To say Wheeler slept badly was an understatement. All night he tossed and turned, struggling to find a comfortable position and sitting up frequently to punch his pillow into shape. When he lay back down, pulling the sheet up over his chest, he would close his eyes and try to sleep only for one thought, unwelcome and intrusive, to start running through his mind at a breakneck speed, over and over and over again.

What the fuck am I going to do?

With a frustrated growl, Wheeler sat up again, throwing the blankets away and flicking on his bedside light. He ran a hand through his hair and took a drink of water, the cool liquid doing little to ease the turbulent state of his mind.

What am I going to do? He asked himself again, before shaking his head and feeling disgust run through him. Because he had already decided what to do, hadn't he? Linka had asked him to think about it, and he had, long and hard before going to bed. And his decision had felt easy, coming to him quickly and without trouble.

He was going to turn her down.

Of course he was. It was the only thing he could do. Linka was his best friend. His best friend. He couldn't do... do that with her, he decided. That wasn't what they were. That wasn't who they were. He and Lin... they were something else. Their world was laughing together at private jokes and talking long into the night. Their world was taking rambling walks on the beach and watching baseball games at weekends and drinking vodka over home cooked meals. That was their world, and it made him happier than anything else ever could. That's what they were, he reminded himself firmly. Friends. Just friends.

They weren't heat and desire, he rationed himself. They weren't naked skin pressed to naked skin, damp and soft to the touch. They weren't bitten lips or indentations left on shoulders. They weren't hands raking through hair or wrists pinned to a bed. They weren't pleasure and gratification wrapped around one another.

So, why then couldn't he stop thinking about it?

With another moan of frustration, Wheeler stood, throwing on some clothes. He would go for a run, he decided. An hour or so spent pounding up and down the shoreline would tire him out so he could sleep. Ten miles of sand under his feet and stars above him would clear his mind of Linka and all thoughts of soft skin against his hands and green eyes smiling up at him.

The night was cool and calm, a light wind blowing in from over the ocean. Wheeler exhaled gratefully, stretching up his arms towards the starlit sky. Another few stretches and he took off, keeping his mind on the curve of the landscape around him, on the feeling of his body exerting itself in exercise.

Would Linka leave him this breathless, he wondered? Would she work him hard and then hold him afterwards, sweat-soaked and gasping? Or would it be gentle with her? Would it be soft and slow and tender, like falling and then being held by a warm pool of water?

Wheeler came to an abrupt stop, swearing violently. What the fuck had Linka done to him? For a moment, he felt unreasonably angry with her. Everything had been great before she'd brought up the idea of sex between them. Everything had been fine. They'd been friends and nothing more, and although occasionally he'd fantasised about sleeping with her, they had been just that, fantasies. He'd known it would never happen and had been content with that. The idea hadn't caught hold of him and then tortured him slowly, as it had tonight.

Leaning over, Wheeler took a few deep breaths, trying hard to be reasonable, both with her and himself. It wasn't her fault, he told himself. It wasn't like she was in love with him or anything. Linka was pragmatic and logical. She'd simply decided she wanted to do something and had deducted he was the most logical choice with whom to try it, that was all. She couldn't help how it made him feel. In fact, had the roles been reversed, he would have come to the same conclusion. Lin had always trusted him, with her friendship and her thoughts and occasionally her life, and it made perfect sense that she could also trust him with her body.

Her body. Wheeler took another deep breath, trying to ignore the image of long legs wrapped around his waist that suddenly sprang to his depraved mind. He tried to ignore the idea of running a hand down the smooth planes of her stomach, and of pulling one of her pert breasts into his mouth. He pushed away all the images his mind so helpfully provided, locking instead onto just one thought: she's your best friend.

He just needed to get laid, he decided. It had been awhile since he'd brought a girl to the island, or taken some time off in New York. That's why he couldn't get Linka off his mind. He just needed a depraved weekend with another girl and this problem would clear up easily. Resolution ran through him with a feeling akin to relief. In the morning he would book in some vacation time, call Trish back at home and see if she fancied a dirty weekend in a nice hotel somewhere. Trish was always good for a casual meet-up, and it was something they'd indulged in frequently over the years. Wheeler had always figured that one day, when his Planeteer gig was over and he moved back home, he'd make an honest woman of Trish. They got along well and he could see himself with her long-term.

Yeah, he thought. Trish would solve this issue for him.

But somehow, the thought of Trish didn't excite him as it usually did. In fact, if he was honest with himself, on their last weekend together he'd actually spent most of the Sunday thinking about Linka, and what she'd been doing. In between rounds of sex with Trish he'd texted Lin, and it hadn't crossed his mind that there was anything wrong with that, because Lin knew where he was and who he was with and she was just a friend, after all.

Just a friend.

Wheeler took another deep breath, before turning and heading back to his cabin. He would text Trish straightaway, he decided, before letting Linka down gently. She would understand, he told himself. She would understand why he couldn't go down that path with her.

She would be fine, he told himself. Things would go back to normal, and she would be fine.

And then so would he.

Kwame, dedicated to his role to the point of insufferability, frowned when Wheeler asked for some time off the next morning.

'There could be an eco-emergency at any time,' he said slowly, looking at their calendar, at the blacked out days and crossed through nights. 'We have so much to do, we really need all hands on deck...'

'Kwame, I need some time off,' Wheeler replied, determined to be firm. 'Come on, I'm not a machine. I'm goin' crazy here.'

Kwame paused, eyeing him warily. 'What's wrong, friend?' he finally asked, and Wheeler gave a nonchalant shrug.

'Nothing's wrong... it's just, it's been awhile since I've been home is all. Look, we aren't that busy. We've been quiet this week, in fact. Come on. Do me a favour.'

Kwame stared at him for a moment, before he sighed, going to the calendar and striking through three days with a red pen. 'Here,' he showed Wheeler. 'You can have this coming weekend. Gi has Kenly coming to visit, so he can fill in for some of your tasks.'

Wheeler felt a flood of relief. This weekend. That was good. 'Great,' he breathed easily. 'Thanks, Kwame.'

'This is not a favour, Wheeler,' Kwame said, his voice softer now. 'You work hard. You deserve time off. We all do.'

Wheeler nodded, 'Thanks.'

'You will go home?'

'Yeah,' Wheeler said. 'Go and see my Mom. Eat some real food for a time.'

'We eat real food,' Kwame replied, his tone sharp once more, 'Everything we eat we have grown ourselves, and it is nutritious and good and plentiful.'

Wheeler grinned. 'Yeah, but I'm talkin' about processed shit. That's real food to me, Kwame. I wanna eat some pizza and nachos and deep-fried chicken. I wanna go to a baseball game and eat hot dogs and chilli fries. That kinda food.'

Kwame nodded. 'Ah, I see. Baseball food.' Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, looking at the calendar. 'You know, this weekend... if you like, you could take Linka with you. You are right, we are quiet this week, and with Kenly here, I could spare her too if the two of you wanted to go to a game together -'

'No,' Wheeler said instantly, and watched as Kwame's face furrowed in confusion.

'No?'

'No,' he said again. 'I don't... it isn't that I don't want her there, it's just...' he paused, deciding to be honest. 'I'm gonna see Trish.'

'Ah,' Kwame nodded slowly. 'Ah. Now I see. It is that kind of a weekend.'

Wheeler stood, feeling uncomfortable. He and Kwame had shared these sorts of conversations before, but never before had shame flooded through him like it did today.

'You know,' Kwame carried on. 'If you ever decide to get... what is the word? Yes, uh, if you ever decide to get serious about Trish, you could always bring her to the island on a regular basis. It works for Gi with Kenly. It works for me and Sam. You could do the same.'

Wheeler nodded, because he already knew that. But although the option was there, he'd never before seized it. He'd brought random dates to the island before, the odd fling here and there - the 'girlfriend of the month' club, as Gi had snidely described it - but never Trish, who was always there in the background, a somewhat occasionally serious thing. He'd always told himself it was because Trish was different to the others, someone he one day intended to be more dedicated to, and as such, he hadn't wanted to mix the two halves of his existence in such a way. But thinking about it now, he knew exactly why he'd never brought Trish to the island. It was because the role Trish played in New York - beyond the sex, of course - was one that was already taken here on Hope Island by Linka. The long conversations, the games and movie nights... they were the kind of things a girlfriend would do. The random flings hadn't minded Wheeler spending time with Linka in their presence, because they all knew he wasn't serious about them, just as they weren't serious about him. But Wheeler suspected Trish might mind, and as such, he kept her in New York, and away from Linka and any awkward conversations that might crop up from such an interaction.

He gave Kwame a weak smile. 'I'll think about it,' he said, knowing full well he wouldn't.

'Good,' replied Kwame pleasantly. 'We are growing older all the time. I know we should not think about our lives beyond our calling... but the truth is that one day we will no longer be Planeteers, and we should have lives of our own to return to. You and Trish... it could be a good thing for you, friend.'

'Yeah,' Wheeler nodded, although he was desperate for this conversation to be done with, and turned away.

'I only hope Linka and Ma-Ti one day find companions for themselves too,' Kwame mused, and Wheeler turned back to him sharply, completely aghast.

'What did you just say?'

Kwame shrugged. 'Only that one day, I hope that Linka and Ma-Ti may find companions of their own. They are growing older too and -'

'But they're... they're just kids...' Wheeler spluttered, outrage running through him, and Kwame frowned at him.

'They are both adults now, Wheeler. Linka is twenty-one, and Ma-Ti eighteen. They are both grown and -'

'Grown,' Wheeler repeated, disbelief in his voice. 'They're not... I mean, they're only just adults... they shouldn't be thinking of that kind of thing yet, and -'

He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew he was being hypocritical. Linka and Ma-Ti were grown, by this point, and no longer the awkward teens who had first arrived on the island. Kwame gave him a long look, before sighing.

'It is natural, I suppose, to feel protective of them. They will always feel like our younger brother and sister, and you -'

'Linka's not my sister,' Wheeler interjected instantly, his voice sharp. She wasn't anything like a sister to him, he reminded himself. A friend, yes, but not a sister. Jesus, the thoughts he'd had about her. Once again, guilt struck him hard. 'She's not my sister,' he said again.

At his words, something in Kwame's face changed, and he stared at Wheeler again, long and hard.

'Wheeler...'

But Wheeler turned towards the door, determination suddenly running through him. 'I need to get back to packin' those emergency supplies,' he said. 'Thanks for clearin' the calendar for me, Kwame.'

'It is no problem,' Kwame replied softly. 'But Wheeler?'

Wheeler turned back to him warily. Kwame eyed him gently.

'If you should decide not to see Trish this weekend... if you should decide things should go differently... well, I can always clear Linka's calendar too. You only have to ask.'

Wheeler nodded, even as he turned away. 'I won't.'

But he wasn't sure if he was telling Kwame, or himself.

He found Linka in her cabin, sitting at her desk, writing letters. She was always writing letters, to her Grandmother or to Mishka or to her friends back home, pages and pages full of beautiful cyrillic which Wheeler couldn't understand, but instinctively knew were full of beautiful words and imagery and ideas.

Everything about Linka was beautiful, after all. Why would her writing be any different?

He knocked once on the open cabin door before walking in, coming to sit on her desk and watching her for a few moments as she finished the sentence she was working on. He took time to look at her, to really look at her, and was both heartened and dismayed by his reaction to her.

Fuck, but she was gorgeous.

She was dressed casually, in one of her faded Planeteer shirts, a pair of denim shorts on her legs. She'd pinned her blonde curls up into a messy bun, although a few stray tendrils fell softly onto her neck, and Wheeler couldn't help but brush one of them from her skin. She laughed at his touch, reaching back to push his fingers away, and as her skin met his he felt a familiar swoosh of pleasure in his stomach.

'Yankee,' Linka laughed. 'Give me a moment, yes? I am nearly finished.'

He nodded, watching as she bit her lip while writing, clearly thinking something out.

'Who are you writin' to?' he asked her, and she smiled.

'Gregor,' she told him.

'Who's he?'

'An old friend from my village back home,' Linka replied, putting her pen back to paper and writing another line.

'Gregor?' Wheeler asked, trying to sound casual. 'I haven't heard of him before?'

'No,' Linka said blandly. 'You wouldn't have. To be honest, he was more of a friend to Mishka than to me.'

'Why you writin' to him then?' he probed, still hoping he sounded casual.

Linka shrugged. It was a movement that showed off the graceful slope of her shoulders, and Wheeler's mouth ran dry.

'He is setting up a...' she paused, her forehead creasing with thought. 'I am not sure of the word in English... it is like a committee meeting... but where a particular subject is discussed...' she frowned again. 'Simpozium?' she looked to Wheeler with interest, and he grinned back at her.

'Symposium, yeah, that's right. So, this Gregor guy...'

'He is setting up a symposium on climate change in our village,' Linka told him. 'He asked for my advice. I am writing what I can, but I think I should like to go to the meeting too.'

'Yeah, you should,' Wheeler said, happier now that he knew Gregor was strictly a professional acquaintance. 'You'd be great there.'

She smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling, and Wheeler was momentarily struck-dumb by just how beautiful she was when she smiled. He loved that smile, and loved it more when it was a result of his actions. He made a mental note to make her smile as much as he could in the future.

'What do you want, Yankee?'

At that, he looked down.

'Look, babe, about what we... no, not that... I mean, I want to talk about... well, it's about us, actually.'

'Us?' she asked, bringing her pen to her lips and chewing on it absently.

'Yeah,' he swallowed hard, trying his best to ignore how her lips looked wrapped around the instrument. 'About me and you.'

'Okay,' she said slowly. 'What about us?'

'It's just... your offer... look, babe...'

She stared up at him expectantly, and he hated that he was going to have to hurt her.

'Yes?' she asked him.

'I can't do it,' he said bluntly. 'You and me... we aren't like that, babe. It's you and me. I love us the way we are.' He looked at her almost mournfully, reaching over to run a finger down her cheek. God, he hated to do this to her.

But Linka surprised him. She simply nodded, before looking back to her letter.

'Okay,' she said. 'I respect your decision.'

She started writing again, calmly and without looking back up, and Wheeler stared at her, open-mouthed.

'That's it?' he asked her. 'You don't want to... to talk about this?'

She looked back up at him curiously. 'What is there to talk about? I suggested something, I asked you to think about it, and you have decided to refuse.' She shrugged. 'It is a shame, but I cannot force you to do anything, Wheeler.'

'No, I know, you would never -' he stared at her again, doing a double take at her words. 'You think it's a shame?'

She shrugged again. 'I told you already, I think it is a good idea. I have thought about it, you have thought about it...' she trailed off, sitting back in her chair and staring up at him. She crossed her legs, the movement showing the lean muscle of her thighs, and Wheeler couldn't help but stare at the skin on display. How many times had he imagined those same thighs open and wrapped around his waist? Pulling at every inch of his common sense, he tore his eyes away, only to find Linka looking at him with interest. He flushed a deep red, embarrassed at being caught so obviously ogling her, but she seemed completely at ease with his attention. She shrugged again. 'Like I said, it is a shame. But your mind is made up.'

'Yeah,' Wheeler's voice was unnaturally high, and he cleared his throat quickly. 'Yeah. It is.'

'Can I ask one thing?' She asked, and he nodded. 'Why are you saying 'no'? Is it me? You do not find me attractive?'

Wheeler gazed at her dumbly. 'No, no, no,' he said speedily. 'It isn't you at all, babe... it's me. I just can't see you that way.'

'What way?' She pressed him, and he flushed an even deeper red.

'Sexually,' he replied, thoroughly embarrassed, and she stood, looking up at him in confusion.

'But I thought you had already imagined you and I...' she let her words trail off suggestively, and Wheeler reached out, blindly grabbing the chair she'd just vacated and clutching the back of it.

'Yeah,' he admitted. 'But babe... the difference between fantasy and reality...'

'Ah, yes,' she nodded, as though she understood. 'You mean, you would need to see that I am a sexual person before you could...' again, her words trailed off and Wheeler's hands gripped the chair with a bruising strength.

'I... Babe... it's only...' but his words were nonsense, lost to a sudden surge of blind lust at the thought of Linka behaving sexually before him. He had no idea what that would even entail, but his body responded instantly to the mere suggestion of it.

'It is alright, Yankee,' Linka said, suddenly soft. 'I understand. And you do not need to worry. If you cannot see me as a sexual person, that is fine. There must be others who will.'

'What do you mean?' Wheeler instantly snapped.

But Linka simply smiled at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him to her. 'It doesn't even matter. Come on, let us go and find the others. I can finish my letter to Gregor later.'

'Why? You got more to say to him?' Wheeler asked, and this time he didn't even try to hide the sudden rise of jealousy in his voice.

He watched as Linka smiled again, her eyes drifting from him to the paper on her desk.

'Perhaps I do after all. Perhaps I do.'