Rated M for scenes of sexual content. I'm sure you won't mind!
Only Shadows Ahead
Chapter Forty-Three
Her teeth are chattering as they stumble inside the hotel. The others are gone and the living area is quiet, save for the weather report on the television; announced by an over-enthusiastic presenter gesturing wildly in front of an animated screen.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the forecast is for rain. Judging by the state of Linka's sodden clothes, the prediction should amuse her but it's a sob that escapes her lips instead. She's unable to suppress it.
Wheeler's arm tightens around her shoulders. She's numb; letting him lead, eyes cast downward. She looks at her hands, noting the purple discolouration marking the nail-beds of her fingers. Realising that running out into the cold, wet night clad only in a t-shirt and shorts is probably the second dumbest thing she's ever done.
Answering the CIA's phone call would be the first.
She shivers, wiping her face with trembling hands as they enter her and Gi's bedroom, heading straight for the ensuite. Her eyes sweep over the mountain of clothes and possessions strewn all over the bed. Suitcase lying open in the center. Hair dryers, books and notepads filled with her meticulous note taking.
The past few months are about to be tossed into that suitcase. It's all she has. The rest of her belongings are on Hope Island — doomed to remain there. Her clothes, her jewellery, her books, her family keepsakes. Her life.
All the preparation and plans. The blood, sweat and tears. The sleepless nights. Lack of a social life. Preparing for a future that will no longer come to fruition.
Her work, her qualifications and her history will simply cease to exist — much like her identity. It occurs to her that this is the final day of living with the name she was born with. The knowledge leaves her in a state of despair.
Her face falls and she's struggling to compose herself. Wheeler is oblivious, stepping over the mass of wet towels and scrappy dark curls strewn about the floor — remnants of Gi's earlier hurried hatchet-job. She glances at the mirror as Wheeler flicks the heat lamps on and her reflection is worse than she thought.
Dye is still clumped within her hair line. The rain has tracked brown streaks down her forehead and cheeks. Her fringe is lying flat against her skin and her face is stark white. Pasty, drained of all colour. Her shorter hair is starting to curl.
Wheeler removes his arm from around her shoulders. He prods the mass of wet fabric with his foot — searching for a dry towel. Her eyes follow him around the small room.
She stands against the wall, hands hanging rigidly by her side as she looks him over. Her heart starts to flutter, heat rising despite the cold, throwing herself headfirst into this moment of distraction — because it sure beats thinking about anything else.
The outline of the bandage is visible beneath the wet cotton of his shirt, protecting the sutures underneath. Her cheeks flush, aware of the way the material clings to his broad chest. She knows what's underneath; courtesy of nine years living in such close quarters with him. He's got a body that most professional athletes would be jealous of.
She glances down at her own figure. Slim, but soft curves in all the right places — slightly marred by self-doubt and a fragile awkwardness, but only when it comes to him.
Her mouth is suddenly dry and she finds herself staring at him, teeth pressing upon her lip. Overcome by the need to feel his hands on her. He picks up a wet towel and opens his mouth to speak.
She knows he's about to leave.
She moves towards him without thinking — closing the distance. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she presses herself against him; seeking him out, wanting him near.
She tucks her head under his chin, feeling the tension slowly ebb from her body. Her hands are travelling of their own accord, sliding under his shirt and resting against the cool skin of his lower back. His body tenses, perhaps adjusting to the coldness of her touch.
But perhaps not.
Burrowing closer, she can smell the rain on his skin and clothes. Crisp and clear, with a hint of woody undertones. She breathes it in, closing her eyes and dragging the tip of her nose against the thready pulse at the base of his neck. He reaches out, caressing her cheek with his fingers.
The wet towel he's holding drops to the floor. Tossed aside. Discarded, along with nine years of resistance the two may have been harboring about what's about to go down.
She knows it.
And she knows that he knows it.
It's mutual. Unspoken.
Winding her arms around his neck, she reaches up on tiptoes, tilting her face up and brushing her lips against his. She's breathless with anticipation and nerves. Eyes half-closed, she trembles as she closes the distance, kissing him tenderly.
He kisses her back, cradling her face in his hands, deepening the contact. It's lingering and slow, almost tentative; his thumbs stroking back and forth over the soft skin of her cheeks. She breaks away with a contented sigh, resting her cheek alongside his own. She nods, a response to a question that was never actually uttered.
Her hands slide under the front of his shirt this time, moving over the contours of his abdomen and chest before her fingers clutch the wet material. Stepping back against the shower screen, she pulls Wheeler forward, arching up and kissing him again. Encouraging him.
It turns out he doesn't need much convincing.
He kicks the bathroom door shut with his foot and wraps an arm around her waist. Nuzzling her cheek, he leans past, opening the shower door and reaching for the faucet. She feels the heat of the spray prickling the back of her neck and he raises her slightly, until the toes of her sandals are just touching his sneakers.
He kicks his shoes off, and she does the same. They clatter to the floor as he braces himself with one hand against the shower stall, manoeuvring them inside and placing her fully-clothed under the spray.
Her feet touch the ground again and she raises her head, blinking up at him as the warm water hits them. It's heaven, soaking through the fabric hanging loosely off their bodies. The pins and needles in her fingers are subsiding and she tightens her arms around his neck, holding him to her; desperate to draw him closer.
Her heart is thumping rapidly — a side effect which has more to do with Wheeler's proximity than the blood beginning to circulate through her body. His mouth drops to her forehead and she smiles, stroking her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as they sway together under the shower head.
Her worries about tomorrow have dissipated faster than the steam rising into the vents above their heads, overtaken by the urge to run her hands over his body. Euphoric distraction.
She can feel his breath against her temple; feel his other arm wrap around her waist and she raises her face again, braving the spray as it beats down on their bodies. His palms are flat against the small of her back and they slip lower, fingers sliding just under the waistband of her shorts; kneading her, pressing her against him, causing her breath to hitch and falter.
He presses soft, unhurried kisses along her temple, cheek and jawline. She touches his face, angling up, eager to feel the press of his mouth again but he darts away with a knowing smile.
She gives a soft noise of frustration. He's planning on drawing this out.
She can't really blame him, though. She's enjoyed the long pursuit, quietly revelled in the attention. The thrill of the chase, but even she had to admit — he caught up with her years ago.
Her shoulders make contact with the shower wall; too distracted to realise that he's backed her up against the green tiles. They're cold against her skin but the moment of discomfort passes once his lips resume their gentle exploration.
The underside of her chin, base of her throat. Slow, unhurried movements. She throws her head back, panting softly as his mouth grazes the skin behind her earlobes. A low moan escapes her lips and she feels him smile against her neck, enjoying the reaction he's provoking.
She reaches for him again, snaking her fingers through his hair in an effort to draw him closer, but he shakes his head, redirecting his attention to her throat again.
The heat of his mouth on her skin coupled with the steady spray is heaven. His hands start to roam, and all she can do is cling to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he grabs her hips and crushes her against him.
She's so aroused she can't think straight; incapable of putting a coherent sentence together, but she has a feeling words won't be required tonight. She's thoroughly invested. Tonight's troubles have faded into the background, replaced with an overwhelming urge to touch and be touched.
One hand twists into her hair, forcing her head back and she nearly sobs with relief as he leans forward and captures her lips with his own.
She moans as he kisses her feverishly and it's at this point that the pace explodes. The gears have shifted and there's a newfound urgency now. She claws at his shirt, twisting her hands into the material and reefing it up and over his head before she even realises what she's doing.
It drops to the floor with a wet slap before his mouth is on hers again, fiery and demanding. He pushes himself between her thighs, hoisting her up and shoving her hard against the cubicle wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. Bottles of shampoo and body wash crash to the floor as she arches into him, pulling him closer, running her hands over his hard body as the hot water cascades around them.
The shirt she's wearing is wrenched up and off before she has a chance to take a breath. Rough hands are sweeping over her bare skin and she reaches back; fumbling through several attempts to unhook her bra, impatient to feel the solid breadth of his chest against hers.
He practically rips the hooks from the fabric, flinging it aside. Wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, she moans against his skin as he cups her breasts, squeezing and massaging her firmly. She bucks and grinds against him, hugging him, burying her face in his neck with a heavy sigh. She's utterly lost in this. Drowning, aching for more.
He grabs her thighs and shoves her higher, in the direct line of the shower head now. Rubbing the water from her face, she feels his arm slip around her waist again as he takes a step away from the wall, forcing her body to bow backwards, lifting her breasts to him.
Ducking his head, his lips hover tantalisingly close to her nipple. She shudders, anticipating his next move, fingers threading desperately into his hair in an effort to pull him in.
His mouth closes over her, hot and wet against her skin. She thrusts her chest towards him, tipping her head back and drawing ragged gasps with each flick of his tongue. Lost in the sensation, she runs her hands through her slicked-back hair before slumping forward and clutching his head; dragging her fingernails through his scalp as he switches his attentions to her other breast with the same practiced patience.
"Ya hochy tebya vnutri menya," she whispers close to his ear, dazed. "Pozhaluysta?"
His teeth graze her nipple, and she grips his face in her hands, forcing him to look up at her and kissing him deeply.
"Please?" she whispers again. He's still now. His hands have returned to her breasts, kneading gently and she squirms in pleasure. "Jake, please. I need this."
She doesn't want to beg — too proud, but it's coming out that way regardless and she couldn't care less. He counter-balances, shifting her body downwards until she's slung low on his hips again, wrapped around him like a weed. Crushed against the wall again, she can feel him, hard and firm between her legs.
Acting on instincts she never thought she would possess, she forces her hand between their bodies. The muscles in his stomach flutter as her fingers slip under the waistband of his jeans, pushing aside the boxers and curling around his length.
He groans; his fingers clamping down on her thighs. She hears a thump and the water stops abruptly. He hauls her away, lumbering out of the shower and falling to his knees, dropping her to the ground roughly. The soggy towels are bunched beneath her spine, cold against her skin as she frantically pushes the last remnants of her clothing down over her hips.
The heat lamp glares down on them — it hides nothing as they kiss and squirm and rock together; a flurry of twisted limbs, whispered words and ragged breathing. Heavy denim is kicked away as he eases himself between her thighs, settling his warm weight on top of her.
With a heavy sigh, he buries himself slowly inside her. He stills; allowing her time to adjust, covering her face, neck and throat with slow kisses as his hands roam her body.
She needs more, lifting her hips up off the floor in an effort to get him moving. He sets a slow, even pace; deep thrusts that cause her toes to curl and her breath to escape in shallow bursts.
She feels full, stretched from within; their bodies slapping together with a delicious, steady friction.
Small sobs are escaping her lips. She has no control over them, surrendering to this out-of-body experience. For the first time, she's wondering if answering the CIA's phone call can indeed be thought of as the dumbest thing she's ever done. Denying herself this — keeping him at arms length is now the clear winner.
He shifts his weight, easing her thighs further apart and thrusting deeper. She cries out in pleasure, drawing her knees back and using her heels to anchor him in place, pulling him closer. Her hands sweep over his back and arms — his muscles tightly coiled beneath her touch.
Her fingers skim the edge of the adhesive bandage covering his shoulder blade and she sighs, cradling his head and holding him to her. Whispering to him; soft murmurs and sharp moans when he thrusts at just the right angle in just the right spot.
His movements are becoming more forceful; her body inching it's way across the wet tiles. Something eventually butts against her head and she reaches back blindly; disorientated, hands making contact with the baseboard of the bathroom vanity.
"Oh," she laughs breathlessly, and she feels him grinning against her neck as he gathers her up and drags her clear. The towels have shifted. Her shoulders scrape against the tiles again and she swallows between breaths, coiling her legs around his waist again and focusing on the sensations stirring through her body.
They move together in a steady rhythm. A door slams somewhere within the hotel. Muffled voices, people heading out from a nearby room. Gentle fingers trace her flushed face; stroking the hair away from her forehead. Her eyes are closed but she gets the sense that he's watching her now, knowing she's close. She feels euphoric. Loved and cared for. Protected.
She throws her head to the side as he moves faster and harder. Something's building. It's molten; bubbling away below the surface. Rising in intensity and sufficient enough to have her crying out again in a language other than English.
An orgasm wracks her body, pulsing and electric. Her body shakes and quivers as she rides it out, muffling her cries against his shoulder, bucking and writhing beneath him. It's enough to tip him over the edge and his body pitches forward, collapsing on top of her with a low groan as he empties himself within her.
He twists a hand into her hair, laying the other alongside her cheek as they regain their breath, sweat cooling on their bodies. The exhaust fan continues to whir quietly above them, circulating air that would be otherwise unpleasant, if it weren't for Wheeler's comfortable weight warming her.
"Jesus," he croaks after a few minutes. There's a half-hearted attempt to lift himself up onto his elbows, but he sinks back down with a sigh, unable to support his own weight. "Nope. Goddammit."
She's silent, blinking rapidly; her body still under the effect of the tremors passing through her. She gives a surprised squeak as he rolls her over until she's lying on top, draped over him. His hands caress her back and she relaxes; limbs feeling loose and floppy.
"You all right?"
"Mmmm," she says, nuzzling into his neck. "Whaddabout you?"
He bites down gently on her shoulder. "Think I fucked my back up."
"Thass not good," she replies sleepily.
"Blame you," he says. "You started it."
"Mmmm," she mumbles. Linka's lips and brain can't seem to coordinate their efforts. "Didden zacley try ta stop me."
He chuckles, finding her current condition highly amusing. She feels his fingers moving over her skin for a while as he picks away the dark clumps of discarded hair stuck to her body.
He eventually pushes himself up into a sitting position, taking her with him until she's straddled within his lap. She slumps tiredly against his chest as he wraps an arm around her bare waist. It takes him three attempts to lift her up from the floor. He elbows the bathroom door open, carrying her towards the mattress.
Her head lolls against his shoulder while Wheeler uses his free hand to shove the suitcase and mess onto the floor. He drops their combined weight heavily onto the double bed and Linka rolls onto her side, curling up as the blankets are pulled over her. The bed lurches as he settles behind her.
They lay in silence for a while. She's exhausted but not ready to sleep. She feels drunk, devoid of all thought — a rarity for her.
Her body is still damp from the shoulder, yet ultra-sensitive to his wandering hands. His fingers skate down her waist and over her hip, before smoothing against her thigh. She stretches out, snuggling back against him.
"Thad hasn't appened me b'fore," she says quietly, and he laughs, wrapping an arm around her.
"What, the sex?"
"Nyet," she says, shaking her head. "Da udder thing."
"Really?" He seems genuinely surprised.
"Uh huh."
"Never seen you so relaxed."
"Mmm."
"Okay." He chuckles again, and she feels his warm breath against the back of her neck. "Gonna have to get you off on a regular basis."
She smiles to herself, quite okay with that arrangement, flushing as she reaches for his hand and settles it over her breast, revelling in his closeness.
She splays her fingers against the blanket, in a sensory haze. It's still raining outside, beating hard against the windows. She wonders where the others are — whether they were planning on leaving or whether it was a tactical decision designed to give them some privacy to sort themselves out.
Rolling over, she winds her arms around his neck and snuggles against him. She tips her head back, smiling up at him. He kisses her softly.
"Tahiti?" she whispers. "Bora Bora?"
"Don't care," he says; that trademark smirk illuminated by the bathroom light. "So long as there's beer, burgers and beach chairs."
"They all start with b."
"Yep."
"Bikini?"
"That's a pre-requisite," he says gruffly, squeezing her as she giggles.
She beams back at him, running her hand through his hair fondly, admiring his handsome face. "You still need a hair cut, Yankee."
"Already tryin' to change me," he growls, and she cackles as he rolls her over and pins her to the mattress. She grins happily, hugging him as he nuzzles her neck, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against hers. They fit so well together. Tomorrow no longer seems so daunting with him beside her.
"How is your chest?"
"Think I overdid it," he says, amused as he glances down at the bandage. "No regrets, though."
She nods, stifling a yawn. "We should get some sleep."
"Don't get too comfortable."
She smiles. "Why is that?"
"I'll give you half an hour," he says in a low voice, tracing the soft swell of her breast. "Then I'm plannin' on warmin' you up again."
"Get her up," Blight ordered, tightening her grip on Linka's wrists and tugging her ring from her finger. Kroi grabbed her under the armpits, hauling the frightened girl to her feet.
"What are you —" she began, startled as Kroi shoved her onto the bed. She yelped as the bed linen flew up around her, barely able to catch her breath before Kroi was on all fours, crawling over her. Pinning her down, just like before — both in her dreams and after their time jump.
"Why should you get the happy ending?" Blight whispered. Her face was upside down, a mere inch from Linka's. She turned away, lashing out with her hands in an effort to claw and scratch at Blight. Kroi's gun struck her across the temple and she screamed in fright.
"Why are you doing —" she sobbed, eyes watering as Kroi struck her again. She fell back, dazed as Kroi tugged a pillowcase free from one of the plush pillows above her head.
Blight smirked, grabbing her wrists and holding them as Kroi tore the material into strips and bound her hands, followed by her ankles. She shrieked as Kroi leant forward. Her arms were forced above her head and tied off to something beyond her sight, perhaps a hook or nodule on the base of the mattress.
He smelt of sweat and alcohol; filthy clothes and with an expression utterly devoid of pity or remorse. She squirmed as he ran his hands over her body, licking his lips in anticipation. Linka groaned, struggling under Kroi's weight as he leant back on his haunches, looking her over.
"Leave us."
Kroi narrowed his eyes, glaring at Blight. "What?"
"Leave us," Blight repeated, taking the gun from Kroi. She waved the weapon in the direction of the door. "Find her friends."
"You promised me —"
"After I'm finished with her, idiot. Princess'll still be here when you get back. Find her little buddies. Lambert has —"
"Lambert was in the galley with me, taking care of fire —"
"Lambert's not answering his goddamn radio," she said bitterly. "Go."
With a disappointed glance in Linka's direction, he slunk off. Linka watched him leave, more apprehensive about his departure than she should have been.
"You," Blight whispered, feeling the featherlight touch of Blight's fingers skating over her neck and cheeks. She squirmed, desperate to free herself but Blight bent over her with an expression of intense hatred.
Linka's skin crawled. She felt sick, looking away as Blight tracked her fingers over her throat and chest.
"I asked you a question."
"What?" Linka gasped in pain, unprepared for Blight's fingers pinching down hard on her shoulder. She jerked her body to the side in an effort to escape.
"Why should you get the happy ending?" she repeated, bearing down on Linka with a ferocity that burnt. Placing the gun beside her, Blight peered down at Linka. Her eyes were milky and unfocused; cataracts clouding her vision. "What makes you so special?"
"Happy ending?" Linka cried, incredulous. "There was no happy ending for me, you saw to that! You murdered me!"
"Took everything from me," Blight whispered. "Thought you could escape me. Thought you were free. Stupid brat."
"What are you going —"
"I fixed you," she said, smiling. "Fixed your pretty, perfect little life, didn't I?"
"You ruined my life!" Linka spat, glaring at Blight. "For something that I was merely a participant —"
"It was beautiful," Blight said wonderingly, tugging at Linka's hair and raising her bloodshot eyes to hers. "Smooth. When you want something done, gotta do it yourself."
"Wh —"
"I used to be special. One of a kind. Sometimes..." she said, tapping her forehead with her finger. "It hurts. It burns. Right in the brain pan."
Linka shook her head, unable to keep up with the rapidly changing subject matter. "What —"
"What makes you so special," she repeated again, venom tinging her voice. She flicked Linka's hair over her face. "Thinking you could get away with it? Thinking you could take away the only thing that mattered? MAL was —"
"You know that wasn't —"
"MINE!" Blight shrieked and Linka recoiled in fright, eyes frantically searching for help that was not forthcoming. "HE WAS MINE! I created him! Down to every last line of script! Every algorithm, every code!"
"I DID NOT UPLOAD THE VIRUS!" Linka shouted back. "AND EVEN IF I DID —"
"Doesn't matter now anyway," Blight said bitterly, reaching underneath the quilt and retrieving a knife. Linka's heart skipped a beat, her wide eyes following the blade. "You're not leaving here alive."
"You need me," Linka said, swallowing nervously. "You need me to power —"
"Goin' home," Blight crooned, dangling the knife above Linka's face. "Goin' home to see my schmootzie poo."
"You —"
"Portal's gonna be back up and running. I'm heading back to the only thing that mattered."
Linka shook her head, unable to take her eyes off the blade waving precariously close to her face. "You cannot," she whispered. "You will condemn this world as well as mine. The timelines will not support —"
"Darling," she said, grinning, exposing gums that were drawn back and pale white. Thready veins were visible on Blight's skin — broken capillaries and purple discolouration underneath her eyes. Her bald head shone in the dull light.
"You cannot —"
"You know I never think that far ahead."
Linka's Blight had echoed exactly the same phrase just after the time jump.
"You have blamed everyone else but yourself over the years." Linka shook her head, knowing nothing she could say would make any difference to Blights plans. "You have brought this on your —"
"You had children."
The comment stopped her in her tracks. "What?"
"Little itty-bitty kiddies." She sat back across Linka's hips, fingering the tip of the knife. A shadow of a smirk crossed her face. "Thought about killing them too, you know."
Linka's blood ran cold. She stared up at Blight, her mouth dry. "Wh —"
"Two little ones. Little blonde girl, dancing around on the pavement. Doing cartwheels. Picking flowers. Pram. Baby," she said, trailing the tip of the knife across Linka's throat. "Wasn't expecting to find a little family when I went 'wabbit' huntin' that final time."
"You —"
Blight narrowed her eyes. "Records showed a husband, but your kids were kept well hidden. How you crossed international borders with them is a mystery."
"I wouldn't know," she replied softly.
"Didn't know what was coming. Watched you. Scoped the three of you out for a while before… you know," she said, thrusting her hand and winking. "Before you became acquainted with my umbrella."
Linka blinked, breathing heavily, unsure how to proceed.
"Sitting on a park bench at first," she said, tapping the blade against Linka's nose. "Perfectly put together. Perfect little planeteer with her perfect little children. Considered my options for a while there. Would have been too easy to —"
"You selfish —"
"Selfish?" Blight laughed, peering down at her. "Seemed more selfish to leave them motherless. Considered putting them out of their misery."
"Why didn't you?" Linka whispered.
"Time." Blight shrugged. "Had to stab and run. You know how it is."
"You are insane."
"It was the strangest thing," Blight laughed, peering down at Linka's stunned face. "One glance into the pram and I see this little baby just lying there. Looking up at me."
"What —"
"Red hair," she whispered, leaning back with a gleeful look on her face. "Red hair, and I thought… Surely not. Maybe just a coincidence?"
Linka shook her head, eyes wide as the knife passed over her nose and cheek.
"What are the chances," she said, grinning. "Didn't know at the time. Pyro never came up in any of my research. Never able to locate him after you all ditched your powers."
She clenched her fists, refusing to meet Blight's eyes.
"He's the daddy, isn't he?"
"Go to hell," Linka replied through gritted teeth as cold fingers gripped her chin, pushing her face to the side. She cringed, feeling Blight's breath on her forehead.
"Did I make little 'ol Firebug a widower?"
"I have nothing to —"
"You were married?" Blight tightened her grip, forcing Linka to look at her, fingers digging into her cheeks painfully. "Sweet little family?"
"Da," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Blight tutted, patting the top of Linka's head in a demeaning parody of sympathy. "Always assumed something was goin' on with —"
"So I keep hearing," she snapped. Movement caught her attention by the door and she saw someone slip inside unnoticed. She glanced back at Blight, hoping she remained distracted.
"Won't matter anyway."
"Why not?"
"Gonna put you all down. Won't have to suffer for much long —"
"What do you mean?" Another glance towards the door and Linka spotted a second figure slip inside; crouching low and disappearing from her view.
"The fire," Blight answered, looking dreamy. "Big white light is coming, princess. No escaping it."
"White light —"
"I'm dying," she said softly. "Played with fire. Got burnt. System's shutting down. No time."
"Spent your lifetime playin' with fire, Babs," a gruff voice said. "Hasn't exactly served you well."
Blight stiffened. She whirled around, staring in shock at Argos Bleak who stood by the wall; rifle slung over his shoulder and a glass beaker clutched in his hand.
"That's a face I haven't seen in many years," she said softly. "Argos Bl—"
"Whatever, you crazy god-damned —"
"Lambert mentioned someone else had been present when they'd first picked her up," she said, seeming surprised to see him. She frowned, scratching her head. "Obviously, he was a little light on the details."
"What the fuck have you done?"
"Does it matter?" she raised herself, climbing off Linka and standing beside the bed. "My younger self bring you through?"
"Yep."
"You volunteer?" she asked in a pleasant enough voice, taking a few cautious steps towards him. Smiling benignly.
"Unwilling participant. Kinda like blondie there," he said. "Earth boy says he found a fuckin' nuclear weapon in the lab. Plannin' on blowing us all to smithereens?
"Course not," she said smoothly, approaching him slowly. "Would I —"
"Where's your computer?"
"What?"
Bleak pointed towards the shattered monitor. "MAL's hard drive. It's not in the lab. I know the research and test drive files were on it. You showed me. Blondie said we'll need it to get home. Where is it?"
"Memory's not what it used to be," she said, shrugging. Her hands were clutched into fists and Linka knew the knife was still concealed somewhere within the folds of her cloak.
"Bleak, she's got a knife," she warned. "She's —"
Linka froze, startled as gentle hands gripped her tied wrists, undoing the knots anchoring her to the side of the mattress. She was dragged from the bed, sliding to the floor as Wheeler worked quickly to unwind the ropes on her ankles.
"Where did you go?" she whispered, relieved to see him. "You disapp —"
"Ran into that jackass from the museum," he muttered. "Bastard keeps usin' my head as a punchin' bag."
"Easy mistake to make," she said, and he made a face. "What is Bleak —"
"Kwame and Ma-Ti can't find MAL's old system. Assumed it would be in the lab, but —"
"Bozhe moy," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Is Gi all right?"
"She's got a headache, but other than that…"
"WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU? I'm the only one left, you pathetic excuse for a man! The only one who had the balls to —"
"Fuck you, Doctor Demented!"
Linka winced, hearing Blight's voice becoming frighteningly unstable as she and Bleak continued trading insults.
"She is not going to tell us," Linka remarked, glancing at Wheeler.
"I get the same feelin'," he began. He was tense, keeping his eyes down., purposely refusing to look in Blight's direction.
"Are you all right?"
He shook his head. His blue eyes were piercing. "Stay here much longer and I'm gonna throttle her with my bare hands."
"I know," she said softly, reaching for his hand and clutching it tightly. "We need to find the —"
Linka squealed as Blight lashed out, pummelling Bleak with her closed fist. The knife was contained within her other hand and it glinted in the air for a moment; swinging and moving to stab. Bleak easily dodged the blow, grabbing her wrist and striking her hand against the wall in an effort to disarm the weapon.
"C'mon Babs." He dragged her away, heading for the corridor. "We're goin' for a walk."
"You traitor! You piece of stinkin' garbage! I'm goin' home!" she bellowed, struggling against him. "MAL!"
"She has my ring," Linka called to Bleak, stepping forward after they'd disappeared from sight. A few moments later she heard a clattering sound as her ring was tossed just inside the doorway; Blight's loud protestations still echoing.
"Ah… thank you," she said, bending down to pick it up.
Shouts and gunshots echoing from other parts of the compound. She knew Tyreece would be bringing the rest of the teams in by now, securing the rest of the area. They made their way towards the lab, making several wrong turns and keeping their eyes open — Kroi hadn't reappeared and Linka was still on edge.
They pushed through the double doors and Linka watched the hive of activity going on in the lab. There were about twenty people crammed inside. Kwame and some of the others were tearing the the lab apart, searching for Blight's hard drive.
Tyreece, Sam and Matt were hunched over a large cylindrical object balanced precariously on a trolley. A happy face sticker was attached to the side and there was an argument brewing over how to best handle it.
A small voice floated over the top of the noise.
"You all right?"
Linka nodded, approaching Gi who was seated in a metal chair beside the time displacement equipment. Grace had her hands pressed against the back of Gi's head in an effort to stem the blood.
"Da. You?"
"Yeah," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "Don't remember much."
"Where is Ma-Ti?"
"Bleak grabbed him on the way past. They're gonna see what they can extract from —"
"You have not seen Kroi?"
"Oh great," she said, frowning. "No one's pinned him down yet?"
Linka shook her head nervously. "Not yet."
"It is not here." Kwame had joined them. Hands on his hips, he stared around at the lab with a worried expression. "We cannot find it. Bleak said it was a HP laptop. All of her test runs and algorithms were on it."
"Da," Linka said. "I remembered seeing one in the lab before I —"
"MAL's mainframe was portable towards the end. She reconfigured him. I doubt Blight would have destroyed her laptop. She would need it to follow through —"
"Has anyone checked her room? Linka asked. "MAL's original monitor is there. The laptop may also be there."
Kwame's eyes widened. He clicked his fingers, beckoning towards a few others. They departed quickly, heading in the direction of Blight's bedroom.
Linka sighed, sitting on the floor beside Gi's chair and curling her legs underneath her. "It is getting dark."
"Yeah." Gi nodded, glancing around. "I noticed that."
"Is that bad?" Grace asked, looking down at Linka in confusion. She sat cross legged on the floor beside Linka, reaching for an arrow from the makeshift quiver slung over her shoulder. She clutched it in her hands, bending and warping the length. "Why —"
"Gaia told me to return home during daylight," she explained. "I am thinking you may end up with my company for another night."
"Reckon it's gonna be party central here tonight," Grace said, grinning at Gi. "Might be a good thing you're stayin'. You guys catch all the boxes of random shit lying around?"
"Yeah, I crashed into a few of them," Gi muttered. "Kroi threw me headfirst into a crate of wine."
"Oooh," Grace said, suddenly interested. "That's a waste of good alcohol."
"Kwame said there's enough food and supplies here to last us for another year or two."
"You will probably need to do an inventory of what is here."
Linka lent back, propping herself up with her hands. She glanced around at Wheeler and smiled gently at him, although he didn't seem to notice. He was leaning against the wall; arms folded and looking lost in thought. She sighed, turning her attention back to the girls again.
"Unmelted, unsquishy chocolate would be a good start," Grace said dreamily. "This place is a gold mine."
"Damn Blight and her supply runs," Gi muttered. "Wondering if she was even planning on —"
We have found Kroi.
Ma-Ti's voice came through loud and clear, startling Linka. She raised her eyes, holding her breath, feeling the tension in the Heart Planeteer's voice.
"Are you all right, Ma-Ti?"
Um. I guess so. Tried to attack us. Bleak was not very happy to see him. We have locked both him and Blight away in the refuse room. Kroi is looking a little worse for wear, if you get what I mean.
Linka's mouth dropped open in surprise. She knew their complicated history. "All right."
We have also found the hardware. I've got the laptop, managed to pry an image from her mind. She had it locked away. I will bring the cords with me, not sure what goes with what. Hopefully Linka can sort through them.
Linka grinned, meeting Gi's eyes.
"Fantastic, Ma-Ti!"
Bleak wants to know where Lambert is?"
"Unconscious and locked away in the fridge room," Wheeler said under his breath.
All right. Back soon.
Ma-Ti cut off the communication abruptly just as Gi gave a happy fist-pump in the air. "Got him."
"You know how weird it is when you guys do that?" Grace asked quietly.
"What?" Gi asked. "Talking to ourselves?"
"Yeah." Grace scratched her head. "It's really off-putting."
"Sorry." Gi smiled, grasping Linka's hand and squeezing it gently. "Anyone else assume that this was gonna be harder?"
"Uh huh," Grace said. "Yep."
"I do not think Blight has much fight left in her," Linka said. "It is strange to see her like that."
"Mmm." Grace nodded, flicking the end of her arrow and watching the guys hunched over the missile, still arguing about what to do with it. "That thing's not gonna blow up on us, is it?" she asked worriedly.
Linka regarded her quietly for a moment, before turning to Wheeler. "Have you got my other ring?"
He raised his eyebrows, pulling the chain out from beneath his shirt and lifting it over his head. He passed it to Linka and walked away, hands in his pockets; evidently aware of what was about to happen. He headed towards Kwame who had just returned, looking relieved now that he no longer had to search for the missing technology.
Linka watched him go, knowing this process was going to be difficult for him. She sighed, rolling her thumb over the identical wind ring clutched in her hand.
"Grace?"
"Yeah?"
She smiled, twisting the jewellery within her fingers. "When I leave, my element will go back to the way it was."
"Oh?" Grace said, surprised. She frowned, stabbing the dirty tiles with the tip of her arrow. "Well, that sucks."
"There is a way around it. I have been told that by passing my ring on to someone, the wind element will remain stable."
"Uh huh," she said, not understanding. "Okay."
"I am giving it to you."
"Huh?" Grace's expression was almost comical. Her mouth hung open and Gi smirked, shoving her lightly. "What?"
"I wish for you to take it on."
"Oh shit," she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. Eyeing the ring with trepidation. "Oh no. No, I don't… no. I can't…"
"You do not have to use it," she explained patiently. "It just has to be passed on. Promised to someone and passed on, now that Gaia is no longer with us."
"I'll freakin' lose it," Grace said wide eyed. "I can't even find my underwear most mornings. I can't be trusted with —"
"Take it," Gi said. "Not everyday you get handed a super power."
"What about Tyreece?" Grace said, turning and thrusting her arrow in the direction of Kwame's second in command; currently wheeling the enormous nuclear weapon out of the lab with half-a-dozen helpers. "Seriously, he'd be —"
"I think you would be better off with it."
Linka reached forward, holding the ring out; offering it to the reluctant girl. She took it with trembling fingers, holding it in front of her face.
"Do you want to try it out first?" Linka asked.
"Hell no," Grace muttered, slipping it on her finger and covering it with her other hand. "End up blowin' myself into next Tuesday."
"Just don't say the W word by accident," Gi said, winking at Linka. "We all made those rookie mistakes in the beginning, didn't we Lin?"
"Da," she laughed. "The Yankee especially."
"Ah, thank you," Grace said, not quite knowing what to say. "I guess I'll try not to stuff up."
"It is in good hands," Linka said, hugging her tightly.
Gi and Grace's pleasant chatter continued as Linka wrapped her arms around her knees, glancing again at Wheeler who was standing with Kwame and the others on the other side of the lab. His back was to her, leaning casually against the wall; quiet observer amongst the vibrant discussion going on around him.
Linka felt a pang of guilt. She was so proud of him; so proud of who he had become and what he had achieved. Proud of the effort he'd put in to being around her again despite the difficult circumstances. So proud of the life he'd built for himself and their children.
A little lovesick whenever she found herself alone in his presence. Craving his company, his positivity and above all, his kindness.
She adored him.
The realisation no longer caused her discomfort or embarrassment. It didn't need to be analysed. Critiqued. Buried beneath layers of stubborn hostility.
It just was.
She smiled, finally feeling at peace as her eyes settled on the sleek machinery that would hopefully transport her home tomorrow.