over their bodies, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Can't guarantee I won't try to feel you up a little," he whispered, pulling her body closer towards him and burying his face in her neck with a heavy sigh. "Just forewarnin' you."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek and hugging him tightly. "I will keep that in mind."