((Contains reference to adult material.))

The autumn crossings between Dieppe in France and Newhaven in England were often subject to a few delays, thanks to the inclement weather. Nat and Rhys had taken their time traveling from St Petersburg, crossing many borders, stopping several times to expand Rhys' horizons when it came to Europe and the many different cultures that it contained. The Mustang was holding up to the journey very well indeed - comfortable enough that neither one of them was overly stiff by the end of the day, responsive enough that Rhys had been able to test its capabilities on several stretches of deserted road over the past few days. They were on their second to last leg of the journey now, having boarded the cross-Channel ferry at Dieppe a couple of hours ago. The Mustang was below on the car deck, locked up tight and secure, while on the decks above, the couple had done a little exploring of the various facilities while waiting for the ferry to slip anchor and begin her four hour journey to England.

Now that journey was underway, and though she was trying to hide it for Rhys' sake, Nat was growing more and more tense. Her fear of water, of drowning, was not something she spoke of often, nor even alluded to unless it was necessary, and though she knew this crossing was as safe as it could possibly be - and a far better alternative than the Channel Tunnel, given that they both suffered with claustrophobia in their own ways - she was still uneasy. Every pitch of the ship made her heart lurch, until finally she'd given up trying to handle it inside and had headed out onto the deck at the stern. Now she stood in the whipping wind as it swept the deck, leaning against the railing as she watched the wake of the ferry churn up the water behind them, letting the elements disorientate her until she barely noticed the pitch and roll of the ship beneath her feet.

They had discussed their options at length on the road. Crossing the Channel was almost as unpleasant a prospect as crossing the ocean, and though Rhys didn't share Nat's fear of water, he had lost a loved one to drowning once and understood her fear. Still, it was a better option for both of them than the Tunnel, and they had finally agreed to make the crossing at Dieppe. Not for the first time, Rhys wished for a little supernatural help to make things easier, but it seemed all his supernatural allies had made themselves scarce after the Gates of Hell had been sealed shut. All but the Lady of Avalon, but she was too far away to help, and somehow Rhys knew there were certain things they just had to do themselves. He'd been content to explore for a while, doing his best to keep Nat's mind occupied. The best solution to the problem would be to distract her with sex, but they'd been all over the ferry and found no place where there was enough privacy for that.

Once Rhys had discovered the arcade, it was all over. He'd occupied at least an hour of his time sliding coin after coin into the machines, until Nat's eyes had glazed over with boredom. She'd tried to drag him away, but he'd kept mumbling, "Just one more," cursing as he was defeated again and again, until Nat sighed in resignation. It was at least twenty minutes before he noticed she'd abandoned him, and it had taken another ten minutes to locate her. By that time, he was feeling pretty ashamed for abandoning her for the sake of a silly game. He pulled his jacket closed against the autumn wind, which seemed so much colder at sea than it had on land, and crossed to where she stood near the railing, feeling a little woozy at every lurch the ship made. "Hey," he greeted her gently, hoping she wasn't too mad at him.

She drew her eyes away from the sea as he came up beside her, small enough that she didn't have to bend to lean on the railing, holding on to keep herself from swaying too much with each roll of the ship. Her lips curved in a small smile for him. "Hey," she answered him in kind, taking a deep breath to try and clear her head a little more. "I did not mean to just leave you," she apologized quietly beneath the rush of the wind. "I just do not like to be ....enclosed ....at sea. I find it very easy to frighten myself with catastrophes that will not happen."

"What are you doing up here?" he asked, wrapping one arm around her, partly to keep her warm and partly to offer whatever comfort he could. He looked a little pale, mostly from seasickness, refusing to take the medicine that had been offered that would ward off such a feeling. He was a man, after all, and had insisted he'd be fine. He'd killed more demons than he could count. He could handle a few choppy waves, or so he'd thought. He frowned at her explanation, not really understanding her logic, but since when were phobias logical" She had distracted him from his fear of flying, but he wasn't quite sure how to do the same for her fear of drowning. He'd lost his first love to drowning and had no intention of having the past repeat itself ever again.

"Nat, come downstairs. We can....we can get a cup of coffee or something. Take your mind off the sea. Nothing's going to happen. We'll be there in a few hours." He leaned close to kiss her cheek and offer what comfort he could, wishing she'd do as he said. He didn't like to see her this way and almost wished they'd taken the Chunnel. At least, they'd be in the damned car and not on a choppy sea. Was he trying to convince himself or her" It was hard to say. Maybe a little of both.

She leaned into him as his arm went about her, more comforted by his presence than he might have expected. Her logic made sense to her, but then, he had not been caged beneath the sea with the water level rising constantly. She didn't expect him to understand why she felt the way she did, nor why being on deck helped to keep the panic at bay. His kiss warmed her cheek, raising a better smile on her face as he sought to reassure her. She didn't want him to worry about her. "Very well," she agreed with a gentle nod of her head, moving to turn away from the railing. "How is your stomach?"

"My stomach thinks it's riding the Cyclone at Coney Island, but I'll be all right." He flashed a fake smile in hopes of reassuring her. He didn't want her to worry about him either, but he was a terrible liar. The truth was he was terrified of being on deck and of something happening that would cause her to fall over board. Like Jessie falling off that bridge and plunging to her death in the murky river. He tried to push that memory aside as it gripped his heart with fear, his arms going tighter around her. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not to Nat. "Let's go downstairs, baby. You're gonna freeze up here."

Perhaps if he had told her his reasons for worrying about her while she was on deck, Natalya would have been more circumspect about where she chose to stand out here. She let him draw her into his arms, tense in his grasp for the first time since they had met, though she tried to force herself to relax as she swayed into him with the motion of the ship. "Okay," she agreed once again, forcing herself to face her own fear of being inside while on the water for his sake. "You should try drinking ginger tea, perhaps. It might help to settle your stomach."

Not for the first time, his instinct toward protecting her through some form of deception, however kindly meant, backfired on him. Some of the openness in her eyes locked itself away, swift to hide the stabbing hurt that came with knowing he was not being entirely honest with her. A fear of losing her was understandable, but he had not truly answered her question. But still, Nat refused to press him for anything he did not want to share with her, raising a soft smile as her hand retreated from his face. "Let us go inside."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he stifled another shudder, the thought of her sharing the same fate as Jessie almost too much to bear. He shoved that thought aside once again as he tried to focus his attention on her needs and her fears. "Are you sure?" he asked, not wanting her to do anything that would make matters worse for her, but happy to retreat to the perceived safety of the lower deck.

She nodded, preferring to deceive him a little and see him relax than to fixate upon a fear that was doing nothing but make her uncomfortable. "I am sure," she assured him. "If it becomes too much, I can come back on deck, milaya. Let us find you something to ease your stomach."

He felt the same way, preferring to focus on what she needed from him, rather the opposite, but he surrendered easily enough to her request. He'd feel better once they were below deck, where they could at least pretend to be on solid ground, so long as the damned ship would stop lurching and his stomach would settle. "All right," he relented, moving unsteadily to his feet once again and shifting his weight to compensate for the rocking of the ship.

Rising to her own feet, she waited to let him take point, preferring to follow him down the stairs than risk a fall and frighten herself by plunging toward the railing on the open passageway that led to the inner deck below. Taking a last deep breath of the fresh air, she followed Rhys in out of the cold, her hands automatically undoing her coat buttons to keep herself from overheating as she glanced back and forth. "I do not remember which way the coffee lounge is."

He took hold of her hand, gripping it tightly as they made their way back to the stairs and below deck, taking it slow so that neither of them pitched forward when the boat rocked against the waves. If there was one thing he was good at it was finding his way, rarely getting lost even when he was in a new and unfamiliar place. He had an innate sense of direction and remembered without fail which way they needed to go. "It's this way," he told her, letting his memory and his senses guide him. What he really wanted was a hot cup of strong coffee. He wasn't too fond of tea, but tea was more likely to calm his roiling stomach than coffee.

Hand in hand with her husband, Nat turned in the appropriate direction, trusting him to remember his way around where she did not. To her, this inner part of the ship felt stuffy, the motion of the ship exaggerated more when she did not have the wind and fresh open air to distract her from it. But for now she could cope with that sensation, however anxious she was to get back onto dry land once again. "England should just be coming into sight," she commented as they passed a family who seemed to arguing over who got the last sausage roll in their packed lunch. "Perhaps two hours before we dock."

Two hours, he thought. They could do this. Hell, they'd been through worse than this. It was just a boat ride, for God's sake, not the end of the world. He offered a strained smile to the family as they passed and muttered an apology for getting in the way, wishing not for the first time that he could go about simple tasks like this one without any fear or worries the way normal people did. But his life wasn't normal, and if they knew what he did, they might not be so placidly unconcerned. "You hungry?" he asked as they made their way to the coffee lounge, moving past a few other passengers on the way.

Nat shook her head, an apologetic grimace touching her pretty features for a moment. "I do not think I could eat," she admitted awkwardly. "Though I am sure I will be hungry when we make land. But do not feel that you must go without food simply because I choose to, Rhys. "

"No, I don't trust my stomach right now," he said as he led her into the coffee lounge and took a look around. All he really wanted to do was sit down. Standing seemed to be making the feeling of queasiness worse.

Knowing that his seasickness was probably giving him even more trouble now, judging by the paleness of his face, Nat chuckled, squeezing his hand. "Go and sit down," she told him fondly, grateful for the distraction of looking after him. "I will get you something to drink."

He didn't bother to argue, not now that they were there and his stomach was on the verge of emptying itself against his will. He wondered if it was such a good idea to come down here, but their choices were limited. It was either stay on deck and worry about her falling over board or come down here and try not to turn green. He was glad he'd decided to forego a bit of breakfast, which would have only made things worse. He did as he was told, taking a seat a bit shakily, but so far, so good.

Shaking her head at his stubbornness - if he had taken the pill she'd offered him when they'd gotten on board, he would have been fine - Nat headed for the counter, offering a smile to the girl behind it as she ordered two coffees and a cup of ginger tea. She did, after all, know her husband a little better than he sometimes gave her credit for. Besides, this gave her an opportunity to use up what was left of her Euros in change, freeing up her purse for the sterling that would replace them when they reached England. A few minutes later, she was making her way back to Rhys from the counter, balancing a tray carefully.

He chosen a quiet table with two chairs and as she made her way back to him, was found resting his head against his hand, eyes closed, debating if he felt better or worse than he had on deck. Two hours. He'd defeated the King of Hell, for God's sake. He could do this.

She set the tray down on the table, staggering a little as the ship rolled, and thumped down into the second chair beside him. Her fingers gently brushed the back of his neck. "Milaya," she called him out of his own personal hell softly. "Try the ginger tea. It should help to calm your nausea a little."

"Ah." She breathed out that single syllable, understanding in a flash his deep concern when he had found her on deck, his need to keep her near him, inside, away from any place where she might fall into the water. It was a difficult thing to master for them both - she, who would have to go on deck again at some point or dissolve into hopeless, helpless tears of fright, and he, who would much rather she stayed here so he could keep her safe. And Nat had no idea who was going to get their way when that moment came.

There was, of course, much more to the story, but that was his fear in a nutshell - that he'd lose her the same way he'd lost Jessie - despite how illogical or unlikely that fear was. Fears weren't rational, after all, no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it. "She was only sixteen," he continued, uncertain if he wanted to tell her much more, if he wanted to dig that deeply into his own past and tear open wounds that were supposed to be healed. "It was my fault," he said, though he knew that wasn't entirely true. The Grail had helped him see things truly, and he knew it was the demons who'd killed Jessie, not him. He licked his lips nervously, as some of the story came out in bits and pieces. "It was Namaah," he said, the name alone making him grind his teeth in anger. He had hated her more than any other demon he'd ever faced and had revelled in killing her.

"Rhys ....milaya ..." Natalya reached for him, dragging her chair closer to curl her arm about his back. "Do not dwell on these feelings. Namaah is long dead. You avenged Jessie when that action was taken." Her lips touched his cheek. "And with what I know of you ....if she was so young when it happened, then you must have been that young as well. Hindsight is cruel when you forget that you did not know then what you know now."

He nodded his head in agreement, knowing she was right, though his fingers wrapped themselves tighter around the tea cup. "I know," he admitted quietly. He'd been over it a million times in his head and knew she was right, but there was one thing she didn't know, and it was something he had told no one, not even Adam. "It's just....I took away her innocence, Nat, and if I hadn't done that, maybe....Maybe she'd still be alive." He knew that was a long shot, and given all that had happened, it was just as likely, she might have died some other way. Jessie had wanted him as much as he'd wanted her. How was he to know that by taking away her innocence, he'd be sentencing her to death?

"Or," his wife pointed out gently, "you gave her a great gift. Innocence is as damaging as it is special, Rhys. You know this as well as I do. You cannot know for certain, and to blame yourself for such an act would be to cheapen it, to lessen the love you shared with her. Nothing shared in love is blame-worthy. Nothing."

He nodded again, knowing she was right. It had taken him over fifteen years to figure that out. Jessie had loved him, just as much as he'd loved her, and while he missed her, his place was with Nat now. "I know," he said with a shaky voice, that told her he was fighting back tears. Not here, not now, he thought. Jessie was dead. There was nothing he could for her now, but he wasn't going to lose Nat the same way. "Sorry, I'm being stupid, I know."

"No, you are not." Her arm tightened about him, glad to be able to give him some support even as she was struggling with her own fears. "Nothing you feel is stupid, my dearest one. I understand now why you were so concerned on deck, and that is a good thing." She kissed his cheek once again. "Though it is a shame there are no private cabins we could have rented for the trip."

"Would that have helped?" he asked, swallowing the tears before they got the best of him, taking comfort from her closeness. He just hoped when the time came, he could give the same back to her. Logically, he knew she was as likely to fall overboard as they were to get struck by lightning, but stranger things had been known to happen, and he didn't want to take any chances. Thankfully, the little pill was starting to work and the queasiness was starting to pass. "Remind me when we get off this thing to stop somewhere for the biggest greasy cheeseburger I can find."

She laughed at his instruction about food, her smile deep with affection for a man who was never going to change at his core and whom she loved because of that stubbornness. "I could be wrong, but I believe there is at least a McDonalds less than five minutes outside the harbor at Newhaven," she assured him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. If only there were somewhere they could be truly private on board this ferry, he would not have to face his fear of losing her to the water at all, and she would be able to forget for a while the sensation of the walls closing in on her, the imaginings of death and drowning that were crowding in her mind.

He chuckled a little at the mention of McDonald's, the color starting to come back into his face. "There's probably a McDonald's in Hell," he remarked, sarcastically. No matter how far away from home he went, there always seemed to be that one reminder of home, that one refuge where he could find refuge in the comfort of junk food. "How far to Glastonbury again?" he asked, swapping the tea for coffee now that his stomach was feeling a little stronger.

"I think it far more likely that there is a Wendy's in Hell," Nat countered with a gentle chuckle, nuzzling affectionately to his cheek for a moment longer before she released him to turn her attention to her own coffee once again. "I believe it is around a five hour journey by car, perhaps less," she answered his question, shrugging one shoulder. "If we were to go straight there, we would be home by eight o'clock tonight."

"Think you can make it five hours without sex?" he asked, not even trying to hide the smirk from his face or the teasing gleam from his eyes. He was obviously feeling at least a little bit better - better enough to allow himself to think of his libido, rather than sulk about a past he couldn't change. There was one way to exorcise the past from their memories, and they both knew what it was.

"Think you can drive in a straight line while I play with you?" she countered just as teasingly, blowing him a kiss over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a sip. "Or perhaps we should find somewhere secluded to park for a little while. Which would you rather, milaya?"

He laughed. "I don't think we should find out the answer to that," he said, knowing it was not a good idea to distract him from driving, even if the thought of it was tempting. "Or we could book a room for the night and get a fresh start in the morning," he offered a third alternative and one that seemed to be the most practical.

Rhys played lookout while Natalya handled the lock, the clandestine nature of the act only adding to his excitement, like two teenagers breaking into someone's car so they could take it for a joyride. "Why can't we just do it in the car?" he asked, a little too loudly as she yanked him into the stairwell behind her, not realizing how his voice echoed in the small empty space.

"Shh," she laughed softly, turning to cover his mouth with her hand before he gave the game away to the staff who were bound to be on the lower decks still. "Because, milaya, there are people on the car decks to keep an eye on the cars. I think they will notice if the Mustang starts rocking, do you not agree?"

He furrowed his brows down at her as her hand covered his mouth to muffle his voice, slightly annoyed that he couldn't even get to his own car. He tugged her hand away, lowering his voice in hopes that they wouldn't be heard before replying, "But it's my car!" If he was thinking straight, he might be grateful someone was keeping such a close watch over his baby, but at the moment, he wasn't thinking with his big head.

"And I'm your wife," she pointed out with a grin. "Do you really want to miss the opportunity to make full use of me and get caught by a couple of burly men who will make us sit in the security office until we dock?" She presented this option to him as she made her way down the steps to the next level, where there were no doors. They'd have prior notice if anyone opened a door above or below them.

"Oh, I kind of thought I was going to get a blow job," he replied with a small slightly disappointed pout, though it really didn't matter. The ends justified the means, after all. Or something like that. "You are so getting it when we get back. We are gonna spend a week in bed doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and making out." He was trying to keep his voice down as much as possible, but if he got too excited, he'd give them away.

"We will have to go grocery shopping on the way home, then, won't we?" she teased, pulling him into her arms to kiss his pouting lips. Of course he was going to get his blow job; she wasn't so cruel as to tease him with it and then not deliver. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to tease the hell out of him on her way to doing it, too. Her fingers opened his coat, roaming just far enough to set his blood boiling as her lips coaxed him into kisses that were definitely not PG-13 rated.

He would have argued about that or maybe pouted some more or complained about how practical she was, but he didn't have the chance, pulled into her arms as he was to find any protests smothered by her kisses. He had offered himself up to distract her, lighting the fuse that fueled their desire. Now that they'd started, there'd be no turning back unless they were caught or until they were finished. His hands found their way inside her coat, both of them grappling with the other as they sought to quench their desires. Her kisses set his soul on fire, his body aching for release. Twenty minutes was all they needed, though he doubted that was enough to distract her from her fears for the remained of the trip.

She pressed him back against the wall as they grappled with one another, her hands already seeking and finding his zipper to tug it undone, pushing at the fabric that hid him from her touch. Already breathless, she tore her lips from his, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his throat in the moments before she dropped down onto her knees, her intentions obvious for a split second before she made them reality.

He gasped for breath as she pulled away from him, already straining at the zipper in his readiness for her, doing his best to withhold a groan as her lips grazed his throat before dropping to her knees. His fingers found her hair and got tangled there, as he pressed his head back against the wall, eyes closed and heart beating wildly as he surrendered himself to her, trusting her implicitly, putting himself in her hands, literally.

They knew one another inside and out, each more than capable of bringing the other to a stunning finish no matter the circumstances. And to be honest, this wasn't the strangest place they'd done this in. But no matter the location, the time constraint, the risk of being caught, some things were always the same. Nat knew exactly what to do to make him moan, and she excelled at it with enthusiasm.

He had no intention of not returning the favor, though it was a bit trickier for him than for her. For now though, he was lost in the throes of ecstasy, riding the tide of his desire up and over the precipice, unable to hold back his moans of delight, though he was thankfully quiet. He had been with countless women before, but there was no one - not a single one - who knew him like Nat did and never failed to know exactly what to do to make him moan.

Nor did she leave him hanging for too long when the situation was a little dicey. As he crested the peak of his desires, she guided him down with lips and hands, easing his clothing back into place as she rose onto her feet with a very self-satisfied grin on her face. "Better, dusha moya?" she murmured to him, nipping a softer kiss to his lips.

"Oh, God," he breathed, inhaling deeply to catch his breath. "You're amazing," he told her, snaking an arm around her waist to pull her close and press his lips to hers, ever hungry for her kisses. He was trembling a little, not from cold or fear, but sheer pleasure.

She would have argued with this assessment of her, had he not already caught her lips with his own, cutting off anything she might have said with a moan of her own as her arms rose to curl about his neck tightly, one hand braced against the wall at his back. Only one thing could make her so thoroughly heedless of the world around her, and that was Rhys' kisses, so perfectly calculated to focus her mind, heart, and soul into the narrow sphere that contained him and only him.

He didn't keep her waiting long, his hand finding the hem of her dress and tugging it upwards as he swapped places with her, her back now against the wall. His hand swept its way up her thigh as his mouth delved deeper, keeping her mouth busy for a long moment before he, too, was leaving a trail of kisses against her neck before dropping to his knees in front of her. He would take more care and more time when they were alone, but here in this covert place, he had to be careful so they wouldn't get caught. He threw up her dress and disappeared beneath it. Though she could no longer see him, she could feel his every touch, every caress of lips and hands as he returned her favor, seeking to distract her the only way he knew how.

Pinned back against the wall, she surrendered all too easily to the fire in his kisses, to the way he touched her, the way he drew from her feelings the only other man she had been with had never even hinted toward in their time together. The giggle that broke from her lips as he ducked underneath the hem of her dress was husky, muffled by the hand she pressed to her own mouth to hold in the sound as it morphed from laughter to moaning pleasure. Unable to see him, she was at the mercy of her other senses, hooking one knee over his shoulder as she arched from the wall at her back, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she fought to contain her delight in him.

He accepted her answer, needing nothing more at the moment either than her presence safe and close beside him. He tucked her close, both arms wrapped around her, letting her relax against him and draw comfort and warmth from his closeness. "Why you choose to live on an island when you're afraid of water, I'll never understand," he remarked idly, though he knew her choices had more to do with Avalon than anything else. "Do you ever miss home?" he asked, speaking of Mother Russia, where she was born. He was not only trying to make conversation but trying to pass the time and distract her from her fears with his questions.

"No," was the short answer, but she would never do him the disservice of giving a short answer and simply leaving it there. She sighed softly, not wanting to recall too much of her time in Russia, which would soon come to an end, her half of the family's properties sold off, her link to Russia gone forever.

"It was never home, not really. I was educated in England, at boarding schools, though I never went to university. Going home was to return to my father and his expectations, his temper. Even when he was gone, Russia was never really home. It is a cold, desolate sort of a place, where the rich are too rich, and the poor are destitute, and yet there is no point to trying to change the system, trying to help anyone. Because the state will put them back down again. People glorify the Tzars and the absolute monarchy they represented, but many forget that serfdom was still a part of Russian society centuries after it had been abolished across the world. That class system still exists in people's minds, and I hate it. My home is with you, wherever you are."

He rested his chin against the top of her head as he listened to her explanation, understanding how she felt more than she might expect. "For a long time, I wasn't sure where home was. I mean, I was born in Iowa, but there's nothing left for me there anymore." Nothing but a couple of graves and some memories of a lost childhood. "After Dylan died..." He trailed off. Pennsylvania had stopped being home after Dylan died. Tragedy seemed to have always followed wherever he went, driving him onward before any place could become a real home. "My home is with you now, whether it's in Glastonbury or Avalon or Brooklyn." Maybe home wasn't a place so much as it was being with the ones you loved. Why had it taken him so long to figure that one out"

"Then ....I hope you do not mind that I have asked our representative in America to look for a house for us there," she murmured softly. "We will not always be in England. Adam is in New York, with Gina and Joey, and we will want to be near them when we can be. So we should have a home there, too."

He lifted his head to eye her with an arched brow, undisguised surprise at this bit of news. "In New York?" he asked, equally surprised by his own reaction to the news, realizing with some elation that he longed to be close to Adam and Gina and Joey as much as possible. They were, after all, the closest thing he had to family.

She nodded, lifting her own head to meet his gaze with honest concern that he might be upset with her for taking that step without discussing it with him. It was taking longer than she had thought it would to get used to being in a partnership. "Da, in New York," she confirmed quietly. "And there are ways to link a home to our house in Glastonbury, so that we are never far from the Lady if she calls to us. I want you to be happy, dusha moya."

"I am happy, Nat. I'm happy so long as I'm with you," he assured her quietly, a little overwhelmed by her news, but not in a bad way. The only thing that was nagging at him was the dream the lady had given him of the future. That future had seemed to be centered on Glastonbury, but he had seen such a small slice of it, that glimpse into the future was incomplete. He'd assumed they'd make their home in England and raise a family there, but maybe he was wrong. He looked a little confused as he tried to sort this all out in his head. If there was one place in the world he'd call home, it was New York, though he wasn't quite sure why.

She watched as he struggled to absorb the possibility that they might make their home in New York after all, wondering why it seemed to be so difficult for him to accept when he was obviously so pleased with the concept. She hadn't experienced the demonic vision that had shown him her house in Glastonbury weeks before he ever entered it, nor did she know that he had assumed the vision the Lady of Avalon had shown him had taken place within that house. "Tell me what is troubling you, milaya," she murmured, her arms tightening about him as the ship's rolling grew more pronounced for a few, interminably long minutes, navigating the sandbanks that lay beyond Newhaven harbor.

Her voice drew him back out of his thoughts once again, though he still looked somewhat confused. "Nothing, I just....I always assumed we'd live in Glastonbury and raise a family there." As much as he liked England, it had never really felt like home to him, not like New York.

For more than a minute, she didn't reply, too distracted by the deep rolling of the ferry to give much heed to what he was saying to her. Her arms pulled themselves tightly around his waist as a very soft whimper escaped her lips, shaming her that she had made such a pathetic sound of fright at all when it seemed as though everyone else around them was absolutely fine. Indeed, judging by the laughter from beyond the doors into this bar, the deeper rolling seemed to be providing a great deal of amusement to some of the other passengers.

"Nat?" he asked, furrowing his brows as she didn't reply. He felt her tighten her hold on him and realized her terror was returning - or maybe it had never really gone away at all. He wrapped her up snugly in his arms, whispering reassurance. "It's okay. We're almost there." He wondered if he should try distracting her again by talking about something mundane or maybe by asking her something that would get her mind off her fears. "We should think about what we want to do for the holidays this year. You know, I haven't had a proper Christmas in years. I was thinking maybe we could go to New York, spend it with Adam and Gina. What do you think?" He hadn't really been thinking about the holidays all that much, though both Thanksgiving and Christmas would be coming soon. It was mostly a distraction to take her mind off her fear of drowning.

She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying, on the promise that they would be in the harbor soon, on the distraction of his chosen topic. It was a good topic to choose - she'd never had a real celebration of Christmas the way it was supposed to be, generally tending to ignore the season as it came and went. Indeed, some of her most successful heists had been pulled off over the Christmas season. She swallowed, lifting her head to look up at him as she answered, her voice just a little shaky. "I think that is a good idea," she nodded in agreement. "I-I do not know what a Christmas is supposed to be like - if anyone could teach me, it would be Gina. Or perhaps Joey."

"I can live with that," he replied with a smile, momentarily stepping out of the way to let the other woman through before he and Nat followed. The smell didn't bother him the way it did her. He had worked as an auto mechanic from time to time to make ends meet and knew his way around a car engine almost as well as he knew his way around a woman. He had to admit that her plan sounded like a good one. They could both use the chance to relax and unwind a little after the long trip.

It took a moment for her to remember just where in the confusing mess of people and vehicles the Mustang had been parked, spying the green classic eventually as she drew her husband between the lines of cars. Her fingers wriggled in front of his face mischievously as they came to the car. "Keys please, Mr Bristol."

She might have forgotten where the car was parked, but he did not. His mind was like a steel trap when it came to that car, already in love with it from the first time he'd laid eyes on it. He shoved a hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "Not a scratch," he warned with a serious look on his face as he dangled the keys in front of her.

Her eyes narrowed as she met his serious gaze, half-teasing, half-exasperated by his protective insistence on looking after a car he'd had for a single week. "Barring acts of God, not a scratch," she promised him, taking the keys from his fingers and blowing him a kiss as she moved toward the driver's side. Ahead of them, the great sealed door was beginning to rise, car engines starting up all around as people prepared to get off the ferry and back to whatever it was they'd taken the ferry for in the first place.

A week or not, the car was an almost exact duplicate of the Mustang Rhys had totaled when he'd crashed the car near Flagstaff some years ago, except for the color, and that was an easy fix. The green was slowly growing on him though, and he thought he might just leave it. As far as Rhys was concerned, a man's relationship with his car was as sacred as that of his relationship with a woman. At least, it was to him. He was anxious to get behind the wheel again, but since it had been Nat who'd bought the car, he thought the least he could do was let her drive it now and then. He pouted a little, but made no complaint as he followed her to the car and climbed into the passenger seat as soon as the door was unlocked.

Aware that her husband was sulking over giving up control of his new car, even for the next twenty minutes, Nat was laughing as he climbed in beside her, starting the engine easily to follow the line of vehicles exiting the ferry onto dry land. A brief stop to have their passports checked later, and she was turning out onto the main road, crossing the river, and heading uphill to the coast road. "Are you going to sulk for the whole of the next twenty minutes, or are you planning something devious to get back at me for knowing where I'm going?"

"I'm not sulking," he retorted, though he clearly was. "It's just that a car is like a lover, you know" We've bonded. You wouldn't want me taking another woman for a drive, would you? It's kinda like that." It really wasn't, but it seemed that way in his head. He thought about his baby back home. Adam had promised to take good care of her, and Rhys was hoping he had kept his promise.

His wife glanced at him a little suspiciously. "Are you saying that for the last six days I've been involved in a threesome with you and this car?" she asked him warily, not entirely sure whether she'd be comfortable with an affirmative answer. "You can sulk all you like, but it does not change the fact that just this once, we need to be out and walking and I know the lay of the land better than you do. I would rather be there quickly than spend the next hour trying to give you directions while you try to stay on the correct side of the road."

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" he confirmed, trying to hide the smirk from his lips that would betray the fact that he was teasing. Mostly. There was no denying he'd fallen in love with the car. "Wait til we get to New York," he warned of his old stomping grounds. She might think she knew the city, but not the way he did. And if Adam had kept his promise, the Chevelle would be there waiting, like an old lover anxious for his touch.

She caught the flicker of his smirk, sticking her tongue in his general direction as she drew the car through a very picturesque little village and up onto the coast road once again. The sea was to their left, and on their right, they passed a windmill, a sewage works, and a little further on, an imposing stately building set behind iron gates. Nat smiled to herself as they drove past. "I went to school there," she offered quietly as the city loomed ahead of them. "Roedean School for Young Ladies. The Eton of the female world."

It always struck Rhys how different England was from the States, and yet, there were similarities, too, but here on the coast, it was like another world. As much as he missed home, he often wished he had more time to explore. There was an underlying feeling of ancient magic here that he didn't feel back home. It was as if the very land whispered of long-forgotten secrets if one only took the time to listen. He glanced over at the building behind the gates, which reminded him more of a grand estate than a boarding school. "Eton?" he echoed clumsily, unsure what that word meant.

Nat blinked, startled that he hadn't heard of Eton. "You've never come across it?" she asked in surprise. "The premier school for boys, where every prince of the British royal family is educated? It's one of the best in the world. And Roedean is its equivalent for girls."

"No, sorry," he apologized with a frown, a little embarrassed by his ignorance, but all of this was new to him. "You forget I'm not from around here. I'm just a kid from a small town in Iowa." Not for the first time, he felt a little chagrined by his lack of knowledge. He'd been all over the States, but Europe was another whole world.

"Oh, milaya, there is nothing to apologize for," she assured him, reaching across to touch his thigh gently. "You surprised me, that is all. I thought all Americans were fascinated by European royalty." She flashed him a sweet smile, revealing a stereotype he probably wasn't even aware had become attached to him and his countrymen. The Mustang came up over a rise, and there, in all it's Regency shabbiness, was Brighton, complete with two piers and the confusing rooftop of the Royal Pavilion.

"The Troubles?" Rhys asked, not knowing a lot about European history except for what he'd learned in school. It wasn't that he didn't care or was ignorant; he just had bigger fish to fry. His life wasn't like everyone else's. His most important lessons in life had always been those of survival. "I'm sorry," he apologized with a frown. "You must think I'm an idiot."

Her smile was warm, knowing she was talking about things that Americans just weren't familiar with. "The Troubles is the name given to the last prolonged outbreak of violence surrounding the partition of Ireland," she explained, looping her arm through his as they gained the third floor, following their surprisingly fit bell-girl toward the elevator. "They lasted around thirty years, between the late 1960s and 1990s. This hotel was bombed by the I.R.A. in 1984, when the Prime Minister and most of her Cabinet was staying here for a conference."

Well, that explained it. He'd only been five in 1984, more interested in baseball, cartoons, and superheroes than in political upheaval or current events. He wasn't really sure what to say about that. He'd been fighting a battle of a different sort and in a way, still was. He knew there were various conflicts taking place in the world around him, but he'd always felt somewhat segregated from all that. It was almost as if he lived in a different world. "I've never paid much attention to the news," he said, with a somewhat guilty shrug of his shoulders. He might have explained further, but he didn't want the bell-girl to overhear.

"It was never reported much outside Britain," she told him gently, rising onto her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "And you are not an idiot, milaya. Never an idiot." Ahead of them, the elevator opened, and her arm squeezed around his. "It is only four floors," she said softly. "But this is where you choose, dear heart."

Her reassurance soothed his wounded pride a little. He knew he'd spent most of his life out of touch with the world, but it was hard to keep track of current events when you were fighting for your life. It often seemed there was more bad news than good news, and he'd often wondered if man wasn't his own worst enemy. He found it depressing to think about and tried not to focus on the bad things in the world, but the good. It was the good he was always trying to save. He'd been too busy to think of any of this in a very long time, and he wasn't sure he wanted to think about it now. "I think I can handle four floors, Nat," he replied as she drew him out of his thoughts.

"I would offer to distract you, but we may embarrass this young lady riding with us," Nat laughed, and on cue, the bell-girl blushed, pressing the button for their floor and turning her glowing face to the doors as they closed. As the elevator began to rise, Nat sighed happily, leaning into Rhys' side. "My brother used to stay here when he would come and visit me at school. I have happy memories of this hotel."

"I'll be fine, Nat," he reassured her, offering an apologetic smile to the bell-girl. "I apologize for my wife. We haven't been married that long, and she just can't keep her hands off me," he remarked, which was mostly true. He glanced to Nat when she mentioned her brother and there was that frown again, concerned and sympathetic, though she seemed perfectly content. He said nothing but leaned over to kiss the top of her head.

"That's perfectly all right, sir," the girl responded to his apology with a smile, despite her continuing blush, glancing over her shoulder in time to see him kiss Nat's hair. "I can't say I blame her."

As Nat chuckled at his sideways compliment to her husband, the elevator came to a smooth stop, the doors opened, and the three of them were able to step out into a wide hallway, the bell-girl leading the way. "Perhaps I should attach a collar and leash to you while we are here," Natalya murmured to Rhys as they followed. "You seem to be making quite the impression."

He couldn't help but smirk a little at the bell-girl's comment, though he was definitely spoken for. There had been a time when he would have taken her up on that, but that time was passed. These days, he had eyes for one woman alone and that woman was his wife. "Sounds kinky," he replied, feeling a little more himself, but still a little unsettled by the talk of the past and of her brother. He was glad that at least she had happy memories of this place. It had been just the opposite in Russia, and he was just as glad as she was to be gone from there.

"I seem to recall someone saying a while back that he was always open to little kink," she teased him, handing the room key to the bell-girl before rummaging in her handbag for a tip to give her. The room they were let into was probably not what Rhys was expecting, having become used to getting a suite whenever he was in a hotel with his wife. Instead, however, it was a beautifully presented room with sea views and its own balcony into which they were led, the autumn afternoon sunshine pouring in through floor length windows to warm the room itself.

"So long as it doesn't involve pain or guyliner, I'm good," he replied, content to let Nat take charge and do the tipping. He was perfectly happy to be a "kept man" or whatever they were called. He wasn't really comfortable with the idea of having a lot of money, and it was going to take a while for him to get accustomed to it. He whistled in appreciation as they were let into the room. "Wow, this place is amazing," he said appreciatively as he stepped inside, crossing the room to check out the view.

Quite content to let Rhys appreciate what was, in effect, the low-end of luxury in this particular hotel, Nat thanked the bell-girl, pressing a ten pound note into her hand as a tip and sending her off with a wink and grin. As the door closed, she turned to join Rhys at the window, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "It isn't a big island, but Britain does have more than its fair share of beauties."

He found the door to the balcony and pushed it open, a cool sea breeze stirring his hair, smiling as he turned a glance to the beauty by his side. "And I'm married to one of them," he said as his fingers slid between hers. He wasn't sure how she'd feel about stepping out onto the balcony and so he remained in the doorway, drawing a deep breath of the sea air. "I can see why you'd be happy here."

She laughed softly at his compliment, raising his hand to her lips as he tangled his fingers through her own. "You are quite the charmer when you set your mind to you, dusha moya," she complimented him in return, stepping down onto the balcony without a second thought for the drop beneath. Heights, thankfully, was not one of her phobias. Leaning on the balcony, she looked out over the sea, separated from the hotel only by the road and a shingle beach, framed by the stretch of the two piers - the one, a vibrant, living place of entertainments; the other, the sadly burned out husk that was all that remained of its glory days. Her eyes spied certain preparations on the beach below, and she let out a fresh laugh, newly delighted by something she had completely forgotten. "It is the fifth of November, of course. There will be fireworks and bonfires tonight."

"I like the idea of living near Adam and Gina, but I'm not sure I want to live in the city. I mean..." He frowned a little at his own uncertainty. He'd grown up in the country, but had spent his teen years in the city. "I don't know what I mean." But this wasn't something that had to be decided today.

She smiled faintly, her hands skimming down his arms to tangle his fingers with hers as she drew him back into the room. "Would it help if I were to admit to wanting to buy not one, but two homes?" she asked a little tentatively. "One for us, and ....one for them?"

"For them?" Rhys echoed, arching his brows, obviously surprised by that thought. He hadn't considered that really, assuming Adam would take care of that. "You want to buy them a house" Good luck with that." He wasn't sure how the other couple would feel about that, and he knew Adam had his pride.

"Well, perhaps not buy them a house, but maybe they would accept a little help if they should find one a little out of their price range that they fall in love with," she moderated her ambition, not wanting to offend their friends unduly. Pausing to close the balcony doors behind them, she turned to look up at Rhys. "Shall we, Mr Bristol?"

"We could be next door neighbors," Rhys mused, smiling at the thought of it. He wondered if they'd drive each other crazy living that close together. "You're gonna love Gina. And Joey is a great kid." He stepped back inside, pausing to wait for her. She had already met Adam, and he was confident she and Gina were going to get along fine.

Nat laughed softly to herself as they moved across the bedroom toward the door, shaking her head. "Milaya, have you forgotten already that they were, all three, at our wedding?" she asked him with a grin, knowing these things tended to slip his mind. He had been rather distracted that day, after all. But she had been cultivating a friendship with Gina via phone since they'd met that day, something she hoped Rhys would be happy with.

"Yeah, but you haven't really had time to get to know them yet," he pointed out, unaware she and Gina had chatted on the phone and probably better off that way since they had probably discussed both him and Adam at length. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him. "Gina was the first person I met when I got to New York," he explained as he followed her toward the door.

"I shed blood with Adam," she pointed out quietly, though to be fair, there hadn't been much bonding going on during that frantic few hours. But Adam had been there to pull her away from Rhys' body after the battle, to give her what comfort he could. He hadn't wanted to leave her in the aftermath of the loss that had brought him and Gina together, but she had insisted. But how did she explain that to Rhys" She had no idea where to begin. "I did not know that," she answered his offering about Gina, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "Tell me about her."

Rhys frowned at the reminder of what had happened in France. Had it really only been a short year ago' He had died. He remembered that much, and he knew Adam and Nat had suffered through their own torments, but he didn't really want to talk about that now. It was in the past, and that's where he wanted it to stay. His thoughts turned to an earlier past, to the years he'd spent in New York and his friendship with Gina and John. But he didn't want to think about John now. She had asked about Gina. "She....She's like a sister to me." It was how he'd always thought of Gina, right from the first day they'd met. She had always been a friend, a sister, never a potential lover, though he wasn't quite sure why. He was searching for a sister he'd never met, and in a way, he already had one back home in New York, along with a brother who was not of his own blood.

"She loves you very much," his wife said softly, drawing him from their hired room and locking the door securely behind them. She turned, looping her arm through his with a gentle smile. "Tell me about your relationship with her," she asked softly. "And about Joey. I know you are very fond of him."

"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders, unsure where to start. "I was a mess when I met her. She took me in, took care of me, introduced me to John. I don't know what would have happened to me if it hadn't been for her." That was the truth. He'd fled to New York after Dylan had died, and not even Adam had known where he'd gone. "Joey....He reminds me of myself a little. Of me when I was that age."

"What is Joey short for?" she asked curiously, leading him along the hall to the staircase this time, one arm wrapped about his back. "He seems like a very confident boy. And Adam suits them, to make a family with." She smiled again, glad that Rhys' friends had found each other, however difficult the circumstances had been.

He wished he could say he knew the kid better, but the truth was, with everything that had happened since Joey had been born and all the time Rhys spent on the road, he hadn't been able to spend nearly as much time with them as he'd have liked. Maybe all that would change now. "Joseph. His father..." Rhys frowned again at the thought of Gina's ex-boyfriend. "Gina took out a restraining order against him a few years ago. He shouldn't cause any trouble for them so long as Adam is there." But Adam wasn't there. Adam was off on a wild goose chase looking for clues to Rhys' sister's whereabouts.

Natalya frowned as he revealed this little tidbit Gina had not shared with her. She knew what it was to have a father who was abusive toward her mother, feeling a pang of empathy for the little boy she had yet to properly meet and get to know. "I doubt he would cause trouble for her now," she murmured, trying to reassure Rhys as best she could. "She is by no means unprotected, milaya."

"I'll kill him myself if he does," Rhys conceded, with a clench of his jaw. He had blood on his hands already. What was a little bit more? And as far as he was concerned, if the guy harmed one hair on Gina's head, he deserved it. "I know, I just never liked the guy." And that was an understatement. He turned quiet as they made their way from their room, hand in hand, a little bit lost in thought over Gina and Joey and Adam, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was missing home a little more than he realized. It had been almost two years, after all.

The moment he started to speak, his anger was palpable. She pulled herself out of his grasp, unable to simply stand and take his rant as she had done at other times. Her eyes hardened at his implication that the Lady, a woman who had done so much for both of them, might deliberately hold back information from them out of spite.

"No, you don't," she agreed with his assessment of life, her accent thickening with the rise of her own emotions. "Life isn't fair, Rhys. It's a part of being human. Do not ever attack the things that I believe. I love you, but some things are not there for you to pick apart and force to conform to your ideal of the way things should be. Life is never the way it should be. How else do you expect me to cope with my own childhood, with the consequences of my own actions" Do you want me to fall into a pit of my own guilt, to never be able to move past my mistakes, but wallow in them for all eternity' You are human now. I am human. Humans tell themselves lies to keep themselves going because life is complete and utter gov'no. It begins in blood, and it ends in blood, and it is our responsibility to find some way of reconciling ourselves to the gov'no that fills it between times." She took a deep breath, a dangerous warning flashing in her eyes as she looked at him. "Do not ever think to blame the Lady for your misfortunes, Rhys. We serve her. She is not ours to use as we see fit."

He didn't need to ask for the translation of that word. The closest translation he could come to was sh*t, but she was wrong about that. Life was not sh*t. Life was what you made it, no matter how terrible the hand you'd been dealt. If he hadn't learned that by now, he hadn't learned anything. "I'm not blaming her," he countered. At least, that hadn't been his intention. "Let's just forget it, okay' We're supposed to be having fun." He didn't agree with her; at least, not entirely, but he also didn't feel like arguing about it.

It was not quite so easy for Natalya to switch off the agitation that had soared into her heart as he had released his frustration. He had attacked a personal belief, one she held close to her heart because she knew she would fall apart without it. It was the first time they'd come close to an argument of this kind, an argument that couldn't be solved with a compromise. Nat had compromised enough just to form that belief in the way of the world. Breathing deeply, she offered him a short nod, turning away to hide the angry tears that were forming. Was this truly part of sharing your life with someone" She had spent her lifetime doing as she was told, believing what she was told, obeying orders ....was she now expected to discard all the beliefs she had gathered on her own to conform to her husband's views"

"Someone once told me it's not about counting the years but making the years count," he said, the tone of his voice softening. He knew she was angry with him for his outburst, though his anger had not been directed toward her. His anger - his hatred - as always, was toward those who had made his life a living hell, and by extension, hers. He hated her father for what he'd done to her and to her family; he hated the demons for what they'd done to him and his, but that was the extent of it. He slipped his arms around her, leaning forward to brush a kiss against her cheek. "Come on. Let's just forget about it for now. I love you, and nothing's gonna change that."

Making the years count. Had she done that' Or was that another failure to add to her list' She bit down on her lip, fighting to suppress the urge to cry at the knowledge that the only years she had ever made count, her only true happiness in twenty-eight years, were the two years she had spent knowing Rhys. She shuddered as his arms wrapped about her, a single tear escaping to wet her cheek as she turned to push herself into his arms, hiding her face against his neck. "Mne ochen' zhal', ya ne khotel etogo. Ne ostavlyay menya," she whispered to him, knowing he would not understand what she was saying, but trusting that he would be able to guess at some of it. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Don't leave me.

He wasn't sure what she was saying, but he could guess from the tone of her voice and the tears in her eyes. His arms went around her to hold her close, just as they had on the ferry and in St. Petersburg and Glastonbury and Paris - just as they always would. To those around them, they might look like newlyweds snuggling close or maybe a couple who'd just had a lovers' spat, but he didn't care what anyone else thought. The only person who mattered to him in that moment was her.

"I love you, Nat, but life isn't all sh*t. Not anymore. We have each other now. We have a lot to be grateful for. If I had to go through it all again to be with you, I would, because I love you that much. You're everything to me. Life is sh*t without you." He buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes against his own tears. He remembered what life had been like before her, when he'd nearly lost all hope and had nearly given up. It was because of her that he'd found the hope, the courage, and the will to survive. "Ya tebya lyublyu, Natalya. Always."

She cuddled into him, deeply relieved that her little flare of temper had done no damage to the way he felt about her. She'd never lost her temper with someone she loved before, more frightened that it would somehow sour his feeling for her than anything. "I am happy with you, Rhys," she promised him, remembering this time to speak in English for his sake as she lifted her head, unwinding one hand from his back to wipe her face dry. "I am sorry. I love you, I always will."

He beat her to it as she lifted her face to him, gently wiping the tears from her face that were reflected in his own eyes. Whatever anger or bitterness he'd been feeling a few moments before were gone in the face of her anger and sorrow. Maybe it was because of the Grail, because it had, in a way, wiped him clean, but he just couldn't hold onto the anger very long, and the guilt had all but disappeared. "No sorries. Let's just enjoy today and forget about everything else for a while. Just you and me. Nothing else matters." He leaned forward to kiss her forward, lingering a moment in that gentle press of lips. No matter how he might feel about his sister, he would let nothing come between them. Not today. Not ever.

She sighed softly as he kissed her, still a little tearful, a little prickly over what had been said. She knew he had not meant to attack her, but there were still some things they did not know about each other. It was dangerous to wander into the territory of tearing certain offered opinions to pieces in the name of making the other see your point still. But she was prepared to step away from that feeling, reminding herself never to offer such an opinion again as Rhys kissed away her distress. "I love you," she whispered to him again as he drew back from her, twisting to curl her hand into his once more. Subdued, she made to continue on their way, uncertain now quite what she could say to move past the ache growing in her heart.

Instead of linking his fingers with hers, he wound an arm around her shoulders to draw her close as she moved to continue on their way. He wasn't sure why she felt the way she did. He knew her life had been difficult, but had it been any more difficult than his" He, at least, had had a few friends to help him along the way. He wasn't so sure about her, but all that was over now. She never had to be alone again. His friends were her friends, and she held his heart in her hand. He wondered if she had any idea just how much he loved her, but was that enough?

"It is the amusement park in Brooklyn," he replied with a grin. "I may be a little biased, but it beats the hell out of Disneyland." Of course, he'd never been to Disneyland, but he had a certain fondness for Coney Island. While other old amusement parks were closing, Coney Island was still going strong. Oh, it had had its ups and downs, but it had withstood the test of time. Who needed Space Mountain when you had the Cyclone" "It's probably closed for the season now, but it'll reopen in spring. It's a little like this place, only bigger," he added.

"You will have to take me there some time then, milaya," she smiled gently, ducking in through the door to the chip shop. It wasn't an upper class joint at all; though Rhys considered his wife to be caviar to his cheeseburger, she occasionally surprised him like this. Drawing him up to the long counter, behind which a number of fryers were at work, they joined the queue of customers waiting to be served, looking over the menu that stood above the heads of the cooks, as well as the array of freshly prepared fish and other assorted battered bits and pieces on display on the hot plate that lined the counter above the fryers. "What do you wish to eat, Rhys?"

Now that they were in a fish and chip shop, it would never do to order a cheeseburger. He smiled, replying without any hesitation, "I think we should celebrate our return to English soil with traditional fish and chips. What do you think?" Whatever had been dampening his spirits a short while ago seemed to have been forgotten. He'd made a secret promise to himself to make her smile, and he intended to do just that.

"Ah, but what fish would you like?" she asked him teasingly. There was an impressive array of fish available - cod, haddock, plaice, bass, all freshly caught the night before and delivered that morning.

Now that was a question that had Rhys stumped and found him eying the menu with a confused look on his face. "The kind of fish that's in fish and chips?" he asked, perplexed. Wasn't it all the same thing" When you ordered a cheeseburger, no one asked what kind of cow you wanted.

Nat laughed, knowing she'd stumped him with one simple question. "Traditionally, it's cod," she told him, taking pity before he got even more confused. "But haddock is good. It has a slightly richer flavor. It tastes more like fish, if that is making sense." She shrugged; her experiences as a teenager in this part of England had taught her what she liked and what she didn't when it came to English food, and there was a wild variety of it in Brighton.

"I trust you," he declared, coming to a logical conclusion. "You order for me." He flashed a bright smile, trusting her implicitly. And if he didn't like what she ordered, he could always blame her. He slipped around behind her to wrap his arms around her, placing his trust in her to order for them both.

The line moved on, taking them with it until it was their turn to order. "Two medium haddock and chips, please," she smiled to the girl behind the counter, leaning back into her husband as she pulled a note from her purse to pay. It took barely a minute for their meals to be wrapped up in paper and handed across to them, almost hot to the touch even through the thick wrapping. "Thank you." Grabbing a couple of wooden forks from the dispenser, Nat edged Rhys back from the counter with a low laugh, nudging at him. "Where would you like to eat, milaya" On the beach, or in here?"

"Can we eat on the beach without the gulls pestering us for handouts?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the beach outside the shop. Back home in New York, you had to keep a sharp eye on your food or it might be robbed by a seagull passing overhead. Pigeons weren't much better, but they usually only begged for crumbs at your feet. Rhys wasn't sure if that was the case here.

She chuckled softly. "The gulls usually decamp to Rottingdean at this time of year," she assured him. "It's the little village we drove through to get here - more people go there in autumn and winter. And the gulls are unlikely to swoop us while we're so close to the prom."

"The beach then?" he asked, unwinding his arms from around her waist to help her with the fish and chips. He thought he'd spied some tables and chair on their way through the promenade, or they could sit on the beach and enjoy the sea breeze. "Does this go on all year, or does it close for winter?" he asked, waiting to follow her toward the door.

"Almost everything stays open over the winter," she smiled, leading him toward the door and out into the warm autumn sunshine once again. he'd been right about the seating arrangements - there were tables and chairs set up on the paved walk of the promenade, not quite on the beach, but close enough. "In summer, they put their displays out on the pavement here, and there are street artists and buskers to entertain the crush of people who come every day."

"Buskers?" he echoed, unsure what that word meant, as he'd never heard it before. "You mean, like performers?" he asked, trying to sort the unfamiliar word out for himself. "What happens when it snows?" he asked, as she led him back out into the sunshine. He really had no idea what the climate was like this far south on the island, though they weren't all that far from Glastonbury.

She snorted with laughter, settling at one of the tables. "When it snows, this entire city shuts down," she told him in a wry tone. "The English have no understanding of how to handle snow and ice. Their buses and trains stop running, people don't go into work. They don't even clear their driveways. It is ridiculous." And, to be fair, she was in a good position to judge them. Russia didn't have the most hospitable climate, after all.

"I kind of like snow," Rhys remarked as he climbed onto a chair and handed her one of the packets of fish and chips. "It's quiet and peaceful." He'd grown up in the northeast, where it was not uncommon for winters to be cold and snowy, but he guessed even the harshest New York winter was nothing compared to Russia. Canada and Alaska were another matter, but he'd never been to any place quite that remote.

"So do I," she confessed quietly, unwrapping her packet and setting one of the wooden forks down in his hand. It was always a challenge to eat fish and chips with just one of these forks, but that was part of the fun. "When I first bought our house in Glastonbury, I did not realize that the winters in England were getting colder. It was a beautiful surprise to wake up in the middle of winter and find snow falling on my garden. I think I spent the whole day just watching it gather on the trees and the grass."