She initiated their first kiss, on that day in Russia, making what he thought would be the the worst day of his life quickly into the best. Just when he thought he'd lost her forever, she reached for him, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him passionately. Her mouth against his was soft and warm, and so full of promise and love that even in his surprise, he made sure to remember every second.

'This is it,' he'd thought at the time. 'This is how Linka and I begin.'

But when they'd returned home, things slowly crept back into their old pattern. He, the eager pursuer, and Linka, the reluctantly pursued. Wheeler, hurt, frustrated, and increasingly convinced that earning Linka's love was- for him at least- a fruitless quest, became quiet and despondent. And so he chased her with a little less fervour, loved her a little less openly. And when he returned to Brooklyn to see his ill father, and came across Trish again...

Trish had been his first love, and his first lover. They'd been childhood friends, two kids cut from the same cloth of neglect and abuse. They'd started fooling around at thirteen, when Trish's developing body ceased to be a subject of jokes for Wheeler and took on a newer, more exciting role to him. Trish was only too happy to welcome his messy kisses and fumbling caresses. They were both lonely and lost in their own way, and found comfort in closeness- however awkward- with one another. By the time they were sixteen they were fucking almost daily, Trish sleeping in his room in his parent's fetid apartment most nights, and it was common knowledge across their Brooklyn estate that, one day, Trish and Wheeler would marry. Wheeler's mother, Angie, liked Trish and nodded her approval to their neighbours.

'Those kids were just meant to be,' she said proudly. 'You can't fight fate.'

But then one day Wheeler found a ring, and with it a new home and a new calling and he left Trish far behind, without so much as a backwards glance in her direction.

He didn't mean to be cruel. He was just a seventeen-year old kid, floundering in life, who quickly grabbed at the saving rope that had been thrown to him. And besides, one day he would go back. He felt that in his bones with an occasional chilling clarity.

You can't fight fate, after all.

But it was in his new home and new calling that he met Linka, and his eyes grew wide.

He'd never known that girls could be like that.

That girls could be like her.

She was fifteen, with golden hair, already tall and lithe. She'd been a one-time gymnast, her body pliant and supple, but with soft, developing curves that made his mouth water. Her green eyes caught him and held him, flashing with an intelligence that was both brutal and fascinating. There was nothing, it seemed, that Linka could not do. You wanted a computer hacked? See Linka. You wanted music written? Linka was your girl. You wanted a book translated from Latin into Russian, English, French, Chinese or Arabic? Linka could do that, no problem.

The only thing she couldn't do, Wheeler learned, was love him.

And he tried. He really fucking tried to win her heart. But as much as she seemed to enjoy the flirtatious back and forth between them, as much as they both thrived off the undercurrents of sexual tension that flowed whenever they were together, she seemed to have drawn a line in the sand on ever taking things further.

A line that cut deeper and deeper into his heart every time she drew it.

So when he saw Trish again, three years after leaving her, it was easy to fall back into her bed and back into her arms.

There was a grim kind of comfort in having someone want him and kiss him and fuck him without reserve. A grim kind of comfort in having sex with one woman- good sex, enthusiastic sex- and only occasionally closing his eyes and picturing somebody else. There was a grim kind of comfort in recognising that Linka had been way out of his league, that he'd never stood a chance with her anyway.

There was a grim kind of comfort in accepting fate.

But then... but then Linka met Greg.

And then, a few months later, she came to Wheeler for advice.

She'd been nervous, winding a lock of her hair around a finger, chewing on her lip. And from under the geo-cruiser, where he'd been tinkering with the engine, he saw a delicate flush spread over her skin as she looked at him.

'Linka?' He'd asked, because he'd stopped calling her 'babe' as soon as he'd reunited with Trish. It didn't feel right, using so sweet an endearment for her while Trish waited patiently for him in Brooklyn, counting down the days until their next weekend together.

Not that he called Trish 'babe' either. That was always Linka, in his head.

That would always be Linka.

'Wheeler, I...' she started, before pausing. 'Bohze moi, but this is awkward. I do not know how to begin...'

He'd grinned. 'It's only me, your resident capitalist pig. Just spit it out.'

She'd nodded, and he pulled himself out from under the geo-cruiser and up to standing, wiping his dirty fingers on his jeans. He waited for a cutting remark about cleanliness from the normally pristine Linka, but she only frowned, lost in her own thoughts.

'Lin?' He pressed, and abruptly she looked up, catching his gaze and holding it.

'Greg wants to... uh... he wants to jump in the bag with me.'

Wheeler's heart seemed to freeze in his chest, and he stared at her full a full minute. 'You mean the sack,' he corrected her, his voice hard. 'You mean he wants to...'

'Go to bed with me,' Linka finished, but Wheeler shook his head.

'He wants to fuck you,' he said, knowing he was being unnecessarily cruel. 'The bed is only optional.'

Linka chewed on her lip some more while Wheeler clenched his fists, because Greg? Really? That uptight, pompous ass? That preppy snob?

'I was hoping you might give me some assistance in this matter, Wheeler,' Linka finally continued. 'You see...'

'Honestly, Linka? I don't know how I can help you with this,' Wheeler's voice was tight, and he could almost feel his bitterness spilling out through his words.

Linka's eyes did not leave his. They were soft, almost imploring. 'We are friends, yes, Wheeler?'

He exhaled, releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He had to get it together.

He needed to get over her.

'Yeah,' he agreed slowly. 'Yeah, of course we're friends.'

'And I trust you,' she added, though whether she was talking to herself or him he couldn't be sure.

'Okay,' he nodded.

'And we kissed once.'

That surprised him, and he leaned back against the geo-cruiser.

'Yeah,' he finally agreed, bittersweet. 'Yeah, we kissed once.'

Once, when he rather it was a million times. Once, when he wishes he were kissing her now.

He sighed, watching a pretty blush creep up over her cheeks. Her hands shook ever-so-slightly, and her eyes flashed with uncertainty.

'Did I... did I do it right?'

He stared at her.

'What?'

'The kissing. Did I... was it okay? Was it right?'

'Jesus, Lin.'

'It is just that... that was my first kiss. And... yes, I have kissed Greg since then... but... well, it just has not felt as good as what kissing you did, and...'

And she's red now, Linka. Red and struggling with her English.

'I was your first kiss?' Wheeler asked, stunned.

Linka nodded, her eyes down. 'Yes. Yes, Yankee. It was you.'

'I had no idea,' he whispered.

She shrugged then, as if it were no matter.

But he knows Linka. He knows his clever, compassionate and infuriating girl.

It means something to her.

'Was it good? That kiss? For you?' she asked once more, and Wheeler had to close his eyes. Because he was so close to pulling her to him and kissing her again right then, to pressing their lips together and banishing all her doubts, that he needed a moment.

'It was perfect, Lin,' he finally said. 'It was perfect.'

She sighed.

'You've never...' he started, his voice awkward. 'Umm... you've never had sex before then, I guess?'

It's something he'd thought about and long suspected, but never something he'd ever thought would actually be confirmed. Not by him, anyway. Linka wasn't the kind of girl to kiss and tell. She was too classy for that.

'No. I was fifteen when I became a Planeteer. Our work doesn't leave much time for romance.'

Wheeler thought quickly about Trish, before his mind tallied up Vanessa, Xi Ling, Sophie and that random girl from that bar in Tallahassee. He went to argue with Linka's logic, before his mind caught up with the words she used and did a double-take.

She said romance. Not sex.

'And you... umm... you have questions?'

She blushed hard again. 'Perhaps. Not questions though. Just one.'

He slid down the side of the geo-cruiser, coming to a seat in the shade, before wiping at the perspiration that had built on his forehead. Somehow, he thought he might be sweating from more than the heat.

Tentatively, Linka came to sit beside him. She was wearing a pair of overall shorts that rode up as she bent her long legs, and he could feel the heat of her skin as she pressed against him. She smelt so much like salt and sea-air and Linka that he found it hard to think for a moment.

'I'm glad you trust me enough to come to me... but am I the best person for this? What about Gaia?'

Linka gave him a look of horror. 'You want me to ask the spirit of the Earth about sex?'

God, no. Wheeler was mortified even just thinking about it.

'Alright. Well... what about the other Planeteers? Gi must...'

But Linka shook her head. 'Gi is in much the same position as me,' she said, choosing her words carefully. 'Ma-Ti is too young, and Kwame...'

She trailed off, but Wheeler thought he understood. Kwame was like an older brother to them both, and they respected him. And the quiet, pensive young man had secrets of his own that they both knew he would never openly share.

'Okay,' Wheeler nodded, taking a deep breath. 'Ask away, Lin.'

'It is just one question, really,' she said, her eyes on the ground, a finger playing with the hem of her shorts.

'Sure.' Wheeler averted his eyes from her bronzed skin. 'You know you can ask me anything.'

She inhaled sharply. 'Should I actually do it? With him? With Greg?'

He stared at her, dumbstruck. 'What?'

She stared back at him. 'Do you think I should? Have sex with him?'

Immediately, a voice in Wheeler's head went 'no'. But he pushed it down, concentrating on Linka's green eyes and the conflict he saw within.

'I guess if you love him,' he replied slowly. 'Then yeah. But it's up to you, Lin. I can't tell you what to do here.'

'Love,' Linka mused, looking away from him. She said the word like she was tasting it, trying it over her tongue.

He shrugged. 'It's nicer when you're in love.'

She nodded, but her shoulders slumped. 'Like you and Trish,' she said flatly, and he grimaced.

'Well, I don't know about that,' he replied instantly, and Linka looked back to him, her eyes sharp.

'You do not love Trish?' She asked. 'But you and she must...' Abruptly, Linka bit her lip. 'Forgive me, Wheeler. I prong too much and...'

'Pry, not prong, Lin,' Wheeler nudged her arm gently. 'And I don't mind you askin'. Sure, Trish and I have sex. But I'm not in love with her. Not yet, anyway.'

'But you think you will be? One day?'

'Maybe,' Wheeler shrugged again. 'If I can get past something, then yeah, maybe I could love her.'

'Past something?' Linka looked confused.

Wheeler took a deep breath. 'I'll talk with you about pretty much anything, Lin. You know that. But don't ask questions you maybe don't want to hear the answers to.'

She was silent for a moment, regarding him thoughtfully. When she spoke, her voice was soft, her words gentle. 'I think you might mean me, do you not, Wheeler?'

There was no point in hiding a truth she already knew.

'Yeah,' he gave a bitter laugh. 'Yeah, I meant you, Babe, and-'

It's habit, of course. The endearment is habitual, a byproduct from another time, and it's been hard not to use it. But when it slips from his mouth now he sees Linka take a sharp breath, and he reddens.

'Sorry,' he apologised instantly.

But she shook her head. 'No. No, I have missed it... Yankee.'

She rests one hand over his, their fingers intermingling, and he feels his treacherous heart skip a beat.

'How do you know it is nicer?' She asked him suddenly. 'How do you know love makes it nicer, if you have never been in love with one of your... um...?'

'Partners,' Wheeler finished for her. He shrugged again, squeezing her fingers. 'And I don't know. Not really. It's just something I've heard.'

'You should find out,' Linka suggested, and then he did laugh, loud and heartily.

'Sure thing, Lin. You free tonight?'

He meant it as a joke... mostly. But Linka rapidly blushed, and he realised he'd monumentally fucked up by inadvertently confessing to loving her while also asking her to bed with him. He opened his mouth to apologise once more, but something in Linka's face stopped him. Because her lips were parted and her eyes were hot, and he knows enough about women now to know that she's not entirely adverse to the idea.

'You want to do that with me?' She asked, and his mind went blank.

'Jesus, Lin,' he whispered.

'Sorry,' she blushed. 'I suppose I meant... before Trish. You wanted to do that with me, before Trish?'

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'No, don't apologise. It isn't necessary. You were right the first time.'

He feels, at first, nothing but dumb relief. Because for the first time in three years, the truth is out there and on the table. He loves her. He wants to sleep with her. No lines, no jokes. Just the truth.

He opened his eyes to find Linka staring at him. He caught her eyes and held them, and a frisson of pure heat went through him. Of pure want. And the feeling was magnified, bouncing and echoing as it was from her. Because she wanted him too.

Of course she did.

That's what this has all been about.

That's what they've always been about.

'Babe...'

But Linka stood as though he'd burned her, disentangling her fingers from his. And without looking back, she disappeared through a clearing, back towards their huts.

Of course she fucking ran, Wheeler inwardly fumed. She was always fucking running from this and how many times were they going to fucking circle one another before-

Dinner that evening was a decidedly frosty affair. The other Planeteers, feeling the tension, eventually stopped making small talk. At first, Wheeler and Linka ignored one another, but when Wheeler broke a plate while cleaning up and Linka made a sharp comment in Russian, a dam seemed to burst.

'You got a fucking problem, blondie?' Wheeler snapped, and within thirty seconds they were screaming at one another. The other Planeteers exchanged eyerolls.

'He's calling her 'blondie' again. They're having one of those nights,' Gi smirked as they exited the common room, leaving the warring couple behind them, though Ma-Ti, turning back once, looked unsure. He couldn't put his finger on what was different to him about that night, but something in the air hung heavier than normal.

Something about Wheeler and Linka was heavier than normal.

'You know what your fucking problem is, blondie?' Wheeler's throat was hoarse. 'You think too fucking much about everything. Too fucking much. You treat everything like one of your damned computers or concertos or bird species... always looking for patterns, rhyme and reason in everything. Never just letting go.'

'Net, ty vysokomernyy, samonadeyan...'

Linka always reverted to Russian when she was worked up. Most times, Wheeler found it charming, sexy even. But tonight he only glared at her.

'If you're gonna insult me, do it in English, please Blondie. Oh, don't worry. I'll definitely return the favour. Nothing beats a Brooklyn insult.'

Linka glared at him. 'If you are so desperate to talk 'Brooklyn' why do you not just call your girlfriend? I'm sure she will be more than happy to insult me also.'

Wheeler shook his head at her. 'Yeah, don't you worry your pretty little head about Trish, blondie. I'll give her a call while you're out fucking Greg.'

At that, Linka turned on her heel and fled. Wheeler watched her go, a sinking feeling in his stomach, because, yeah, that had been a low blow and-

He followed her, calling out to her in the darkness. The night was humid but a cool breeze drifted over the island, and it didn't take him long to catch up with her. He reached her just as she was about to open the door to her hut, and he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

'Babe,' he whispered. 'Babe.'

She nodded wordlessly, using her free arm to pull him towards her.

It's frantic, that second kiss. Frantic and fast and desperate and charged, his hands soon holding her cheeks as he slipped his tongue into her mouth and pressed it against her own. Her hands moved to his hair, dragging over his scalp, before running down his arms and then back up, winding around his neck. At one point he broke their kiss, only to move his lips to her hair and eyes and neck and wherever else he can rain frantic kisses upon her skin.

'Don't tell you can't love me,' he whispered, clutching at her hair and waist and kissing her lips once more. 'You can. You do.'

She nodded against him, offering him her lips once more, and he seized them gratefully.

They don't break the kiss as he guides them towards her bed.

They don't break the kiss as they pull their clothes from one another's bodies.

But Linka breaks the kiss when he slips inside her, crying out.

'I'm hurting you,' he frets, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

But she shakes her head. 'No. No. You could never hurt me.'

She breathes deeply, and he starts to move, slowly, gently, kissing her again.

When it's finished, when she's lying in his arms, looking into his eyes as he lazily strokes a hand up and down her back, he smiles at her, and she smiles back.

'Was it nicer, Yankee?' She whispers. 'Did love make it better?'

'No,' he replies quietly. 'Love didn't make it better.'

She bites her lip and he reaches up to run a thumb along the indentations. 'Babe...' he reassured her. 'Love made it feel right. It's never been like that for me before.'

She closes her eyes in pleasure, exhaling happily. 'Do you think this was always going to happen, Yankee?'

'Yeah,' he answers honestly. 'It was always gonna be you and me, Babe.'

She smiles, reaching out to lay a hand against his cheek. 'You cannot fight fate, I suppose.'

Wheeler marries Trish in a New York garden wedding with over four hundred people in attendance.

His mother is drunk by the first dance, and she throws her arms around the couple, her breath sweet and sickly against their necks.

'I always knew you kids would get together,' she slurred. 'I knew it. You can't fight fate, after all.'

And Wheeler stops at her words, and wonders just what the fuck he's done.