It was their last night in St. Petersburg, and Rhys couldn't sleep. Every time he tried to drift off, he'd wake up with disturbing dreams, not quite nightmares, but troubling enough that he couldn't sleep. After a few hours of this, he finally gave up and retreated to the living room, as opulent as the bedroom. Almost too opulent for his tastes. It struck him, not for the first time, that he was hamburger, and Natalya was caviar. It wasn't the first time he'd been attached to someone who had more money than him. Hell, he was dirt poor, and Natalya was anything but, but it wasn't her money that interested him, and it never had been.

It didn't seem to have occurred to him that it was his money now. Natalya had grown up in a fairly traditional family, for all its many faults, and the moment she'd told her lawyer that she was married, Rhys' name had been added to all the deeds and entitlements she owned, ahead of hers. Admittedly, they were now in the process of being sold, but still ....he was wealthy now. Wealthier than he could ever have imagined being. But whether he was rich or poor, it didn't matter to his wife. She loved him, not what he owned or what he could buy. And sleeping without him close by had become one of the most difficult things she could possibly do.

Perhaps ten minutes after he'd left the bed, she stirred, reaching out for him, brought to full wakefulness when her arms encountered cool cloth. A glance about the bedroom told her he was no longer there, but she didn't think he would have gone far. Sliding out of bed, she wrapped a robe about herself and moved on bare feet to the living room, smiling sleepily as her gaze found him. "Is everything all right, dusha moya?"

She was right about one thing - he hadn't gone far. He was sprawled out on the couch in nothing but boxers and t-shirt, his mind moving too fast for 3 a.m. He had thought about brewing himself a cup of coffee, but coffee wasn't going to help him sleep, so he'd opted for a shot of vodka instead. He'd have preferred whiskey, but when in Rome....er, Russia. He hadn't turned any lights on, and the only light in the room was that of moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the draperies, as ornate as the rest of the furnishings. Rhys idly wondered if this was what Heaven looked like - he couldn't really remember. "Hey," he greeted her with a faint smile. "Can't sleep. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I cannot sleep when you are not there," she told him softly through her smile, one hand resting against the back of the nearest chair as she rubbed her eyes. "Is this something I can help you with, Rhys" I do not like to think that you are struggling with something and I have not noticed it."

"Think you can screw me silly until I can't think straight?" he asked, looking perfectly serious. There was obviously something on his mind. He wasn't one to toss back shots of anything, much less vodka, without good reason. And speaking of vodka, he leaned over to refill his glass. "This stuff is nasty, but it does the trick."

"I've done it before, but it only works over very short periods of time," she answered him just as seriously, moving away from her lean to fold herself down onto the couch beside him as he refilled his glass. One arm wrapped about his shoulders, the other hand stroked his cheek, turning his face toward hers to kiss him softly. "You can talk to me about anything, you know" I have seen the worst thing you could ever show me. I am not going to turn away."

"The worst thing?" he echoed, as she turned his face toward hers. "Trust me, Nat, you haven't seen the worst." The worst was a nervous breakdown in New York. Thank God - or whatever powers that be - that she hadn't witnessed that particular incident. He hesitated a moment to toss back the vodka, wincing as it burned its way down. It was a temporary fix at most, but it was better than nothing. It was either that or screw her until he passed out from exhaustion, though he had a feeling she wouldn't have minded that so much. He leaned over to set the empty glass on the table, hesitating a moment before continuing. "If you could change any one thing about your past, what would it be? Just one."

"I saw you die. Nothing will ever be worse than that." She refused to let him think there was anything about him that would ever make her walk away, no matter how awful he seemed to think it was. Settling close to him, she considered his question, forcing her sleepy mind to wakefulness to give him an answer that was somewhere close to coherence. "One thing" It isn't my past that I would change, but it would erase me and everything I have experienced. I could wish that Mama had been allowed to marry the man she loved. But time is so fragile. One change, and everything is different. The Butterfly Effect, you know?"

"You saw that movie, too, huh?" he asked, turning to her with an ironic smirk. "Okay, let me rephrase that..." he started, tucking one leg under the other as he turned to face her. He needed to sort this crap out somehow, and who better to sort it out with than the one person he loved and trusted more than any other" "What if I told you there was a way to bring your brother back?"

Natalya couldn't help smiling a little. She loved Rhys, but he did seem to forget from time to time that she had as much of a grounding in the supernatural and occult as he did, perhaps more in certain areas. "Magic, milaya?" she asked gently, propping her head on her hand as she held his gaze. "A spell, or a way to manipulate a natural occurrence, so that Micah lives" So that I never banish my father to Hell, and he kills me instead?"

"When you put it like that, it doesn't sound like such a good idea," he said with a repentant frown, tempted to pour himself another shot, but resisting that temptation. He didn't really want to get drunk, just sleepy. "I've thought about it, you know" What would happen if I..." He broke off, biting his tongue, before he said too much. If she knew what he was about to say, would she think him crazy, or did she already know about such possibilities" Hell, there were a lot of things she knew that he didn't. Time travel probably wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

"There is no one who hasn't thought about it," she murmured fondly, stroking her fingertips through his hair as they spoke, and unexpected tears formed in her eyes, not yet ready to form. "I almost did it, a few months before we met. Elisabeta tied me to the spare bed in her home and gagged me until I would stop shouting at them and just listen."

"Would they take us back only as observers?" he asked curiously, still unsure if he even wanted to know, though he also knew he wouldn't be able to put the matter to rest until he did. One way or another, he needed closure. Uh oh, he thought, rolling his eyes, as she continued. Talk about temptation. He had a feeling Nat would like nothing more than the challenge of a new theft, and he may have just given her cause. "Dare I ask where they are?"

She shook her head at his curious query. "No, the only spells I know would put us physically in that time and space, and once you're there, you can affect everything around you," she said calmly. As to his second question ....it wasn't so much a case of theft as of simply something to challenge the mind and fill their time. It had been eight months since their wedding, and five months before that spent with doing next to nothing. She'd been idle for over a year, unused to it despite how wonderful that time spent with him had been. "The Cup of Jamshid is one of the more powerful artifacts from Ancient Persia; Tezcatlipoca was an early god in one of the Aztec Mayan religions. So ....the Middle East or South America."

There was a time when he might have doubted the actual existence of such mythical items, but that doubt had evaporated with his trip to Avalon. She had an answer for every mythical item he could possibly think of, and he'd given up trying to stump her or fool her. From the Holy Grail to Excalibur to the Staff of Moses, the Institute of Avalon seemed to have obtained them all, or at least, knew of their existence. "Okay, so, what are you suggesting exactly?" Since they had both already rejected the idea of traveling back in time, however it was done, spell or otherwise, as too risky.

"You need to learn what really happened," she told him, "and I suggest that you call Adam and ask him to look into the files that must have been generated when your parents died while we're driving back to England. He knows what he's looking for, so he'll know if anything has been tampered with. Once we know for certain that the evidence has been tampered with, then we'll have to find a way to learn the truth, and the use of divination objects and artifacts that cannot lie are a good start. That, and we cannot run to the Lady every time we need something. We took an oath to serve her, not to use her like the internet."

"Already done. Just waiting to hear back. He said it might take a few days." Rhys frowned as she went on to remind him that though they were in the Lady's favor, they couldn't run to her every time they had a problem and expect her to fix it for them. "I was kinda hoping she could magic us to New York without having to fly," he replied gloomily, assuming that was probably too easy. It seemed that though the Lady favored them, there were some things they had to do for themselves. Like traveling. The more he flew, the less he liked it.

His wife held his gaze for a long moment, wondering if he realized that he'd just suggested they use the Lady of Avalon as an inter-dimensional, international taxi service. It certainly wasn't a subject she was going to get into with him, apart from putting her foot down with a firm no. "Adam has our phone numbers, I am sure he will contact us before the end of the week," she said instead. "By which time, we will be back in England, by car and by boat."

"That's a no, isn't it?" he asked, already knowing the answer to his question, rhetorical as it had been. He wasn't above using a little hocus pocus to avoid climbing into an airplane. Hell, to Rhys, was more than six hours of complete darkness stuck in an airplane flying high over the ocean - any ocean. Or land, for that matter. He was just going to have to suck it up, but he wouldn't have to worry about it yet. They still had to get the Mustang to England first.

"Da, Rhys, that is a no," Nat confirmed for him, chuckling softly. She leaned close to him, her lips brushing a tender, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you even when you say silly things." After all, he had her to distract him on a plane now, she was pretty good at that.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," he admitted, with a wry quirk of his lips as her lips met his. There was only one thing left on his mind, and he thought it might just as well wait until morning. He touched his fingers to her cheek, trailing down her neck to part the front of her night-robe. "So, you know any cures for insomnia that won't leave me with a hangover?"

"Take the good with the bad," she teased him, her warm smile rising on her face as his mood seemed to level out. She had a feeling they weren't done talking over everything that was on his mind, but something in what had been said seemed to have at least calmed whatever had been stopping him from sleeping. His query made her laugh huskily. "Well, I could be wrong, of course," she mused, drawing her own fingers up along the tender skin of his inner thigh as the soft silk of her robe parted under his touch, "but I believe marital sex is supposed to be very soporific."

"There you go with the big words again," he remarked as he pushed her back onto the overly opulent divan - because it was far too fancy to be called a couch. He was done talking, most of what was bothering him off his chest, at least, for the time being. They'd have more than enough time to talk in the car on the long drive back to England, which he was actually looking forward to. It had been a long time since he'd been behind the wheel on a road trip, and he was looking forward to exploring the countryside on their way back, not to mention getting better acquainted with his new wheels.

She giggled as he pushed her onto her back, her arms rising to curl about him, drawing him down to her affectionately. "You are supposed to be the one who speaks English like a native in this marriage," was her teasing addition as her lips brushed over his once again. Odd, how one encounter on a plane over the Atlantic had led not only to love, but to marriage, to a future that seemed so secure for them both. The more time they spent together, the better they grew to know one another, sharing oddly philosophical debates juxtaposed with some of the silliest teasing she'd ever had the joy to be a part of. He had opened up a side of her she had never known existed, and she knew she'd feel lost if he was ever gone from her again. Of course, sex didn't say all that, but it was a great leveler. It's hard to hold a conversation when you're concentrating on getting your lungs back under control after playing with your husband.

"Nat, do us both a favor and shut up," he teased back, as his lips started to wander, hands already peeling back the layers of silk and lace that kept her from him. He was clearly done talking, at least for now, something far more immediate on his mind. He was slowly learning to open up to her, slowly learning that he could tell her anything without worrying she'd rebuke or ridicule him, or even worse, simply not believe him. It would take time, but with her help, he was slowly learning to trust again, enjoying their philosophical debates almost as much as he enjoyed making love. She was a partner, an equal, a perfect match to him in every way, yin to his yang, balancing his strengths and weaknesses with those of her own. Yes, they were still learning each other, but there was joy in that learning, and the more they learned about the other, the closer they became, the more intertwined their lives, and while sex didn't say all that, he knew no better way to tell her that he loved her.

Her laughter at being told to shut up quickly faded into the familiar soft sounds she gave to him and only him, wrapped up in affection and passion as clothing found a new home elsewhere in the heady spirit of their more physical hobby. He'd been the first person to see her smile and mean it, the first person to hear her laugh, and he still did that to her, over and again, every day. Now, she fully intended that he would always and forever be the last person to see her in moments like this, open and vulnerable and tenderly responsive not just to his touch but to his heart.

Whatever happened in the quiet minutes and hours that followed was for them and them alone, sharing that sacred bond of marriage in the most personal way. Each time was new and different, and yet comfortingly familiar. The passion they shared not only that of the physical kind, but almost that of a spiritual bonding. They belonged to the other in every sense of the word, heart, body, mind, and soul. By the time the first light of morning made itself known, turning the room golden with sunlight, the Champion and Priestess of Avalon lay blissfully asleep at last, safe and secure, each wrapped in the other's embrace.

((Well, it's been a while since they went all Indiana Jones on us, hasn't it' ::grins:: Many thanks to Rhys' player!))