It had been a long time since Natalya had been back to St Petersburg. She had spent years avoiding it when it was the seat of her father's power, and even after his death, she'd avoided returning here to confront the memories that lingered in the large apartment that had been her childhood home. But she was married now, and with Rhys to keep her strong, she felt ready to come back. In summer, the city was warm enough to go without a coat, filled with familiar sights and sounds. Vadim had made sure her E-type Jaguar was at the airport for them, and Rhys might have noticed that his wife was taking a very long scenic route to get to her family's apartment, reveling in the feeling of having her beloved car back beneath her touch once again.

Rhys' fear of flying hadn't changed much since that fateful flight when he and Natalya had first met. Champion of Avalon or not, he still hated flying. It might seem strange to some that an incarnated angel might be afraid of flying, but as far as Rhys was concerned, the only wings he was interested in were the kind that were smothered in hot sauce. He'd been a nervous wreck for the entire flight, and it had taken more than a little effort on Nat's part to calm his nerves, but now that he had his feet safely back on the ground, he could not stop drooling over Natalya's car. He hadn't quite believed her when she'd told him about it, but seeing was believing, and Rhys had fallen in love all over again. With a car. To say he was having a hard on for her Jag was probably an understatement. It was hard to tell sometimes which he loved more - women or cars.

His excitement over her car had almost resulted in an argument when they'd reached the parking lot, something she'd only won by pointing out that he'd be driving on the wrong side of the road in a city he didn't know. Even then, he'd whined a little until the gentle purr of the engine rumbled through him. At least she could be sure that he wasn't noticing the darker side of St Petersburg as they drove through. "I will let you drive her sometime when we are outside the city," she promised him as they drove along the Griboyedov Canal. Here in Russia, her accent was that much thicker, since there was no need to suppress it for the sake of other people around her. "Try not to rust the buckle on the seat-belt with your saliva, dusha moya."

"It's not my saliva you should be worried about," he bantered back at her, knowing she knew his weaknesses very well and that the car was one of them. He had pouted a little when she'd denied him the keys, but it was quickly forgotten when he'd climbed into the passenger seat and inspected the interior. "She's almost the same color as my Chevy," he remarked, running a finger loving against the dash board, as tender a caress as that of touching a woman. "I'd love to take this baby for a ride sometime. How fast can she go?" Yes, he was obsessed and as excited as a teenage boy with his first car.

"I have taken her to two hundred and thirty miles per hour before," she admitted, wondering if he'd question her on why she'd been going that fast at the time, or if he would just take that comment at face value. "Vadim made me promise not to do it again." She chuckled, her hand moving confidently on the gearstick as she prepared to turn into a private underground garage. The brush of her fingers against his leg was purely coincidental, of course. Pausing to punch in the personal code that would open the gate, she glanced over at her husband. "Thank you, for coming here with me. I know you do not like to fly, and Russia is not the most welcoming place for an American."

His jaw dropped open, gaping in disbelief. "Two hundred....You're kidding me." He chuckled, wrongly assuming she was just teasing him. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering now if she was teasing him or telling the truth. She was the queen of the poker face and though he knew her pretty well, he had yet to learn how to read her properly. He shrugged his shoulders as she moved on past the matter of speed to thank him for accompanying her. He thought it unnecessary, but she was at least right about his reluctance to fly. He didn't care so much what her countrymen thought of Americans. He didn't really care much for politics and never had. He had bigger fish to fry. "Just don't expect me to try borscht. I don't do beets, sorry."

She laughed at his condition, easing the beautiful car out of the sunshine and down into the depths of the garage itself, drawing past lines of executive cars with little to no personality. Her own parking spaces were glaringly obvious - two of them were occupied by a classic Austin Mini Cooper and a Mustang, and she pulled the Jag into the space between them. Evidently Rhys had married a woman who cared about what she was driving. "Do not worry, milaya," she assured him. "I am sure I can find you something to eat that is as American as you would like." Cutting the engine, she sat still for a moment, letting out a low sigh before her hand turned to undo her belt. "It has been a long time since I came back here."

If he wasn't so distracted by the Jag, the idea of driving underground might have made him nervous. It was another phobia of his, but one he had better control over than the fear of flying. "What's the Russian version of the Big Mac?" he asked, reminded of the famous scene in Pulp Fiction. It didn't immediately occur to him that the Cooper or the Mustang might belong to her, but as soon as he set eyes on the Mustang, he was filled with envy - or, more accurately, lust. Car lust. While the Jag was nice, as soon as he saw the Mustang, the Jag was already old news.

It was like the difference between Ginger and Mary Ann. Ginger was nice to look at, but she was too high maintenance. Mary Ann was a keeper. Ginger was champagne and caviar; Mary Ann was a beer and cheeseburger. Natalya was a little of both. As soon as she was parked, he was out of the car, whistling in lustful admiration at the shiny green muscle car of his dreams. He'd owned one once, long ago and far away, but he didn't really want to think about that now. "Baby, where you been all my life?"

Nat didn't get a chance to answer his query about food, distracted from her own tension by his instant lust over one of her cars. To be honest, she hadn't had it long. She hadn't even seen it before; it was a wedding present for Rhys, procured with the help of both Adam and Vadim. Rhys' instant adoration for it brought a wide grin to her face as she got out of the Jag herself, with a good deal more dignity than he was showing. Locking up, she withdrew a different set of keys from her bag as she moved to stand behind him, looping one arm around his chest as she kissed that spot behind his ear, knowing there was no way in hell she was going to be able to tear him away from the Mustang now. Her other hand jangled the new keys in front of his face, the Ford Mustang emblem visible on the fob. "Waiting for you, milaya," she told him softly, kissing his neck once again. "My wedding present to you."

Her kiss was soft and affectionate, feeling the appreciation he felt easily through that tender gesture of affection. "I am only amazing in your eyes," she murmured fondly, drawing back to smooth her hand against his cheek in an answering caress. "I love you, my Rhys." What good was having money if you never used it to make the people you loved happy' She hadn't imagined that something so simple as a classic car could render him speechless, but she was glad she had followed through on her moment of whimsy. Nothing could be better than seeing her beloved husband lit up like a child on Christmas morning.

He would have made love to her right then and there and showed her the only way he really knew how how much he loved her and appreciated her gift, how much it had touched the deepest recesses of his heart, but as she had said, cameras were watching and he was a stranger in a foreign land. It would just have to wait a little while longer, until they were safely and surely absolutely alone. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he told her softly for what seemed like the umpteenth time since they'd met as his fingertips caressed her cheek. A chance meeting that had forever changed both their lives.

She nuzzled fondly to him, breathing slow and deep to try and hold off the gentle power of desire that had slowly infected them both, acutely aware that there were security guards here who had seen her brought home from the hospital a few days after she'd been born. "You opened my heart," she told him, just as softly, wishing there was some way to prove to him just how different she was with him than she had been throughout the lifetime that had gone before they had met. One more kiss touched his lips before she slowly began to draw away. "What are we doing now?"

He had thought he wanted to go for a drive, but just sitting beside her in a car that was so very much like the one he had once held dear seemed for the time being to be enough. It was almost as if it was the last piece necessary in the puzzle of his rebirth. It didn't change anything that had happened in the past, but it seemed to somehow heal some of the pain and give him closure. The past was the past, and Natalya represented the future. A soft smile touched his lips, warm and affectionate. "What do you want to do now?" he turned the question back around on her.

She smiled at his sneaky inability to answer her question, rolling her eyes fondly. "I should show you the apartment," she told him. "Though we do not have to stay here. We could stay in a hotel, if you do not feel comfortable here." It couldn't have been more obvious that she was expecting not to feel comfortable there herself, despite the fact that it had been years since she'd been home to St Petersburg. Perhaps the memories wouldn't linger so long as Rhys was there with her.

He seemed to sense some reluctance in her, and yet, this trip had been her idea - a kind of homecoming. He had yet to do the same. He hadn't been home in over two years, not since he'd met her on a plane to England. Where was home anymore" Was it his shoddy apartment in New York, or the cabin in the woods where he'd grown up with Dylan' His childhood home in Iowa or David's land in Arizona" Mystic, Altoona, Flagstaff, New York, Denver, Tuscon, Chicago' Rhy'Din" Glastonbury' Avalon' He had been so many places in his lifetime he could hardly remember them all. Home could no longer be defined as a place so much as it was a state of being. It was wherever Natalya was, no matter the name of the city, and yet, there was one place he held dearest in his heart - a place where they would one day raise a family, a place he had seen in his dreams and finally in reality. "How's that saying go' That you can't go home again?"

She laughed faintly, dropping her forehead to his shoulder for a moment. "I do not intend to stay long," she admitted softly, lifting her head once again to look into his eyes. "I ....I want to sell all the family property in Russia. It may be my homeland, but ....my father loved his homeland. He soured it for me, and home is not here. Home is with you, and I am hoping that it will be near Avalon." She didn't dare come right out and say it, but she hoped they would call Glastonbury their main home, with a house or apartment somewhere in America to make it easier to visit back and forth to his homeland.

He arched a brow, a little surprised at her decision and yet not so surprised, knowing what he knew about her past. One thumb gently brushed her cheek. "Home is where the heart is," he mumbled, knowing what those corny words meant now. "In Glastonbury," he added, echoing her thoughts. In the house of my dreams. Christmas Eve with his wife and children, snow falling gently outside the window. Despite the circumstances of the dream, every time he thought of it it brought tears to his eyes and tugged at his heartstrings. He smiled and brushed another soft kiss against her lips. "Home is with you. It doesn't matter where."

She smiled, raising her chin to kiss the tip of his nose affectionately in answer. "Then I can do this, with you," she nodded, a little more confident of her ability to cope with what she thought she was going to be walking into. "It is a long walk, but we can go up the service stairs. I have hated the elevator in this building since it was used as the dimensions for my underwater prison." One shoulder rose and fell in a shrug that dismissed that terrifying incident in her teens. "Come, milaya. The sooner we go up, the sooner we can be away if it proves too much."

His smile faded at the mention of that horror she'd had to suffer, wishing he could have somehow saved her from it, but while she was suffering her father's rule, he was thousands of miles away undergoing his own trials and tribulations. However difficult their lives had been, however painful, their individual journeys had eventually brought them both here, to this very moment in time, together. "He can't hurt you anymore," Rhys assured her gently. "I won't let anyone ever hurt you again."

"I know," she assured him. Though the experience had left her with a reasonable phobia or two, Nat had mostly put her father behind her, but for the occasional attack on her mind and senses. Her fingers swept down his cheek, and finally she made an effort to move. "I am not going to be a coward about this," she said, more to herself than to him, twisting to open the door beside her and step out into the garage.

The room had been destroyed. Furnishings had been torn and scattered, photographs and childish paintings ripped into shreds, lamps shattered; even the bed-frame was splintered and cracked. The whole room stank of hate and anger, of her father's loathing not just for his wife's bastard son but for the daughter who adored her brother, so much so that Nat actually cried out as the feeling swept over them. She took an involuntary step back, poised to run but for the reassuring sensation of Rhys right there, at her back.

After the pristine and even ornate look of what he'd seen so far in the apartment, the sheer amount of destruction in that one room took even him by surprise. He could only imagine the amount of anger and hatred that must have fueled such destruction, his memory briefly darting to a moment in his own past where he'd been the one to cause such chaos, but he quickly banished the memory from his thoughts. Now was not the time or the place. He needed to focus on her now and what she needed was for him to be strong and not get lost in the pain of his own past. He heard her gasp as she recoiled from the chaos of that room, and though he did not and could not know what had taken place there, he could feel her fear. He turned her away from the destruction and wrapped her in his embrace once again. "Tell me what you need, and I'll get it for you," he volunteered. The room held no power over him. As destroyed as it was, it was just a room, nothing more.

He'd set her back to the room, but she found herself not so worried by it, burrowing into his arms as he wrapped her close. She felt an idiot for being so shocked by what was just a memory, though it was a terrible memory. Her father had been furious that Micah had gotten away from him; that between them, she and Micah had hidden away their mother's last personal belongings somewhere in the boy's room, and he could not find them. Her hands gripped Rhys' back for a moment before she managed to pull herself together once again. "There ....there is a safe, beneath the floor, under the window," she told him shakily. "It will open for you - the spell responds to intent. We knew Papa would be able to circumvent anything else. The box in the safe - that is what I am here for."

"All right," he replied agreeably. It was a small enough request, given everything they'd been through, and it seemed important to her. Important enough that she'd been willing to face the ghosts of her past to retrieve whatever it was she'd come for. It seemed from the looks of things someone else had already tried to find whatever it was and had failed. It wasn't too hard to guess who that someone had been. He kissed her cheek, both to reassure and calm her, before turning back to the room and the request at hand. He eyed the room a moment, as if searching out the safest path to his destination before setting off on his way.

Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he carefully picked his way through the debris toward the window on the far side of the room. Sharp eyes could not miss the broken remnants of a destroyed childhood that paved the path before him, and he felt sick at heart to know this was what defined Natalya's childhood. Never again, he secretly vowed. Never again would she ever feel such sadness or pain as she had in this place.

The watchful fury was deeper as he walked into the room, almost a presence in itself; an uncomfortable reminder that, though Nicholai Pimenov was dead, there was always the worrying possibility that his soul had clawed its way out of Hell before the Gates had been shut. Natalya watched from the doorway, her arms wrapped tight about herself, disappointed that even now, years after she had dealt with her father's shade, the memory of him still had the power to turn her into a shuddering child.

Though the room held no memory for him and hence, no power over him, he could still feel the malice that hung heavily in the room, like a dark cloud overhead threatening a storm. The very air in the room felt heavy, cluttered, stale, and he was anxious to be done with his task and be gone from here. In some ways, he was like a light in the darkness of that oppression, his angelic spirit outshining the evil that clung there, even if he was unaware of it. His eyes spied the remnants of a broken childhood - drawings, toys, broken and scattered across the floor, like the victims of some strange battle that had been lost.

His boots crunched glass and he lifted a foot to find the broken shards of a picture frame there at his feet, two bright faces smiling up at him from out of the past - a girl and a boy, angelic faces he knew could only be that of Natalya and Micah. He crouched down a moment to reach for the photo and rescue it from the graveyard of destruction, glancing at it a moment before tucking it safely into a pocket of his jeans.

Continuing on, he arrived at last at the window. It had only been a journey of a few short feet, but it had seemed like miles. He studied the area a moment before crouching down again, troubled to find himself shaking as if he was cold without even realizing it. He pushed away further debris, careful not to cut his fingers on any sharp edges before drawing away the rug that covered the floorboards beneath. He knocked his knuckles against the wood, until he found a place where it sounded different, hollow, and reached to pry the loose board from the floor. Peering into the small space beneath the floor, he found a small safe, just as Natalya had said, amid spider webs and dust, like some small forgotten treasure buried long ago for safekeeping only to be found when the time was right.

As Rhys knelt to draw back the rug, Nat braced herself to step into the room, knowing the spell would recognize her presence. It hadn't been a particularly well-made spell, but it had obviously done the job. The safe was marked all over with very careful sigils, but just as she had said, it unlocked at his touch, easily opened to reveal a small wooden box tucked into the dark recess.

He found what she was looking for easily enough, the safe opening for him with very little effort. If it hadn't, he could have tried breaking it open, but even if he didn't recognize precisely what the sigils meant, he knew they were symbols of protection that would only allow the safe to be opened by the person who had put them there. He carefully drew the wooden box from the safe, but did not open it. He had promised to retrieve the box for her, but it was not his place to open it, no matter how curious he might be. "I have it," he said, looking over at her, a little surprised to find she'd stepped past the threshold and was standing a short distance away. He found his heart racing, though he didn't know why, feeling as though now that they had what they'd come for, they should waste no time lingering.

He wasn't sure how her childhood had gone so wrong, how her father had turned into a monster, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He remembered his own father, a demon in possession of his body, eyes burning a bright and sickeningly inhuman yellow. "Your father's in here somewhere, trying to get out, trying to protect you..." At least he could blame his own father's betrayal on a demon. There was a little comfort in that. He pushed the painful memories of his own childhood away again, trying to force a smile that didn't quite make it to his face, relieved he gave her at least that small bit of comfort, the only gift he could give her really. "Let's go, Nat. There's nothing left here but painful memories."

Drawing comfort from the smile of a child she would never see again in the flesh, Nat drew in a sharp breath, raising her eyes to Rhys once again. She nodded, a frown furrowing her brows as she seemed to note the damage she had done in her moment of incandescent fury. "Yes," she agreed, her hand automatically reaching out to gather in the precious little box she had come here to get. "Yes, we should go. Come." Without giving herself a moment to take a last look, she turned, drawing him with her to the door, and out once again into the bland safety of the service stairwell.

His heart felt suddenly heavy, as though he was carrying some load along with him. She had faced the demons of her past; she had passed through the fire and survived, but he had not. Not yet anyway. Maybe never. He followed silently behind her, wondering if she'd needed him there at all, but it didn't matter. They were in this together, forever now. There was no turning back. The farther away they got from those rooms, the lighter his heart felt, relieved to be gone and never wanting to return.

The walk back down to the garage was made in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Nat was acutely aware of the box in her hand, of Rhys' hand in the curl of her other hand, and though he might not have thought so, she knew she couldn't have done that without him. Descending to the garage, she moved to open the trunk of the Jag automatically, pausing only when she realized she should speak. "Would you like to drive us to a hotel?" she asked him softly. Such an innocuous question to avoid the inevitable curiosity; what was in the box"

Before he knew it, they were back in the parking garage below the building and she was opening the trunk of the Jag, though he wasn't sure why. There were three cars parked there - the Jag, the Mustang, and a Mini Cooper, but he found he was no longer in the mood to drive, though his hand reached into the pocket of his jeans as if to make sure he hadn't imagined her handing him the keys to the Ford. He shook his head, feeling suddenly out of sorts, though he wasn't quite sure why. "No, you drive." She had pointed out once already how he didn't know his way around, but that had never bothered him before. He'd spent a good portion of his life behind the wheel of a car, driving from one city to another in search of answers. St. Petersburg was just another city in a long line of cities in a lifelong journey that never seemed to end.

She nodded, closing the trunk of the Jag once again. Had she been more herself, she would have noticed how subdued he had become, and she would notice, in time. But for now, she was subdued herself, feeling strangely detached from everything around her - everything, but Rhys. Reaching out, she wrapped his free hand about the little box, trusting him with it and the picture he had given her. "Will you look after this for me?" she asked him quietly. "Until ....until we are alone. I would like you to open it with me, in a little while."

He took the box and the old photograph from her, touched that she trusted him with things that were obviously so precious to her, but why wouldn't she" She loved him, didn't she? Loved him more than anyone else ever had, and he loved her just as much in return. "Of course," he replied, as if she needn't ask him, as if it was already understood. What was his was hers and hers his, even the pain and the sorrow and fear. He longed to be away from this place, to banish the dark memories her own past had stirred in him. He hesitated a moment, wishing he could find the right words to tell her what he was feeling, to tell her he was sorry he couldn't heal her wounds and make it all go away.

If only she'd been ready to hear it. But for all that her eyes were now dry, there was still darkness lingering in the depths of her gaze, yet to be fully pushed aside. And yet she didn't try to hide it from him, reaching up to stroke his cheek as she stepped close for a moment. "Not yet," she told him, barely audible in the echoing garage. "Soon." In a jangle of keys, she opened the driver's door of her Jag, dropping behind the wheel to lean across and unlock the passenger door for him.

He couldn't help his curiosity concerning the box, but he assumed it more than likely contained some precious trinket that had once belonged to her mother. Why her father would have been so obsessed with finding it, he didn't know, but he didn't dwell on the mystery too long as he would have answers soon enough. He glanced briefly and almost longingly at the shiny green Mustang, but it would be his soon enough. He intended to take it far from this place - to Glastonbury, if he could, or wherever they decided to settle. He climbed into the car beside her, knowing without a doubt that money truly didn't buy happiness. It hadn't for her. Not as a child anyway, and he was almost thankful for his own meager childhood.

In a matter of minutes, the apartment building was a long way behind them. There were any number of hotels nearby that Natalya could have driven to, but she chose to cross the canal, and the next river before paying attention to her surroundings, following her knowledge of the city she had been born in to bring them to the Taleon Imperial. Another high end hotel - very high - but since they were likely to be here for a few days, it wouldn't hurt to have a suite rather than a room. These were the thoughts circling her mind as she pulled up in front of the valet, as they took their bags out of the trunk, as she handed her keys to the responsible looking man who promised to keep her car in pristine condition. Once again, her hand slid into Rhys', and this time she didn't let go, not even when her signature was required to confirm payment for the suite they were soon ensconced in.

No, money didn't buy happiness, but it certainly made life easier sometimes. Even after two years together, he had still not grown accustomed to the rich comforts afforded by his wife's seemingly boundless bank account. Each new hotel was gawked at, as though he'd never seen such opulent wonders, like a child in an amusement park made for adults. The Taleon Imperial was no exception, though he kept his thoughts to himself for the time being. So far, Russia was a very different place from anywhere he'd ever been before. It sure as hell wasn't New York, that was for sure. The dark mood was slowly lifting and he thought once they were alone and he could relax, get something halfway edible to fill his belly, and maybe catch a nap, he'd feel a world of difference. His days of staying in cheap motels seemed over now that he was married to Natalya, not that he was complaining. He didn't really miss the lumpy beds, the musty bathrooms, or the cockroaches.

Shaking her head with a chuckle at his obsession with food to clog the arteries, Nat moved away to slide her feet back into her shoes, retrieving her clutch from the sofa where it had landed. "I do not know, milaya," she admitted cheerfully. "I have never been there. But it is a tourist spot, so you should live in hope." She offered him her hand, fingers wriggling in invitation, glad to be back in the present. There would be time enough to look at the past again later, when she felt ready to open her mother's box. There was something in there that she wanted to give him.

Oh, he did live in hope, but it wasn't because of some diner in Russia. It was because of her. He was already ready to go, feeling a little antsy to escape the four walls of the hotel for a little while, and feel the sunshine on his face. He'd been cooped up long enough, having spent the better portion of the last eight hours traveling from Glastonbury to St. Petersburg. "Are we driving or walking?" he asked, fingering the keys in his pocket, though they'd left the Mustang back in the parking garage.

"We're walking to get dinner," she chuckled, linking her fingers between his as they made their way out of the suite and began the long walk down the windowed and carpeted stairwell toward the main foyer. "But perhaps we could drive home. We could get a boat from France easily enough."

"Drive home?" he echoed, arching a brow her way as he followed her out and down toward the foyer. He already knew home was now defined as Glastonbury, not New York or St. Petersburg. In fact, he hadn't been back to the States since he'd met her and wasn't all that anxious to return. "That's a long drive, Nat." Though not as long as some drives. He'd criss-crossed the States more times than he could count, and though he didn't want to admit, he was itching to get the Mustang on the Autobahn.

She smiled at him, rolling her eyes again. "Well, I would assume you would want to stop on the way," she teased him gently. "Rather than drive continuously. We could stop in Lithuania, and Germany, and make it in three days, or we could take shorter drives and stop more often. It is always possible. And you would be able to take your Mustang home with you."

"Who am I to argue with logic like that?" he asked, with a grin. She really knew him too well and knew he wouldn't be able to resist a road trip, especially if it involved getting behind the wheel of the Mustang again. There was nowhere they needed to be and there hadn't been for some time now. This was what freedom felt like, he thought, with a smile. Freedom to do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted with whoever you wanted. He knew it wouldn't last forever. There would come a point in time when they'd be called on to help with this thing or that, but for now, he was enjoying the feeling of freedom in knowing he had fulfilled his task in saving the world from imminent destruction, at least, for now. "Have you thought about what we're going to do, now that we're married?"

"What we're going to do?" she queried curiously, drawing him across the understated opulence of the foyer and out into the sunshine once again, almost a different woman to the one who had entered not more than half an hour before. "I had not given it much thought, to be fair. I usually amuse myself until Avalon contacts me, one way or the other. I think, perhaps, we will be summoned to the Lady when she decides what our task is to be."

"Yeah," he replied, as he followed her across the foyer and out into the afternoon sunshine. The city had a very different feel to it than anyplace he'd ever been before. An older feel, but he was getting accustomed to that the more traveling he did throughout Eurasia. The thought of a road trip across the continent filled him with an almost childlike excitement, as he looked forward to visiting new places without the weight of the world hanging over his head. He paused as he stepped out into the sunshine to breathe the air and take a look around. It really was good to be alive, especially with Natalya at his side. "It feels a little weird not to be worrying about chasing demons all the time." He had spent the greater part of his life doing just that, after all, or being chased by them.

St Petersburg was a beautiful city, but it was old. It felt old, older than any other city Natalya had visited, weighed down by the history that had made it what it was. Everywhere you looked were images of the old Imperial regime, the Communists that had followed them. So much blood had been spilt on this land, it had soaked into the streets, and into the national consciousness. But on a bright afternoon, surrounded by tourists gawping and pointing, it was easier to bear. She glanced at Rhys as he commented on the lack of demons, smiling faintly at the proud knowledge that it had been him who had managed that feat for the sake of the world. "I know," she agreed softly. "But there is always something else out there, and there will always be demons. Not all of them were trapped when the Gates closed, after all."

"Don't remind me," he remarked, frowning a little as they made their way through the crowded streets, with him following her lead. Like any good tourist, he enjoyed marveling at this bit of architecture or another, finding himself especially drawn to the various cathedrals and places that held religious and spiritual meaning throughout history, whether they were pagan, Christian, or otherwise. "We'll clean up the mess eventually," he remarked, unsure how they were going to do that exactly, but feeling, at least in part, responsible for it, even though he'd done more than his fair share already. He wasn't the only hunter in the world, after all. There were others who were more than capable of taking up the task. Back home, David and Dylan had coordinated efforts between hunters, but David and Dylan were both gone now, and Rhys had no idea if anyone had taken up their places or if anyone would.

"I know we will," she assured him, moderating her pace so he could have a good look around at the gorgeous architecture rising above them on both sides of the river. Sharp eyes spotted a pickpocket preying on the tourists in the bustling crowd, barking something unpleasant at him in swift Russian before he had a chance to jostle Rhys. Not for nothing had Natalya spent years training as a thief - she could spot a fellow professional a mile off. "This way, milaya." With a gentle tug on his hand, she drew him away from the river toward a diner - a genuine American diner, incongruously located beneath an Imperial facade.

"English food isn't so bad really," he said as he waved over a waitress to take their order. "It's snails I have a problem with." And that was decidedly French, not English. What wasn't to like about English food" It was mostly meat and potatoes or the occasional fish and chips. He was okay with both of those, and he had developed a real weakness for scones with clotted cream and jam, though the jury was still out on the tea. Unsurprisingly, he ordered a double cheeseburger for himself, along with a side of chili cheese fries, and a root beer float, which was a real surprise to find on the menu. The first song of his choice to come up on the jukebox was "Nights in White Satin", a somewhat mellow song and a personal favorite.

Nat's order was slightly more restrained - a cheeseburger with a side of fries, and a chocolate milkshake - but it was nonetheless worth the momentary lingual confusion as the waitress struggled to keep up with a confident order in English to see Rhys relaxing happily to music of his choice in anticipation of his meal to come. "You keep saying you have a problem with snails, but you did eat them," she pointed out laughingly. "And you didn't know it was snails until the next day."

"Nat," he leaned back in his chair, feeling more comfortable here than he had anywhere in a long time. "They're snails, for God's sake. They aren't meant to be consumed by humans." That was his opinion and he was sticking to it. Leave it to the French to come up with some crazy notion that snails were a delicacy. The same went for fish eggs, but that was another story. It never occurred to him that there were people who might find cheeseburgers and fries as disgusting to them as snails were to him. Nights in white satin, never reaching the end. Letters I've written, never meaning to send.

"Well, I don't imagine the first person to eat the meat of a cow was considered particularly gourmet," she teased him fondly, resting forward on her folded arms as he leaned back. The more comfortable Rhys was, the more comfortable she became, something she had never thought would be possible before she had met him. "Where would you like to go, milaya?" she asked suddenly. "If you could go anywhere, where would it be?"

"Me?" he asked, brows arching at the question. Wherever you go, I follow, he thought. Cause I love you, yes, I love you, oh, how I love you, the song declared in its melodic way. "I, uh..." He really wasn't sure how to answer that question. He'd never really had a place to call home in a long time, and the idea of home was deeply appealing, but his had always been a restless spirit, never happy to stay in one place for too long, always longing for adventure, to see what the rest of the world had to offer. Still, it was good to have a place to call home, to go home to, and to have someone there to welcome him home with open arms. He had been to other worlds, other places in time and space. What more was there to see than that, and yet, he knew there was one place his heart ached for, one place he still thought of as home. "New York," he replied, with little hesitation, but a light shrug of his shoulders, as if it really didn't matter. "I don't know why. It's dirty and it's crowded. It's a million things I hate, but it feels like home."

A gentle nod tumbled her curls about her face as he spoke. The answer wasn't exactly unexpected, but she appreciated that it seemed to take an effort for him to openly say that he wanted to go back to New York again. "When?" she asked him softly, more than prepared to book the flights there and then if she could.

Glastonbury didn't really feel like home, not yet anyway, though his heart yearned for the dream of the future. He knew it didn't really matter where they were, so long as they were together. "When?" he echoed, that familiar look of astonishment on his face again. She never seemed to cease surprising him. "What do you mean when?"

"What I said, milaya," she chuckled softly, enjoying how easy it was to amaze her husband. Even after almost eight months of marriage, he still didn't seem to have realized that the pace of life when you had old money was a good deal more flexible than it was for anyone else. They could go straight to America from Europe, though she had a feeling delivering the Mustang to England first would take priority. "When would you like to go to New York" I would like to see Adam again. And Gina. I wonder if she has proposed to him yet."

He blinked, his mouth falling open a little as he gaped at her in shock and amazement. It took his brain a moment to catch up with what she seemed to be telling him. "Wait, what? Gina propose to Adam?" He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of that. "I think you've got that the other way around," he said, though on second thought, he could see where she was coming from. If Gina had waited for Adam to ask her on a date, she'd probably still be waiting. Natalya had a point. Still, he wondered why she seemed to know more about the situation that he did. He leaned forward, an elbow coming to rest against the table. "What do you know that I don't?"

Leaning just a little further forward with a conspiratorial smile, she let the pause extend just a little further than it needed to before answering his query. "She does not want him to start over-thinking," she told Rhys fondly. "Apparently he worries a lot about somehow being bad for her, and for Joey." Her brow rose teasingly. "I suggested that, if she felt confident that he is the man for her, perhaps she should circumvent tradition and ask Adam to marry her before he talks himself out of happiness."

"Wait..." he interjected, having to back-peddle a moment. "Since when are you and Gina such close friends?" He didn't mind that Nat and Gina had become friends - just the opposite, in fact - but he had somehow missed the signs that they'd gotten close enough that they were discussing their significant others, which included not only Adam but himself. He eyed her suspiciously a moment, knowing Gina knew a lot more about him than he might have shared with Natalya. He had somehow single-handedly made a discussion about Gina and Adam about himself and Nat, or maybe just himself. It took him a moment to get back on track. "Anyway, that's ridiculous. Adam is perfect for her and Joey."

"Since the wedding," Nat told him with a faint smile, leaning back as the waitress shuffled back over with their order. Out of habit, she thanked the girl in Russian, a little surprised by the grateful response that came as she slipped away once again. Chuckling to herself, Nat leaned forward again to finish explaining herself to her husband. "I asked her if she would mind my calling her now and then, and she surprised me by telling me that I should call once a week. So I have been."

"I'm sorry," he said, finding himself apologizing once again for something that wasn't his fault, that he'd had no part in, but still felt badly about. It made him sad to know of the rift between the sisters, even if he didn't quite understand the complexities of it. "Has she ever asked your forgiveness?" he asked, knowing he was taking a chance in prying into a part of her life she'd always kept very private. She had only mentioned her sister once, but it hadn't been that hard for him to put two and two together when she was mentioned again.

The eyes she raised to his were solemn, carefully guarded so as not to show him the pain and anger she still felt over her estrangement from her elder sister. But she knew she had to tell him something, anything that might make understanding this unforgiving side of her a little easier. "Never," she told him quietly, shaking her head. "She is my father's daughter. That is all I need to know."

He seemed to sense or know when it was time to leave well enough alone, and with the solemn talk of her sister came a strange feeling of awkwardness between them. This was one subject of conversation that needed to be trod upon lightly or not at all, and as well as he thought he knew her, he wasn't ready to push or pry into matters that seemed to be none of his business. He turned his attention back to the matter of his french fries, which never confused him. "My mother was pregnant when she died," he found himself saying suddenly, unsure why. She already knew this, but for some reason, it seemed relevant just then.

She blinked in surprise, her solemnity smoothing away into a curious frown as he mentioned his mother's pregnancy. "I wish I could find out for you if the child had lived," she murmured gently, uncertain herself now whether it was safe to pry into this subject. They both had dark places in themselves that neither had had cause to investigate, but slowly they were each beginning to allow the other to explore a little deeper. "But I do not know if such knowledge would be good or bad."

"Lived?" he echoed, jerking his head up to look at her curiously. The nine year old inside him who'd witnessed his mother's death had blocked out the more horrible aspects of it, but the man who was Rhys didn't know that. There was little about that night that made any sense, even now. The demons had teased and taunted him, but as far as he knew, his mother had died that night and the child she was carrying inside along with her. The child was supposed to be a sister. "How could she have lived" She wasn't even born yet."

"I ....I did not mean to put such a thought into your mind, milaya," Nat hurried to cover her mistake, reaching across the table to wrap her fingers about his. "I know only what you have told me, and I assumed ....I assumed that your mother was big with child when she died. It was stupid of me to mention it, forgive me."

But her apology came too late, his thoughts already having turned to that night. He glanced away, looking blankly out a window, as if he was trying to remember, aware of her fingers wrapping about his. He hadn't thought of that night in a very long time, and he wasn't sure he wanted to think about it now. She had her ghosts, and he had his, and it seemed neither really wanted to face them, not yet seeing that they could face these things, so long as they were together. "She was," he replied quietly. "But demons lie and..." He turned back to look at her again. "Wouldn't there be proof? Evidence of some kind?" He'd never dug into the police files from that night; he'd never felt the need to. It had been a living nightmare for a nine year old, one he'd never wanted to revisit. "Nat, I..." He licked his lips nervously, as he struck to the heart of the matter. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"With all we do, with all they do, to keep the world from knowing they exist, there is no way to be sure that there would be evidence or not," she reminded him very gently, stroking her thumb over his. Now was not the time to be delving into the shadows of his past, not after such a whirlwind of a day as this had been. "I should not have said anything," she said again, trying to smooth over the crack she had created. "It is not something that we can ever know for certain. I did not mean to plant doubts in your mind."

"No, it's....It's all right. It wasn't your fault. You're not the one who planted the doubts," he assured her, trying to dismiss the matter from conversation and from his mind as if the matter had never been brought up to begin with. He was suddenly feeling restless again, and what was left of the cheeseburger and fries had turned cold. It was turning into one of those days, both of them haunted by their pasts in turns. "What's the sky like here" Is there a good view of the stars?" he asked, changing the subject, wondering if the heavens would look the same from St. Petersburg as they had in Glastonbury, as they had in New York.

Relieved to see him making an effort to change the subject, not to wallow in his past pains as she had done, Nat smiled a little, her own appetite gone for now. "There is a hill, to the north," she told him. "On a clear night, the sky is midnight velvet and all the stars, diamonds. I remember watching the stars there, though I could not have been more than two years old. Micah told me that Mama used to take us there."

"Take me there?" he asked, unsure why it seemed so important, but for some reason, it did. He had already felt a strange connection to the stars, even as a boy, filled with a wondrous awe at the vastness of space, endless and mysterious. Perhaps it was his angelic heritage that made him feel connected to the heavens, but he didn't think so. One of his earliest memories was that of looking up into the heavens as a boy and wondering what was out there. It wasn't night yet, but his eyes pleaded with her, though he didn't really know why. There was a certain peace to be found in the heavens, at the realization that they were just one small speck in all that existed.

She held his gaze, wondering why it was so important to him, but unable to deny him anything. "Tonight," she promised him quietly, setting aside her trepidation at the thought of visiting a place from her childhood once more, albeit a place untainted by her father's presence. "When the sky is dark. There will be too many people there in daylight."

All the places he could visit here in this wonder of cities, and the only place he really wanted to go was a hilltop that was just that much closer to the sky. "Walk with me for a while?" he asked, needing to shake off the sadness they both seemed to be feeling. There were times when his moods were as mercurial as the weather, and today seemed to be one of them.

"Of course." She felt the same need to be away from the close confinement of other people, out in the sunlight, side by side with the man she loved. A brief rummage in her clutch produced a few bills which she left on the table, rising to her feet to offer him her hand. "Come, milaya. Walk along the river with me."

Was there any place they could possibly go that was free of the ghosts of the past' He wasn't really sure. Avalon maybe. He felt at peace there, but they couldn't remain there forever. Glastonbury, maybe, but again, he knew they couldn't just hide away from the world forever, as tempting as it might be. He pushed away from the table and moved to his feet, ready to feel the sun at his back once again and the fresh air in his face.

They were, of course, the products of their pasts, and they would always be haunted, one way or another, by those ghosts they carried with them. But they were no longer alone in facing or denying those ghosts; time would show them that they could stand together without harm. Her hand in his, Natalya led Rhys back toward the river, down a set of steps to a walk that led alongside the river itself, away from the bustle of the crowds in the street above. From here, she could smell the salt tang of the sea, tucking her hands about his one as her cheek brushed his shoulder, soaking in the heat of the sun with the gentle cooling of the breeze.

He followed along at her side - always at her side, forever at her side. No matter what happened from this moment forward, they would always be together, to weather whatever came their way good or bad. This was just another bump in the road, and once she had finished what she came here to do, she need never come back again. He would be with her when she left, just as he was with her when she arrived. Together in life, for better or worse, until the end of their days and beyond.

((Things just can't go smoothly for these two, can they' :grin: Definitely not! Ubermungus thanks to Rhys' player for indulging me!))