It's late! I'm so, so sorry! I've been severely lacking in free time.

Incidentally, I didn't plan for this chapter to have a flashback. It was a very last-minute addition. Took me three weeks to write the initial first draft, but the flashback took me only three hours.

I guess that means it was meant to be included.

Only Shadows Ahead

Chapter Forty-Six

Budgetary cutbacks.

It's the only thing that springs to Linka's mind.

The CIA's accomodation is sparsely decorated — cheap furniture that's chipped and heavily in need of updating. The couch is a relic from the nineteen-seventies, as is the tattered quilt cover in the bedroom.

The location seems to be in the middle of a major business district — from what she saw upon her arrival, anyway. The restricted view from the window grants a small snap-shot of her surroundings, but they keep ushering her away from it.

It's quiet though, and she thanks her lucky stars for that small mercy.

She feels like a child. It's been twenty-four hours and they've barely left her alone long enough to use the bathroom. Someone is always hovering nearby; some suited goon permanently attached to their cell phone, whether they're out in the hallway or trying to act invisible by the door.

There's not much to do. A trashy soap opera is on the television and she sighs, folding her legs underneath herself and resting her cheek on the back of the couch. Only half watching.

Annoyingly attractive actors. Long, withering looks and breathy conversation. Pretentious names like Echo and Langford. Raider Livingstone. It's quite laughable, really.

Waiting around is the hardest part. Their identification was shredded last night. New identities are apparently on their way. She wonders what her new name will be. What nationality. Where they will send them.

Her eyes settle on the lead computer analyst — her current babysitter. Dave, an unassuming name for such a pompous ublyudok — or a 'complete fucking douche-canoe', as Wheeler has so aptly put it.

Dave seems nervous.

Sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, he's been on his phone for at least the past half hour, glancing at her regularly when he thinks she's not looking. He's being overly nice to her, and just this fact is enough to set off some alarm bells. His pleasant manner is unsettling.

Asking if she needs anything. Peppering her with questions. Smiling at her, almost a forced sense of good cheer.

He's barely even curled his lips in a semi-upward fashion in all the time that she's known him. She's used to him sneering. Belittling and deriding. Disdain is the only expression that has tainted their past interactions.

There's a snaggle-tooth that's evident when he smiles. She's never noticed it before. Linka watches him for a moment, eyes narrowed and he looks up. Sweat has broken out on his brow, but he gives her that stupid jack-rabbit grin again.

She turns her attention back to the television.

The door opens and she turns, raising her eyebrows as Wheeler lunges in. He's pale and tense, breathing heavily, and she sits up straighter, watching him with mild concern. His hands are empty.

"Forget the coffees, Yankee?"

"Uh… couldn't remember… you wanted," he mutters, hurrying towards the bedroom and disappearing inside. His disembodied voice ebbs and flows from within. "Might grab some… I'll get you to come and…"

She can't hear the rest but she shrugs, rising to her feet and gathering the purse that contains very little but Tic-Tacs, ticket stubs and about fifty dollars in cash.

"You can't leave."

Dave is on his feet now, too. He hurries towards the front door, holding his hands out and almost pleading with her.

"They… my boss told me that you had to stay put."

Linka gestures towards Wheeler who has just emerged from the bedroom. "We will be back in a —"

"I'm sorry, but I have my orders."

Linka glances at Wheeler, bewildered at the furious expression on his face. There's a bag hanging off his shoulder and he strides forward, in no mood for games.

"Get out of our way," he says through gritted teeth, grabbing Linka's arm and moving to push the analyst aside. Her mouth snaps shut as she falls into step beside him.

Something is wrong.

"You can't leave," he says, crossing his arms and glaring back. "Just —"

"Try and stop us," Wheeler fumes, gripping the collar of his shirt and staring him down. "Get out of our —"

It's at this point that all hell breaks loose.

The rest happens so fast that Linka barely has time to process it. The analyst reaches for something concealed beneath the waistband of his trousers and Linka yelps as Wheeler shoves her away. She hits the wall hard as Wheeler draws his arm back and lands a hard blow to the side of Dave's head. The analyst stumbles back, clutching his face and bellowing in pain.

"What are you… what is going on —" Linka gasps, but Dave has recovered enough to launch himself at Wheeler, tackling him to the floor and punching him repeatedly. She shrieks, jumping onto the analyst's back in an effort to drag him away.

"Get off him!" she screams, hooking one arm around his throat, scratching and clawing with the other. She manages to pull him off and he spins, trying to dislodge her. Linka clings to his neck, tightening her grip in an effort to cut off the circulation to his airways.

"Bitch," he bellows, coughing, doing his best to throw her to the ground. "Get the fu —"

He overbalances, tipping sideways. They both crash to the floor and the breath is knocked painfully from Linka's lungs. Dave's phone bounces across the floor and he pushes her away, scurrying towards it.

The effort is redundant. Wheeler staggers to his feet and kicks it away, before launching his foot with devastating accuracy. The computer analyst slumps to the floor, unconscious as Wheeler grabs her hand and pulls her up, dragging her out into the hallway.

"Yankee, what is —"

"Move," he hisses. He's bleeding from the mouth and holding his other arm close to his body — favouring his side. His eyes are wild as he scans the hallway for… something. And then he's sprinting, pulling her along as if his life depended on it.

They head down the corridor. The fire stairs are between them and the elevator, but the familiar 'ping' sound causes him to falter.

"Yankee, what —"

"Shit!"

They're running flat-out now. He pivots and practically launches her into the metal access door to the stairs beyond, hiding her from view. She fumbles for a moment with the handle, aware that voices are approaching. Deep, resonating tones. Another voice that causes the bottom to drop out of her stomach.

Guttural and harsh. That crude, slavic accent that causes her skin to crawl every time she hears it.

"Go!" Wheeler whispers, an edge of panic in his voice. "Babe, move!"

She finds her feet and descends quickly, clutching tightly to his hand, glancing back regularly — fearful that her assailants may be following.

They pass into the foyer, avoiding the front reception desk where a couple of heavy-set men are lounging in the recliners; their eyes trained on the elevator doors.

Wheeler slows to a walk and pulls her along in the opposite direction, still swearing under his breath. The apartment complex is connected to a bustling food-court filled with employees on their lunch-break. They cross over into it, side-stepping their way around people lining up for their fried chicken and salads.

Laughter. The low murmur of people discussing work while eating. Someone pushes their chair out and Linka trips, stumbling but Wheeler hauls her back up again. They finally emerge, spilling out into the street. There's an escalator leading to the underground transit system and he heads towards it, still glancing back every now and then.

She's shaking, holding tightly to his arm as they make their way down to the subway. There's a train on the platform and they quickly pay for a ticket and dash towards the nearest carriage.

It's standing room only. Shoulder to shoulder. He leads her through, finding a pole unencumbered by too many others. She slumps against it, catching her breath, feeling Wheeler's hands slide around her waist and gripping the pole propped behind her. He rests his cheek alongside hers.

"Fuck," he says hoarsely, blue eyes blazing. "Can't fuckin' believe —"

"What happened?" she cries. "That was Kroi, wasn't it? How did —"

"Yeah." He nods his head, still out of breath. "Bastards were in the lobby. Nearly ran into 'em on my way out."

"Did they see you?"

"Hell no," he says. The doors close and the carriage lurches. He leans forward, tipping his forehead against her shoulder, still recovering from their close call. "Jesus."

They're moving now. Inching further away; not only from the life they once knew, but the life they were supposed to be leading. Heading into unchartered territory.

They're a blank canvas.

She buries her face in his neck, inhaling his musky scent; seeking comfort as she peers worriedly over his shoulder. The blur of the lights flash past outside of the windows.

"What do we do, Yankee?" She's on the verge of tears.

He shakes his head again. Wheeler seems at a complete loss — a rarity for him.

"I am so sorry," she whispers. "God, how could this —"

"Creep musta' sold you out," he says quietly. He tightens his arms around her, pressing his mouth to her cheek. "Blight probably paid him off."

"What do we do?" Panic is rising again. She glances down at her purse, painfully aware of the lack of documentation they now hold. "We have nothing! No powers. No passports. We cannot board a plane. We have no means to gain employment, we lack —"

"I'll think of something." He kisses her forehead. "Just —"

"Blight is never going to stop, is she?"

A seat becomes available and he grips her shoulders, guiding her backwards until her calves bump the fabric. The train clears the underground tunnels and the urban metropolis opens up outside. They have no destination. Nowhere to go. Their future is now even more uncertain than before, courtesy of one man's greed.

She drops down heavily into the spare seat, burying her face in her hands and dashing tears away in frustration. "This is a mess."

The carriage is clearing now. The train is leaving the city, heading out into the densely populated suburbs. Graffiti-laden fencing and sprawling concrete structures.

The carriage continues onwards for a while. Time becomes irrelevant. Wheeler presses his forehead against the metal, his body swaying with the natural movement of the train as she sobs quietly into her palms.

She's truly frightened, now.

The train continues to empty as they leave each platform behind. A tinny voice announces the approaching stops. There's three more to go and she assumes the train will terminate, before returning to the city.

The seat next to her becomes vacant. She senses Wheeler's weight drop down into it. His hand rests on the back of her neck and she sniffs, leaning into him. Again, so thankful that he's here.

The thought occurs to her. That alone and defenceless — without Wheeler's intervention — she would have left that apartment in Kroi's custody.

If she had left at all.

Wheeler's still quiet. He's staring at the unimpressive scenery passing by, lost in thought. She hugs him tightly, kissing his cheek, and wiping the blood away from his bottom lip. Her hand brushes his chest and he winces, glancing down.

"Yankee," she breathes, smoothing her hand over his sternum. She leans closer to inspect. "You are hurt?"

Dark, sticky blood is pooling over his left pectoral muscle. She prods it lightly and he gasps, wrenching away, grabbing her hand and clutching her fingers to avoid further inspection.

She removes her scarf, folding it several times, slipping her hand under his shirt and pressing the makeshift bandage tightly against the wound in an attempt to stem the blood.

"Think I've torn the sutures," he says, grunting in pain as she applies more pressure. "Hospital's outta the question."

"What do we do?"

"I dunno." He shakes his head. "We'll get off at the next stop. We can —"

"This is a mess," she cries, adjusting her hand over his chest as she helps him up. Tears are restricting her vision and she blinks them away as they make their way towards the doors. "I do not…I cannot believe… I am so sorry, Yankee —"

"Stop stressin," he says, reassuring her. "It's gonna be fine."

"You are injured, we have no phones. No identification. Nowhere to go. Barely any belongings." She gasps in despair, realising that her computer is where she left it, on the kitchen table. It was her only commodity, her only means left of control and now it's gone. "Oh God, my computer. What if we cannot —"

She starts to cry again, unable to halt the flow of tears. They track down her cheeks as the hopelessness of the situation settles over her.

They're on their own.

The train slows to a stop and he straightens, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. He kisses her tenderly, stroking her cheek with his fingers.

"One thing at a time," he says. "Lets just find somewhere to lay low. We'll work the rest out from there."

"All right."

"We'll be fine babe." He drapes his arm across her shoulders as they exit the train. "Have I ever met a situation I couldn't talk my way out of?"

"Nyet."

She sniffs, clutching him tighter as they wander down the platform. The afternoon sun beats down on them. His hair has turned a fiery bronze in the light. Regardless of their situation, his quiet confidence calms her. Soothes her.

Wheeler will know what to do. He'll keep her safe — take care of her. He always has, despite her steadfast refusal to admit it.

She knows she loves him.

"We'll be fine."

"Promise?"

"Yep." He pulls her in, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her upturned mouth. "Promise."

"Used to get home around seven," Wheeler said, leisurely trailing his fingers up and down her bare back. "Walk in the door and you and Hannah would be gone. Car in the garage, purse sitting' on the counter."

Linka sighed, settling her body closer, feeling the press of the rumpled sleeping bag beneath her breasts and stomach. She folded her arms beneath her chin, tilting her head to the side and watching him, amused at the look of concentration crossing Wheeler's handsome face as he marked lazy patterns across her skin.

"Where did we go?"

"You'd walk three times a week. Take the pram. There was a bike track that weaved through the estate."

"Mmm?"

"You knew everyone — literally every second household would spot you comin' a mile off. Invite you in for a cup of coffee." He grinned suddenly, threading his fingers through her hair. Tugging the curls and watching them spring back against the smooth skin of her back. "Twenty minute walk would take you three hours."

"Really?"

"Yeah." His blue eyes looked almost grey in the faded light. She shivered as his fingers swept up her side, over the soft swell of her breast before trailing up her spine. He brushed her hair aside and kissed her shoulder. "Lil' miss social butterfly."

His movements were loving and unhurried. She pressed her cheek into the mattress, enjoying his lightly circling fingers. Relaxed and sleepy, blocking out everything but his touch.

So gentle. It was a characteristic at odds with the impulsive streak he portrayed to everyone else — at least in her time.

She smiled, rolling onto her side and pressing her body forward; snuggling into him as he pulled the sleeping bag around them.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to the slow beat of rain beginning to fall outside. It made a metallic thunk against the cab as Wheeler wrapped her firmly in his arms; limbs entwined beneath the covers.

The icy tent stopover in Alaska suddenly sprung to mind. It seemed like years ago — almost a distant memory — yet in reality, only a few months had technically passed. Her Wheeler had waltzed into their tent without a second thought and like always, she'd shot down his advances and maintained her typical haughty disposition.

With the benefit of hindsight, her past behaviour caused a flare of regret. Shame and embarrassment — now that she knew the true depth of their future. She nuzzled his collarbone, feeling one of the bullet entry points against her cheek.

The sun was rising, casting an dull orange glow inside the cabin. Tipping her head back, she inspected the roughened scars closely, tracing the edges with her index finger.

"Do they still hurt?"

"Sometimes. I get some nerve pain every now and then."

She trailed her touch lower, finding a puckered section of skin between his ribs, slightly discoloured over time. Her mind worked to recall the explanation.

"Cigarrette burn?"

"Something' like that."

"Lunch break at school." She glanced up at him, the memory coming back to her now as she sought confirmation. "Burnt through your t-shirt?"

"That was the official story."

She frowned, confused — recalling the explanation he gave to Kwame and herself towards the beginning of the Planeteers. She hadn't even questioned it.

"Was there an unofficial story?"

"Yeah, but it's not as pleasant."

She waited expectantly, and he seemed to finally relent.

"My dad came home drunk one night, lookin' for a fight. Decided to use me as an ash tray."

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Wheeler, I —"

"I was asleep at the time… not for long, though. Shoved him away and he punched me back. Grabbed my shit and left. Didn't go back for a week. First time I ever hit the streets."

"I am so sorry..." Linka trailed off, not quite sure what to say.

He shrugged. "Usually only ever got hurt when he was beatin' mom. I'd try to intervene. Cop a smack to the head for the trouble. First time he'd ever laid a hand on me for no reason."

"There is never a reason for that," she said quietly. "Why did you not tell us?"

"You get used to keepin' shit like that to yourself," he said. "Especially where I'm from. Anything to avoid a visit from CPS... or a kick up the ass for blabbin'. Guess it just becomes second nature."

"God, Yankee.."

"Woulda' been about fourteen," he said. "All in the past, though."

"I am so sorry," she murmured smoothing her hand over his chest. "I knew you had a bad home life, but —"

"I'm not like him," he said resolutely. "I'm a good dad."

"I know," she said faintly, and he reached for her, crushing her against him, lips seeking out the hollow of her neck and making her sigh with pleasure.

"Miss you, baby girl."

Linka made a small noise, hooking her leg over his waist and settling herself on top of him. She kissed him slowly as his hands roamed firmly over her body. She lowered her mouth, nipping her way down his neck and chest, making her way downwards. He shifted with a groan; his hand threading through her hair. He tugged gently, staring down at her with a playful frown.

"Oy."

"Mmm?"

"Don't go startin' something you're not plannin' on finishing," he said. As if to prove his point, Wheeler's hands slipped down, caressing the shapely curve of her behind and hauling her back up to eye level again.

"Nyet," she gasped, giggling as he rolled her roughly onto her side again.

"Behave yourself, Russki."

She chuckled, and he grunted in response, but his hands remained firmly on her bottom.

"Tell me more," she said, kissing him softly. "What happened after we left together? I remember you telling me about Washington. About Kroi being there. I have some memories. Some things are clear, but others…" She squirmed closer to him, feeling the sharp stubble from his face bristling against her cheek. "Where did we go after that? What did we do?"

"Waited around for our new passports and ID." He stroked her waist lightly with his fingers. "Complete fuckin' mess until they arrived."

"What happened?"

"Ugh." He shook his head at the memory. "No ID. Cards were a no-go. Blight was tracking our old identities. We were effectively on the street and movin' around until then. Stayin' in places that would make lousy roach motels look like five star resorts."

She frowned, trying to make sense of it all. "Did we not have access to the money Mishka —"

"Most places require a credit card imprint at check-in, babe." He sighed. "I had cash on me. You'd kept one bank card from a shared account you'd had as a child. Mishka had transferred your inheritance over to it. We knew it would be flagged. Too risky to use it until we were ready to leave."

"Oh."

"So yeah. No choice but to wait for new documents. A week or so layin' low amongst the DC junkies, drug-dealers and ex-cons. You were freakin' out. Fights in the hallways at all hours of the night. People shootin' up on the stairwell. Nearly got mugged in the lobby grabbin' a bite to eat. Ended up spendin' that night in the park, from memory. I got sick again. Infection after the sutures tore."

"Oh my… what did you do?"

"Hospital wasn't an option. You ended up havin' to go chat up a pharmacist with some bullshit story just to nab some penicillin." He gave her a wry smile. "Fun times."

"Bozhe moy," she breathed, hugging him tighter. "Obviously everything turned out all right."

"Yeah," he said. "Paperwork finally came. We withdrew your money. Took a little bit of wranglin' without the ID in your birth name, but Mishka was a signatory and must have found a way to approve it from his end. Transferred the cash into travellers cheques. Closed the account. Got the hell outta the States. South to Cancun, first. Able to breathe a little easier then."

"Cancun," she mused. "You would have enjoyed the beaches there."

"Wouldn't know," he admitted. "Didn't see much of Cancun, in all honesty."

She frowned. "Were we still hiding?"

"Nope." He smirked in response, squeezing her ass. "Guess you could say we were gettin' to know one another a little better."

"Oh," she said, understanding the unspoken inference. Her mind recalled their earlier conversation beneath the overpass. "We were not playing UNO?"

"Nah," he said. "More like Naked Twister, but without the big-ass game-board."

She grinned. "I think I —"

"Horizontal square dancin'," he said, tickling her between the ribs as she squirmed delightedly. "Don't think we even left the room for the first week. Just slept, ordered room service and… well, you can probably guess the rest."

"Then the Bahamas?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Then Greece?"

"Yep."

"And we were married in Santorini?"

"Uh huh."

"Was it planned?"

"Is anything I ever do planned?" Wheeler asked — a cheeky grin on his face. He bit down gently on her shoulder, batting his lashes at her. "Am I not the king of spontaneous action?"

She rolled her eyes. "So long as you did not propose to me again with a ring from a Christmas cracker."

"Nah, that's just poor taste."

"Good."

"It was a ring pull from a beer can."

"Wheeler," she exclaimed. "Are you joking with —"

"Nope. Dead serious."

She lifted herself onto an elbow; clutching the sheets to her chest as she stared down at him. "You are a brave man!"

"Brave or stupid." He shrugged, folding his hands behind his head and winking at her. "We were havin' the best time. Just spendin' our days on the beach. Trawlin' the markets and shops. Massages on the sand. Explorin' the sites. Nights sittin' in the beach-side restaurants eating seafood and drinkin' beer. Watching the world go by."

"Sounds wonderful," she said warmly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Tell me how you proposed."

"We'd met a pair of honeymooners from Canada — Adam and Bec. Went out and got horrendously drunk with them one night in Fira. Adam was pullin' out the dance moves. You lost your shoes. I tripped over a pissed-off midget donkey —"

"A donkey?"

"It's Santorini. You know how many of those bastards are hangin' around?" He grinned, shaking his head in wonder. "Wild night."

She giggled, lying back down beside him — thrilled to be hearing the details. "What happened then?"

"We lost the others. Ended up on the beach." He grinned, nuzzling her forehead with his nose. "You're flat on your back. Completely tanked. Pretty black dress on. Straps were fallin' down your arms. Doin' starfish patterns in the sand."

She sighed, feeling his fingers trailing up the curve of her neck as he kissed her throat with slow, deliberate motions. She tipped her head back, winding her arms around his neck and holding him to her.

"You looked so adorable. There was an empty beer can nearby. Tore off the ring pull, dragged you into my lap and asked you then and there to be my wife."

"And I accepted this romantic proposal?"

"Yeah. Quite loudly, as I recall."

She giggled again. "And you placed this magnificent trophy on my finger?"

"Had to shove the little bastard on somewhat."

"The ring pull from a can of soft drink." She touched his cheek, amused. "How environmentally friendly of you."

"What can I say, babe?" he said loftily. "It's how I roll."

"Pridurok," she laughed. "I think that is worse than the Christmas cracker trinkle-thingy."

"Trinket," he corrected. "I'll admit I had the actual ring in my pocket once you'd sobered up. Been holdin' onto it for a while."

"Never a dull moment with you, Yankee," she said fondly. "We were married straight away?"

"Few weeks later," he said. "We needed a little piece of paper that said we were who we said we were."

"Even though we were not?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Some document saying we were free to marry. Took a few weeks to arrive."

"Oh."

"Married you on the beach. You had flowers in your hair," he said, smiling at her. "Knocked you up before we hit Thailand. My bad."

"Any regrets?"

He sighed, running his fingers through her hair again. Kissing her brow, her nose, the corner of her mouth. Seeming to think long and hard about the question.

"I regret that I didn't make a move on you sooner."

"Yankee," she said softly. "You never failed to make your feelings known on a —"

"No babe. I didn't." He shook his head, kissing her softly. "I flirted. I propositioned. Threw myself into any situation to get close to you. It never went beyond that. Never told you the truth."

"Oh Yankee, I —"

"So yeah," he said. "The what if's tend to haunt me."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe if we'd gotten together earlier, this whole thing with MAL may not have happened."

She nodded, tightening her arms around him. "If I go back today — back to my time — I am wondering what will happen to all of you?"

"What do you mean?"

She rubbed her face, giving herself time to gather her thoughts. "I … if I am successful. If I return with Bleak and the bodies… If I change the past, will you all simply cease to exist? Or will this future change? This timeline — will it become re… redactle… reddum…"

"Redundant?"

"Da," she said. "In all honesty, the possibilities hurt my head."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "We're here, right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And the others — your Planeteers — are out there somewhere?"

She nodded, feeling him smile against her temple.

"I'm guessin' your Planeteers have kept goin' all this time. I'm sure we'll continue doin' the same. Besides, you won't have to worry 'bout it anyway."

"But I will still —" she argued, but he cut her off quickly.

"Doubt we're gonna disappear. We'll keep on goin' — just like you."

She nodded, appeased for the moment.

The sound of the rain became louder as she settled herself into the crook of his arm, lulled by his still-wandering fingers tracing her waist and hip.

"Wheeler?"

"Mmm?"

"What if I don't remember all of this?" she whispered. "If I return?"

He let out a heavy breath, reaching for her hand and threading his fingers through hers. "No use worrying' about it now, babe."

"What if I make the wrong choices again?"

He squeezed her hand. "I guess you'll have to cross that bridge when you come to it."

She nodded; feeling comfortable and sleepy in his warm embrace. "What if I don't —"

He stiffened, holding his hand out in warning. Narrowing his eyes, he gently manoeuvred her onto the mattress and sat up quickly, glancing in the direction of the cabin door. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

A beat passed. "Swore I heard voices."

"Nyet, I did not —"

Linka was interrupted by a light knock on the door. She twisted; glancing in the direction of the soft rapping sound.

"Guys," a small voice said from outside, just audible over the rain. "You in here?"

She breathed a sigh of relief — It was Gi.

"Can you hear me? Are you in here?"

"Got any pizza?" Wheeler called back, and Linka slapped him again, grinning.

"Uh... no."

"We're not here, then."

"I found a camera last night," Gi said; her voice floating through the truck panels.

"Good for you," Wheeler called back, flopping back onto his side and burrowing under the covers. "That's great."

"Wait a minute," Linka called, slightly flustered at her lack of clothes. "I am… ah, der'mo."

Wheeler groaned as Linka clambered over him, searching for her scattered jeans and shirt. She threw them on hastily and leaned forward, pushing the door open.

Gi's face peered up at her from below, clutching a large piece of plastic sheeting over her head. A polaroid camera was hanging from a large strap around her neck and she looked rather pleased with herself.

"Hey," she said, craning her neck and staring at Linka. "Uh… everyone's up and having breakfast, guys."

"You comin'?" Grace was a few steps behind Gi; arms crossed and dressed in an anorak several sizes too large for her. Her eyes also settled on Wheeler's form and a smirk crossed her face.

Linka chose to ignore it.

Gi stepped closer. "There's tea and almond milk, apparently!"

"Got any bacon?" Wheeler's voice was muffled under the blanket.

"No," Gi replied.

"Damn."

She smiled, glancing at Linka. "Bleak found some inflatable stuff to take with you. Couple of holes, but he's patched them."

"You go," Wheeler said, sitting up and searching for his own clothes strewn throughout the cabin. "I'll see ya in a minute."

Linka nodded, grabbing her shoes and making her way down the cab. She dropped to the ground and straightened, stretching her muscles.

"Have a good night, champ?" Gi teased, eyeing Wheeler as he responded under his breath with something mildly offensive. He grinned all the same — raising his middle finger as he pulled the door closed. Gi stepped forward, sheltering Linka with her makeshift umbrella and seeming to appraise the tell-tale reddened marks on her neck.

"You look like you were mauled by a bear."

"Do I?" Linka replied, turing pink.

"Your shirt's on inside-out, too." Grace added helpfully.

Linka swore quietly, wrapping the cardigan around her body to hide the fabric seams. "It was dark."

Gi raised her eyebrows. "Why am I feeling a sudden case of deja vu?"

"We talked," Linka said, refusing to meet Gi's gaze. "We… I, uh… we may have —"

"God, you guys are hopeless," Gi said, laughing. "Can't help yourselves, can you?"

Linka shrugged, lurching somewhat as Grace threw an arm around her and dragged her away; Gi's giggles still ringing behind her.

The trio stumbled towards the compound, stomachs grumbling and hopes high.

"No, no, no," Gi laughed, clutching her tea in her hands. "The funniest time was when Ma-Ti hid dead fish behind the dashboard of Greedly's BMW."

A chorus of laughter followed. Linka sat tucked within Wheeler's arm, watching the hub of activity around her. She drew her knees up to her chest, making way for a trolley full of goods that was currently being wheeled past.

Kwame shook his head. "Linka changing Plunder's DMV records to… ah, what was it?" He clicked his fingers at Wheeler.

"Heywood Jeblowme," Wheeler said.

Grace snorted into her coffee cup. "Are you serious?"

"I dared Lin to amend his details."

"Was that you?" Bleak's voice resonated loudly as he entered the galley, hoisting himself up onto the counter and eyeing them with derision. "Boss wracked his brains for months tryin' to figure that out."

Linka laughed, leaning into Wheeler and dropping her head against his shoulder. "I changed it back… after a while."

"Jesus," Bleak muttered. "Got any coffee amongst all the shit 'ere?"

"Only tea," Grace replied. "You want some?"

"Tea's for pussies."

"Did your mother drop you on your head as a child?" Grace politely enquired, and this time it was Wheeler's turn to snort loudly. "Starved for affection?"

Bleak glared openly at Grace but she simply continued sipping from her chipped mug, her round face the picture of innocence.

"I remember when Ma-Ti went on his first date," Kwame said, leaning back and clasping his hands in his lap. He regarded his friends fondly. "Wheeler and Gi spent so much time trying to 'prepare' him that —"

"God," Ma-Ti said, rolling his eyes. "I had forgotten about that. You two overwhelmed me with so much conflicting information that I had a panic attack in the carpark. Barely made it through the night."

"I am surprised you were not scarred for life," Kwame said.

"Nothin' wrong with my advice," Wheeler said, leaning forward and causing Linka to slop tea all over her lap. "I knew how to get the ladies —"

A chorus of loud groans followed, despite Wheeler's protestations.

"Yeah," Gi said. "Getting ladies was never a problem — you were never interested in keeping any of them."

"Kept the only one that mattered," he replied. He kissed the top of Linka's head and winked at Gi and Grace. "I hear you two are comin' back with me?"

"If that's all right?" Gi said. "Don't wanna cramp your style."

Wheeler shrugged. "Got a sweatshop down in the basement. Need the cheap labor."

"Wheeler!" Linka hissed, elbowing him in the ribs as the girls giggled. "Bozhe moy."

"We need a photo," Gi said suddenly, jumping to her feet and clutching the camera still hanging from her neck. "

"That thing even work?" Grace said. "Any film in —"

"No idea," she said, jumping forward and grabbing Kwame by the shirt, hauling him to his feet. Kwame was pushed in Wheeler and Linka's direction, grumbling under his breath. Gi snapped her fingers at Ma-Ti. "Up!"

Wheeler stood, offering Linka his hand and pulling her to her feet. She ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to make herself look more presentable as the others crowded around them.

Linka gestured towards Grace. "Come!"

"Oh, I don't need to —" she began but Gi shooed her over as well. "Fine. What about Grumpy?" she said, nodding at Bleak.

"What do I look like, a fuckin —"

"Oh, get your bald, ugly head over here," Grace snapped, grabbing Bleak and dragging him over.

A few others joined in and Linka was jostled about amongst the animated crowd. She instinctively moved closer to Wheeler, slipping an arm around his waist as Kwame called Tyreece over to join them. Gi handed the camera to a small slip of a girl with a jagged hair cut before hurrying towards Grace.

"Make it count."

The girl raised an eyebrow, staring down at the camera. "Does it even —"

"No idea."

The girl shrugged, raising the polaroid to eye level and directing the rowdy subjects to stand closer together.

The original five had now swelled to about fifteen. Linka held her breath as someone bumped into her. Wheeler slipped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. She hugged him back, peering at Bleak who stood stiffly off to the side; arms crossed and looking distinctly annoyed at the proceedings.

"Duck down at the front," the girl said, before glaring at someone behind Kwame. "Adam, I can't see —"

"Dude," Grace moaned. "It's a photo, not a Vogue magazine shoot."

"Move in!"

"Press the damn button," Wheeler muttered, earning a slap to the back of the head from Gi. He retaliated with a well-aimed side-flick to her backside with the heel of his boot, causing them all to surge forward. Kwame's half-hearted complaints were just audible as Ma-Ti chuckled from somewhere nearby.

Linka grinned, delighted to witness those small reminders of where she had come from. Echoes of home that had been sorely missed. The banter. The affection and friendship that she had come to take for granted.

The seeds had been sown here, though. The roots were forming once again, destined to bloom bright and it was a joy to behold.

"That'd better not be your hand on my ass, Ma-Ti," Wheeler said under his breath, eliciting more laughter. She tipped her head back, grinning at Wheeler as the electronic click sounded.

"All right," the girl said, collecting the resulting images and handing them to Gi. "Only got two. Think it's jammed."

Gi frowned, flapping the images in the air and heading towards Linka as the crowd slowly dispersed. She blew gently on the film, holding the pictures out for inspection. "Hey, that's a good shot!"

Linka looked them over with interest. The colours were a tad faded, perhaps due to the length of time stored away without use.

"Only two?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling shyly at Linka. "Needed to replace my last team shot."

Linka glanced at Wheeler. "Do you want the other?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Do you?"

"I thought you might wish to hold onto it," she said, biting her tongue and regretting her words — because this inconspicuous piece of glossy paper was yet another way of holding onto his past. Of holding onto her. Of not letting go, destined to remain buried within his box of memories.

It wasn't what she wanted for him.

Gi waited expectantly, unsure of how to proceed. She shrugged, handing the photo to Wheeler before wandering away. He clutched it loosely between his fingers, flicking the edge until the corner folded over like a dog ear.

"Do not hold onto me," she whispered, rising onto her toes and kissing him softly. She cupped his cheek, stroking her thumb over the patchwork of red-tinged stubble. "You deserve more. I want you to be happy."

He nodded. "Miss you, baby girl," he whispered, wrapping her in a fierce bear hug. Lifting her off the ground. "Love you to the moon and back. Always have."

"I love you too," she said, holding him tightly.

He kissed her, nuzzling her nose and glancing over her shoulder. "Still a pain in my ass, g —"

His body tensed and she felt his fingers clamp down almost painfully. Leaning back, she looked up at him questioningly but his attention was diverted.

She touched his face. "What —"

"SHUT UP!" Tyreece's voice cut through the room sharp as a whip-crack and a nervous silence descended.

Everyone stood rooted to the spot, unsure of how to proceed. All eyes were on the doorway as a young man staggered into the galley, covered in blood and clutching his stomach. Tyreece and Kwame stumbled forward, grabbing him before he collapsed to the floor.

"What happened?"

Linka clapped a hand to her mouth, watching on. Her view was obscured but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Several moments passed. She watched Kwame raise his head, eyes scanning and finally settling on her. Regarding Linka with worry.

The injured man was carried away as Kwame gave urgent instructions to Tyreece. She watched Tyreece nod, before clapping his hands and shouting directions, ushering everyone out.

Kwame hurried over to them. "Kroi is out. Blight and Lambert are dead."

"What?" Linka's face went pale. "How —"

"No idea," Kwame said, rubbing his face as Gi and Ma-Ti approached. "We think Kroi has murdered the other two, and hid until someone came in and found them. Waited for the gate to be…" He sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "You can probably guess the rest."

"Great," Wheeler muttered. "Just what we —"

"What now?" Gi asked.

"Tyreece is moving everyone out to search for him. He's ordering them to steer clear of the lab." Kwame gave Linka a small smile, reaching forward and touching her cheek. "It is time to go, my friend. We cannot risk him using or damaging the portal equipment."

"All right," she said, allowing Wheeler and Gi to pull her onwards through the compound.

She took a deep breath, watching Bleak overtake them. The inner tube from a tyre was clutched in his hand, ready for their presumed decent into water. It bumped and bobbled against the wall as he squeezed past, peppering Kwame with more questions.

Nerves had set in. Fear of the unknown but she steeled herself, pushing her fears aside. Determined to see this through.

They were going home.